Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A Return Like No Other

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"Now you're just somebody that I used to know."

-Gotye

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Blood.

It makes my hands slippery. Warm. Sticky. It slides between my fingers, down my wrists. I know the color.

A voice bends low, rough, broken. Run.

My feet stumble. I can't keep up. My knees knock together, too small, too slow.

Arms scoop me up. My face presses to a chest, hot and shaking. I hear it—thump thump thump. Louder than the fire. Louder than me.

Smoke.

It scratches my throat. Makes my eyes sting. I cough, but the sound is lost under shouting. Light everywhere—red, orange, yellow. It dances. It burns. Shadows stretch tall like monsters on the walls.

A sudden, loud neigh ripped me out of the daydream.

I gasped, my lungs clawed for air and my eyes snapped open—the world had shrunk back to ordinary.

"Sorry," I whispered to no one. My hands trembled, though they were clean.

It took a beat for the haze to clear, for the remnants of the dream to dissolve like mist at dawn. The world sharpened again—the sunlight, the steady crunch of my boots on the grass, the here and now. A smile tugged at my lips as I stepped closer.

My fingers slipped into Celeste's shimmering mane, silken strands shining like threads of moonlight beneath my touch. She didn't startle, only bent her head deeper into the grass, as though she too knew I was back, present, real.

"Shh... don't worry," I whispered. "You'll like this place."

It's nice. And you're a kind human, she murmured, her voice brushing against my thoughts like a breeze.

I smiled faintly, withdrawing my hand as I motioned for Liora to approach. She stepped closer, curious but calm. I had brought Celeste to the vivarium as soon as I found her—locked in a cage, trembling beneath a poacher's cloak. Now, here she was, meeting another unicorn beneath a warm, bewitched sky.

Unicorns always amazed me. And in moments like this, I was grateful—truly grateful—for my gift.

"Ria? You in here?" came a familiar voice.

"Yeah, Poppy. I'm here," I called back, turning as she entered.

Poppy often came by unannounced. She loved magical creatures as much as I did, and after she practically begged me to help around the vivarium, I didn't have the heart to say no.

Her eyes widened as she saw Celeste. "She's beautiful. I'm glad she's safe now."

Celeste looked at me, her silver eyes glowing faintly. Who is she?

"This is Poppy," I explained gently. "She can't understand you, but she's kind. She'll help take care of you."

Celeste dipped her head, almost politely.

"Wow..." Poppy whispered. "It always amazes me that you understand them. I wish I could talk to beasts the way you can."

I chuckled, pulling her into a quick hug. Poppy was so small, and with me being taller than most girls at school, it always felt like hugging a little woodland creature—warm, soft, and a bit fragile. "Yeah... it's a blessing. Especially now. With the poachers crawling around again."

Silence settled over us like dust. It felt like fifth year all over again—creatures vanishing from near the school, traps appearing along the forest's edge. But this time, the silence felt heavier. Colder. And I couldn't shake the feeling that Lysandra Vale was behind it. She always was.

"You ready then?" Poppy asked after a pause.

I blinked. "Ready for what?"

She hesitated. "Oh. I thought... never mind."

"No—what is it?" I asked.

She shifted. "I just thought... you know, being in Slytherin and all... you'd be eager to go to the common room today. Of all days."

I froze.

My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow. "Right... yeah. I'm... I'm meeting Ominis later. Just to see how things... are."

Poppy nodded. "Okay. Maybe let me know after? The other houses are curious. About him."

I forced a smile. "I will."

She studied me for a beat too long. "You sure you're okay? I mean—it must be a big deal. For you."

I raised a brow. "A big deal? No, I—It's fine."

"Okay." She gave me a tight smile. "Just... let me know if you need anything. I'm here."

And with that, she turned and left, leaving me alone with the beasts and the weight in my chest.

I exhaled slowly. I'd nearly managed to forget. Of course Poppy had to remind me. Today was the day. The one I'd been dreading. The day the ghost of my past would walk these halls like nothing ever happened.

I didn't know how to feel. About him. About any of it.

I let out another breath, steadied myself, and finally stepped out of the Room of Requirement. The stone walls greeted me like they always had—stoic and unchanged. Hogwarts always fascinated me. The way it had given me an entire world within its walls, a hidden refuge for creatures most people would rather not see.

The second I stepped into the Slytherin common room, the atmosphere shifted.

Silence—unnatural and loaded—swept over the crowd. Hushed whispers stirred like wind through reeds. I braced myself. It's fine. Everything's fine. It's just another day.

I took one step, then another, pushing through the quiet tension. The air felt thick with expectation.

"Ria, over here," Ruby called softly.

I turned to see her standing with Bia and Lola—each of them trying far too hard to look casual. Just like everyone else packed around the entrance, they were pretending they weren't waiting for something that had never happened in Hogwarts history.

"Hey girls. Is all this really necessary?" I asked as I slipped in beside them.

"Are you kidding?" Bia grinned, flipping her curls with the kind of effortless flair that had half the school falling over themselves. "This is the juiciest thing that's happened all year. I have to see if it's true."

I glanced at Lola, hoping for a drop of reason. She was usually the anchor in our chaos—the one who kept us from tipping too far, Head Girl badge gleaming like proof of her eternal logic. When the rest of us got carried away, Lola was the voice that pulled us back to earth.

She winced. "Sorry, Val... I'm curious too. We all are."

"Yeah," Bia added, smirking again. "Bet he's stupidly hot now. Two years locked away with nothing to do but push-ups and sulk? That's prime brooding-boy energy."

I rolled my eyes. Normally, I'd laugh. Normally, I'd trade jabs right back and make some quip that would have Lola snorting into her sleeve. But not today.

Today, something felt different.

A part of me pitied him—coming back here after two years in Azkaban. That couldn't have been easy. But another part of me? That part was colder. Sharper. That part had let go of him a long time ago.

And it believed he deserved exactly what he got.

Suddenly Bia jabbed her elbow into my ribs. I gasped, clutching the spot. "Ouch, what was that for—?"

"Just wanted to make you cry so your ex-boyfriend can see how much you've missed him," she quipped, smirk curling across her face in that infuriating way that always made me want to hex her hair green.

Bianca Deveraux. The living embodiment of a spoiled pure-blood princess, gift-wrapped in silks and galleons. I wasn't entirely sure she even liked me. Honestly, I doubted it. But with Ruby and I being so close—and the minor detail of us all sharing a dorm—she didn't exactly have much of a choice but to tolerate my presence in the group.

"He was never my boyfriend, Bia. We were just... really close friends." The words left my mouth sharper than I intended, but they were true. Every single one.

"Whatever," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Shh. Here they come," Ruby whispered, her big doe eyes wide with anticipation. She grabbed my arm, looping hers through mine, practically vibrating with excitement.

Every student fell quiet. The entire common room turned to stone, eyes locked on the entrance.

Ominis stepped in first, holding the door with practiced grace. And behind him—

My breath caught.

His hair was longer, untamed. Shadows framed his eyes—deeper, darker. A faint scar cut across his lower lip, another across the bridge of his nose. He looked older. Taller. Worn. Out of place.

"Geez," Bia whispered, her tone shifting. "Why do I feel bad now?"

"Shut up," Lola muttered, nudging her.

They walked in, heads held high—but the room parted around them like they were contagious.

"Excuse me," Ominis said dryly, raising his wand, "I'm blind, but I can still tell you're all in my way."

I stayed rooted, fighting the impulse to slip away unseen. I didn't want to get involved. But then—of course—a couple of sixth years decided to be clever.

They blocked the path, smirking and elbowing each other.

"Do you mind?" Ominis asked again, more firm this time.

"No, we don't mind," one of them said, smug.

"Go ahead," added the other, grinning—but neither moved.

Ominis sighed.

And that was all it took.

I stepped forward before I could think twice.

Lola reached out instinctively, whispering my name like a warning—but I was already moving.

I lifted my chin. "John. Eric. And the other two — whose names I don't bother with," I said, soft as a bell and twice as cold. My words cut the corridor's silence like a knife.

They laughed—too low, brittle, the kind you hear right before something snaps.

"Their dorm's that way," I said, nodding toward the landing, every syllable measured. "You don't want to be the story everyone tells tomorrow. Trust me."

The silence lengthened, heavy and ridiculous. A foot shuffled, a jaw clenched. Pride argued with common sense for a breath — and common sense won. They stepped aside, eyes flicking to me like they'd seen something they were supposed to look away from.

Good. Let them whisper. I preferred it that way.

They moved.

"Thanks, Ria," Ominis said with a nod, continuing past.

"Of course."

But my eyes—stubborn, traitorous things—slid past Ominis to the figure behind him.

He lifted his gaze slowly, like the weight of it took effort. And then—our eyes met.

For a moment, everything froze. Every memory returned in a flood—quiet laughter in shadowed corridors, heated arguments, the echo of spells cast in secret. All of it, soft and sharp at once, settled in my chest like a stone.

"Hello, Sebastian," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "Welcome back."

He didn't answer.

A beat. Then another.

His eyes dropped to the floor like I hadn't spoken at all.

I glanced at Ominis, who gave me a small, apologetic smile. A flicker of warmth, but not enough to thaw the sudden chill under my skin.

I'd told myself I'd be kind.

When I heard he was being released on his eighteenth birthday, I decided I wouldn't hold a grudge. I'd grown. He'd served his sentence. Paid the price.

He deserved a chance to move on—and so did I.

Maybe he wasn't the same selfish, reckless boy anymore. Maybe Azkaban had taken more from him than we knew. Maybe... being friendly wouldn't kill me.

Ominis stepped forward. Sebastian followed without another glance, silent and unreadable. And just like that, they disappeared into the boys' dormitory—as if none of it had ever happened.

The room broke apart. Conversations resumed. Students trickled back to their usual routines. I rejoined the girls.

"Told you," Bia said, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. "Hot."

"Bia," Lola hissed, "you're being so loud."

"Whatever. I'm meeting Alora and Rania. Later, losers." Bia muttered, rolling her eyes before strutting off and leaving us behind.

I didn't respond.

Sebastian was back.

And I didn't know what that meant.

But whatever it would turn out to be—I wasn't chasing it. I'd be friendly. I'd be civil. Sebastian Sallow had spent two years in Azkaban.

That was punishment enough.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

I half-chewed on the end of my quill, a terrible habit I hadn't broken since I was ten, as I flipped lazily through the crinkling pages of my diary. It was only a few months old, but already starting to look worn—soft edges, ink smudges, a few sleepy water stains from when I'd nodded off mid-thought.

I heard Ruby groan and roll over on the bed beside mine, her blankets rustling. Someone mumbled something incoherent in their sleep. Probably Bia dreaming about riches or boys.

I chuckled softly under my breath.

Nights like these were strangely comforting. When everyone else was asleep and I wasn't, it felt like time belonged to me and me alone. Insomnia had been a companion of mine for as long as I could remember. At this point, I wasn't even mad about it. Just... resigned. The night was quieter than the day, and my mind was loud enough to fill the silence.

I turned to a blank page, pulled my blanket around my legs, and propped myself up on one elbow, penning the date at the top in neat, practiced strokes.

September 12th

Dear diary,

Well. It happened. The inevitable. Sebastian Sallow is back.

Two whole years in Azkaban and now—just like that—he's wandering the halls like nothing ever happened. Or maybe like everything happened and he's just pretending it didn't. I don't know.

I told myself I wouldn't dwell on it, but of course I did. My brain doesn't take commands very well.

Last week, Ominis and I played another round of chess in the courtyard, and he was visibly more tense than usual. At the time, I told myself it was the cold, or maybe he just didn't like losing to me three times in a row (he'd never admit it, but I'm nearly certain he's been practicing in secret). But deep down I knew it was about Sebastian. It always is, with him.

I don't even know what I feel about it anymore. He and I were close once. Briefly. That awkward, golden stretch of fifth year when we all thought we still had time to fix everything.

And then he changed. Became sharper, darker, obsessed. He stopped listening, stopped caring what any of us thought. I can't say I cared about the dark magic stuff—I've always believed context matters—but it was the way he treated people. Treated me.

I remember our last conversation. The yelling, the accusations. He said I didn't understand, and maybe I didn't. But I also think he didn't want me to.

And now he's back. Scarred, silent, tall as a damn tower. Whatever. I've got better things to do than think about boys.

Daily Rosebuds:

Rose: Ominis found me a book on ancient Nordic spell-weaving and I already annotated six pages. I love it when my brain lights up like that.
Bud: I should really try to actually listen in class, even when I already know what they're teaching. It's not about being right — it's about being present. Besides, maybe I'll learn something I didn't expect.
Thorn: Sebastian Sallow is haunting my thoughts again and I absolutely refuse to let him live there rent-free.

More tomorrow, I guess. Or whenever my brain lets me sleep. For now, I'll pretend the moonlight through the window is enough to keep the shadows quiet.

I closed my diary and set the quill aside, carefully tucking the worn journal beneath my mattress where it would be safe. Silence settled around me like a blanket. I sat up in bed, my eyes drifting toward the window, where the moon hung low in the sky—silver and solemn.

There was something about the night that always drew me in. It was quiet, still, almost like the world was holding its breath. Thoughts moved slower in the dark, as if they, too, were softened by the moonlight. The only sound was the distant hoot of an owl cutting through the hush, and for a moment, everything felt suspended—peaceful, strange, and a little bit haunting. I exhaled slowly. I always found a strange comfort in the hours when everyone else was lost in dreams. I didn't mind waiting for the sun to rise. Most nights, I welcomed the waiting. It was quiet, and at Hogwarts, at least, quiet meant safety. That hadn't always been the case.

It was better to stay awake here than it ever had been back at home—if I could even call it that. Lord and Lady Whitmore. Or simply Sir and Madam. That's what I called them. Not Mum. Not Dad. They never asked me to—and I never wanted to. I never understood why people who didn't want children chose to have them—especially when I wasn't even theirs to begin with.

I brushed the thought away like dust and slipped from the bed, padding barefoot to the wide windowsill that served as my little nook. My four favorite books sat neatly stacked in the corner, their spines worn from countless rereads. I sat down a little too fast, accidentally catching the ends of my hair beneath me. I muttered a quiet curse, tugging it free with an annoyed flick before settling in. Curling into the windowsill, I rested my temple against the cool glass, letting my eyes wander over the moonlit grounds below. Hogwarts looked like something from one of the stories I used to write as a child—beautiful and far away.

The birds would still sing in the morning. The sun would rise, just like it always did. One step at a time, I told myself.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Me writing Valeria: she's so strong, she's so mysterious. Also me: daily rose bud thorn diary entries. (Also, yes, Valeria's in Slytherin—like all the FMCs from my fics. Funny thing is, I'm not even a Slytherin myself. Any guesses where I actually belong?) / S

Chapter Text

Life in the Cracks

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"I've become so numb, I can't feel you there".

- Linkin Park

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

"Are you going to eat that, or just keep tormenting that poor piece of potato?"

Ominis's voice pulled me out of the daze. I blinked once, slow. My fork was still in my hand, hovering half an inch from the plate. The food was cold. I hadn't noticed.

I didn't bother replying. What was there to say?

Ominis let out the kind of sigh I remembered — laced with patience, but not surprised. I could practically feel him wanting to push, to prod. But he didn't. He knew better than that.

I let my gaze drift across the Great Hall. Same walls. Same faces. Same too-loud laughter echoing off stone. The candles still floated like nothing had changed. Like I hadn't.

This place didn't feel like home anymore. Not that it ever truly did — but at least before, I could pretend. Now it felt like a joke I was supposed to laugh at.

"She cannot be healed, Sebastian. You must stop."

"I won't let her suffer. Avada Kedavra!"

The memory tore through me like ice water, leaving a tremor in its wake. My chest tightened. My hands itched for my wand.

And then—

"Alright then," Ominis's voice cut clean through the fog. He stood, plucking an apple from the edge of his plate and tossing it lazily in one hand. "Shall we head to the common room? Catch up on your Defense lessons?"

I forced a nod, shoving the ghost of the memory back into its corner—for now.

Not because I needed the help. I hadn't forgotten a single incantation. If anything, the last two years sharpened everything. My spells were cleaner. Colder.

More final.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal on porcelain much too loud in my ears. The chatter around us was a dull roar, all of it scraping against the inside of my skull.

I used to dream about food. Real food. Not slop. Not whatever that gray paste was. I thought when I got out, I'd gorge myself.

But now?

Nothing tasted like anything.

I stood up, ignoring the way a few students flinched when I stepped back. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

They didn't know a damn thing.

We made our way toward the dungeons in silence, each footfall heavier than the last. I didn't say much—hadn't since dinner. My mind wandered where I didn't want it to go. The sting. The cold floor. The bite of iron. Azkaban didn't just bruise flesh—it rewired your thoughts. Even now, something about the quiet halls reminded me of that place. The kind of quiet that hummed like a warning, not a comfort.

A shiver ran down my spine. Uninvited. Unwelcome.

I could feel Ominis tracking me beside him, the way he always did. Being blind didn't mean being unaware—he was better than most at seeing through things. Especially me. He didn't say it, but I knew he was trying. I also knew he had no idea what to do with me now.

He stepped up to the stone wall, murmured the password, and the stone serpent slithered aside, letting us into the common room.

We found a quiet spot in one of the shadowy alcoves, away from the noise. I sank into a worn armchair, the leather cold under my hands. Ominis settled across from me, a book already open on his lap, wand resting gently in his fingers.

I turned my eyes to the window—the one overlooking the Black Lake. I'd always liked that view. It used to make me feel small in a good way.

But tonight?

All it did was bring back the memory.

Anne used to stand at that window, tormenting wide-eyed first-years with tales of bloodthirsty mermaids. She got me once, too. Said they'd drag me under and braid my intestines into jewelry. I'd laughed so hard I nearly believed her.

I looked away. Swallowed hard.

Ominis had started reading aloud—some Defense notes I was supposedly behind on. I only half-listened. His voice droned softly, familiar, but distant. He paused every now and then, waiting for some sign that I was still following. I usually gave him a nod. A hum. Just enough.

But then he stopped mid-sentence.

I glanced at him. He tilted his head slightly, listening.

"Ria? That you?"

I tensed instinctively. My eyes shot to the side—and sure enough, there she was. Standing a few feet away, her silhouette outlined by the flickering torchlight.

Valeria Velkan.

She gave a small nod. "Yeah. Hi, Ominis."

Her voice still had that softness. The kind that caught you off guard. She moved closer and sank into the couch beside him.

Her eyes flicked toward me—briefly. "Hi, Sebastian," she said, low.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She used to do that when she was nervous. Or annoyed. Or both.

"Sorry to disturb you two," she added, brushing her long hair forward over one shoulder. Longer now. It used to fall to her waist—now it nearly reached her hips. The candlelight caught the pale gold of it like something out of a storybook. "I was just wondering if you're actually going to Astronomy tonight? I'm not trying to freeze for two hours just to hear Professor Shah wax poetic about constellations."

She fiddled absently with the ends of her hair. Not looking at me anymore.

Ominis chuckled. "Don't tell me you're going to ruin your perfect attendance record."

She groaned and dropped her head back against the couch dramatically. Trying to act like her usual self. But I could feel the tension under her skin like static.

"Ugh, no—I was hoping you'd say it's fine to skip."

"Then you should've asked Sebastian," Ominis said, smirking.

If it had been fifth year, I probably would've told her to skip. Maybe dragged her into the Forest with me. Go fight off some poachers or chase rumors of forbidden spells. That's who we were, back then.

"Where are the girls?" Ominis asked after a moment.

"Ruby and Bia are trying out some spell that curls your hair in ten seconds," Valeria said. "And I'm pretty sure Lola's somewhere nearby trying to stop them from setting their eyebrows on fire."

He laughed, and I watched—still silent—as she held out her hand toward him.

Without hesitation, Ominis placed his half-eaten apple into her palm. She bit into it like it was nothing, then handed it back. That easy. That normal.

When the hell had they gotten so close?

I hated that I noticed.

"Whatever," she muttered, licking a bit of juice off her thumb. "Suppose I'll bring my thickest robe."

"It's not that cold," Ominis argued. "It's September. The trees have only just begun to shed their leaves."

"It's colder at night," she said. "Especially up on that tower."

I zoned out after that.

Their voices blurred into background hum. My eyes were drawn back to her. It wasn't just the hair. Or the green eyes. It was something else. Something in the way she carried herself—like she was always pretending not to care, even when she did.

She reminded me of some Grimm fairytale—bright and sharp and a little bit unreal. Snow White, maybe. The one where flowers bloom in her footsteps and birds sit on her shoulder.

Except Valeria didn't only talk to birds.

She talked to dragons too.

Literally.

Fifth year, she and Ominis spoke Parseltongue in front of me just to piss me off. Apparently, Ominis is descended from Salazar Slytherin. Valeria? She doesn't know where she comes from. Adopted. Mysterious. But she can speak the language of any beast, and not even Headmaster Black can explain it.

Maybe that's what she and I have in common—we're both a little... unnatural.

A little too dangerous.

I blinked as the couch creaked. They were standing.

"You coming, Sebastian?" Ominis asked. "Class starts in five."

I nodded and stood. My limbs felt stiff.

I didn't know why I'd been so lost in thought about her. It wasn't like I'd spoken a word to her since I came back.

Maybe I didn't know what to say.

Maybe I still didn't.

I followed behind as Ominis and Valeria walked ahead, voices low but steady. She was talking to him again like nothing had happened. Like I wasn't a shadow trailing after them. Typical Valeria. Pretend it's fine. Pretend I'm fine.

Most people didn't bother with Ominis anymore. Guilt by association. He stayed with me, so they kept their distance. Couldn't blame them. I wouldn't trust me either.

But not her.

No, she never did things the normal way. She'd clearly decided my presence wouldn't ruin her friendship with Ominis, and that pretending I didn't exist was easier than confronting me.

I didn't mind. Being ignored was better than being pitied.

We reached the Astronomy Tower just as the sky went from navy to black. Professor Shah launched into her usual poetic rambling, her voice lilting like she was reciting a play, not teaching a lesson.

I leaned on the railing, pretending to care. Watched the grounds below, empty and still. My thoughts drifted. As usual.

Eventually, we were told to search for constellations. I walked over to a telescope, looked through it, and stared at nothing. The stars blurred together, meaningless. I jotted down a few lines on the assignment sheet—something vague enough to pass.

When I looked up again, I caught a few glances. The kind that flick to you too fast, like you're something contagious. A bad headline. Then they looked away.

I didn't know what they were staring at.

Until I did.

I turned slightly—and there she was.

Valeria.

She stood near the edge of the tower, hand outstretched, a bird perched delicately on her fingers. Of course.

"Oh, that's awful," she whispered, voice soft, like honey spilled onto silk. "I'll bring you some seeds at midnight, alright?"

The bird chirped in response. Naturally.

I couldn't look away.

There was something about her—there always had been. Like the world hadn't touched her yet. Untainted. Clean. Beautiful in a way that wasn't just skin deep.

The world was going to destroy her. It was only a matter of time.

But until then... she glowed.

And maybe I envied that.

She returned to her telescope as the bird fluttered off into the dark. Like it had been summoned. Like it belonged to her.

I kept watching until a voice broke my trance.

"Still freaks me out," Ominis said beside me, his head tilted slightly, listening toward where Valeria had just been.

I glanced over, raising a brow. "You're one to talk, snake man."

He looked momentarily stunned—then smirked. Just a flicker. But it was there.

I turned back to the telescope, not really seeing anything at all.

The murmur of Ravenclaw voices drifted in from behind me — low enough to ignore, until one word cut through the buzz and pinned itself to my attention.

"Poachers again, just outside Tinworth. Someone found a kneazle nest torn apart. One of the babies survived."

"Typical," the other muttered. "She-Who-Rose."

She-Who-Rose. They never said her real name anymore. Not out loud. As if Lysandra Vale might hear it whispered on the wind and come crawling from the shadows to make them regret it. The way people talk, you'd think she was myth — part-woman, part-specter. They say she survived walking through the Veil. They say she came back with something... wrong.

Bullshit. Probably.

Still, people believed it. The Ministry scrambled. Entire families went into hiding.

"She's building something," the Ravenclaw whispered. "Something massive. Did you hear what the Ashwardens found in the Black Forest?"

The other one leaned in. "I heard it was a circle of bones. And—get this—they said the runes were speaking."

I exhaled sharply through my nose and looked back down at my telescope. They didn't notice me listening. No one noticed much these days.

Then came the kicker: "I just hope the Veilborn shows herself soon."

I felt my eyes narrow instinctively. Of course. The Veilborn. The world's precious little savior wrapped up in myth and dust. Supposedly marked by fate, tied to the balance between life and death, or some dramatic nonsense. Every generation thinks it's going to be the one with a chosen hero to fix everything.

They always forget: heroes don't tend to last long.

I wasn't scared of Lysandra Vale. Not really. I'd already lost more than most people ever will. What was one more threat in a world that's always breaking?

Let them choke on their rumors. The world was already burning. All a prophecy did was throw more tinder on the fire.

And if the Veilborn was real? If she was out there?

She better be ready.

Because Lysandra Vale was.

And war doesn't wait for anyone to catch up.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Sir this is an Astronomy class, not a monologue about your emotional damage. / S

Chapter Text

Princess of Strange Things

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"Unusual, they say strange fascination infatuation."

- Madds Buckley

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"Do you suppose it was a graphorn?" Poppy asked softly, her brow knit with concern as she watched me.

I cut it slipping from a cliff, said the hippogriff, his voice a low rumble at the back of my mind.

"He slipped," I translated, brushing my fingertips lightly over the now-healed wound to be sure it had knitted right.

"Oh, the poor thing. Ask him if he feels better?" Ruby piped up from the boulder she was perched on beside Poppy, just as worried.

"He's fine," I murmured, mostly to them but also to myself, still half inside the creature's head.

"Thank Merlin we had you with us," Poppy said, relieved. Ruby nodded in agreement.

I had promised to help them forage for potion ingredients after class, but we'd found Harold instead. Beasts don't always have names, not exactly, but they carry something like a sound—an echo or feeling—that I can understand. I call them whatever I hear first. Most of them don't seem to mind.

With a low, grateful rumble, Harold took the cue and rose, carefully testing his leg before pushing off into the air. He vanished into the blue above, leaving behind a cloud of dust that drifted like smoke across the sun-warmed ground.

"You're like a real-life princess, Ria," said Ruby, brushing a hand through her short dark hair.

I scoffed, smiling despite myself. They say things like that all the time. I know it sounds ungrateful, but I've been doing this—talking to creatures—for as long as I can remember. It doesn't feel extraordinary. It feels... expected. Like something any decent witch would do if they could.

The stares, the whispers—It doesn't really bother me though. I've never been good at caring about what people think. Not in that way.

"Shall we get going before Professor Weasley curses us for being late?" I asked, slinging my satchel over my chest.

They nodded, standing in sync.

I glanced at them as we started walking. Ruby and Poppy—so different, and yet they fit together without even trying.

Ruby was Slytherin, but not in the obvious, loud way. She was sharp, focused, the kind of clever that always made you feel like you were three steps behind. With her pale skin and those wide, dark eyes, she looked more innocent than she really was. Maybe that was her mother in her—Kyoto grace wrapped up in a doll-like face. But don't be fooled. If there's a prank to be pulled, Ruby's already in the middle of it. And if anything dares get between her and her top marks in every class? It doesn't stand a chance.

And then there was Poppy. All warmth and worry. She collected creatures like other people collected keepsakes, always seeing the best in everyone, even when it wasn't there. For a while, I wondered if Ruby kept her around just to get through Beasts without breaking a sweat. But no—their friendship was more than convenience. Somehow, Ruby's sharp edges and Poppy's soft heart just... worked. Strange, maybe. But it worked

Sometimes I think it's odd, the way my friend groups overlap. But maybe that's just how I work. I've never cared much for the house lines or rules about who belongs where. People are people, aren't they?

Or maybe that's just me.

I don't really think of myself as someone who has best friends. Not in the way people usually mean it—like, one person you're always glued to, whispering secrets and borrowing hair potions from. That's never really been me.

I float a bit more. Different days, different people. I like being alone. I enjoy it, actually, and I think people notice. They call me strange, but I don't mind. I think all the most interesting people I've ever met have been strange in some way. Strange is just a word people use for things they don't understand.

I do like being around Ominis, though. He's soft in the right places. Kind. Still, and calm. And Ruby too. I probably spend the most time with the two of them. Neither of them flinch when I say something odd, or do something that makes other people tilt their heads. It's like we've all agreed not to pretend the world makes perfect sense.

We arrived at the courtyard just in time. The rest of the class was already there, and Professor Weasley was counting heads with her usual tight-bun seriousness.

"Any student who hasn't yet turned eighteen needs to hand me their permission slips," she announced, holding up a clipboard like a weapon.

Oh no. Right. That.

"My permission slip's in my dorm," I muttered to Ruby.

She blinked. "Well... hurry and get it, then."

But something tugged at the back of my mind. A flash of a spell. I'd been reading about summoning magic in an old book tucked behind Hogwarts: A History—stuff they don't teach in class because it's unpredictable. Or frowned upon. Or both.

Still, I was curious. Always am.

I rubbed my chin with the back of my knuckle. Then I pulled out my wand and focused—not too hard, just enough. My wand usually knows what I mean better than I do. I flicked my wrist, held out my palm, and breathed in.

A beat later, the parchment appeared in my hand, folding into itself as it landed. Neat as anything.

Ruby made a sound behind me that was somewhere between impressed and slightly afraid, but I was already stepping forward.

"Here you are," I said, handing the form to Professor Weasley.

She raised an eyebrow. "That was... efficient."

I smiled, pretending I didn't notice the surprise. I'm full of surprises, apparently. I usually didn't go on these things. Lord and Lady Whitmore rarely entertained conversation, and asking for permission always felt like talking to an empty hall. But I'd gotten through this time, and I was excited. I mean, I'd been to Hogsmeade before, of course—but never with everyone. That made it feel different. Like being part of something instead of next to it.

"I'm surprised you're tagging along," Ominis said behind me, a playful note in his voice.

I turned. "Trying to get rid of me already, Gaunt?"

He laughed, the sound soft and short.

Then, I felt it. That slight shift in the air, like pressure changing before a storm. Another figure stepped into view—taller, quieter, and heavier somehow. Not in weight, but in gravity.

Sebastian.

That calm-but-could-destroy-you vibe he had before? It was sharper now. He barely spoke these days. I hadn't heard more than a handful of words from him since he came back. I hoped he was okay, but you can't ask that outright. Not to someone who's been through what he has. Not when he doesn't even look at you.

I could feel the silence between us before I even said anything. But I greeted him anyway, like always.

"Hi, Sebastian."

As expected, no reply. His eyes flicked past me like I was part of the scenery. Cold. Distant. Or maybe just... empty.

I turned to Ominis instead, grounding myself in the safer orbit of his presence.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening closer to my energy than my words. "That little charmed brooch you always wear—where did you get it? The one that vibrates when someone lies?"

I looked down. The charm at my collarbone blinked softly, faint as a firefly. Most people didn't notice it, or thought it was decoration.

"Oh," I said, touching it. "It's not perfect. Sometimes it vibrates when I lie to myself."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Still. I'd like one."

I smiled. "I'll show you. It's not from Hogsmeade exactly, but the shop moves around. Last time I saw it, it was tucked behind Spintwitches, near that crooked alley that always smells like mint and charcoal."

His brow furrowed like he was trying to imagine it. "That's oddly specific."

"Everything worth finding is oddly specific," I said, already walking forward as Professor Weasley called the group to attention. "Come on. Maybe it'll be there today."

He followed without another word, and Sebastian walked behind us like a shadow stitched too tight to the light.

I didn't look back. But I still felt him walking behind us, heavy like a memory you can't shake off.

My mind wandered. I let it. Until it snagged on a single word: Alohomora. Strange word, isn't it? The syllables tumbled awkwardly in my head, like marbles rolling across a floor. "The number of letters in Alohomora is odd," I murmured without meaning to. "It shouldn't be odd. It's meant to unlock balance. Feels wrong."

Ominis blinked, brow furrowing faintly. "What do you mean?"

Heat crept up my neck. "Forget it," I muttered quickly, waving the thought away like it hadn't just consumed me for the last thirty seconds.

He only nodded, mercifully, and then—

"Did you hear the news?" He asked as we passed a field scattered with wildflowers, their heads tilted gently in the breeze.

I crouched without thinking, letting my fingers graze the petals, then leaned in to smell one. It had that soft, green sweetness—like water and sunshine folded together. I always stopped when I felt something call to me. People rush too much. If you're always racing to the end, you miss the middle. And the middle is usually where the beauty is.

I stood again, brushing my hands on my skirt as we kept walking. We were at the far end of the group—Ominis, Sebastian, and me. I liked walking with Ominis. He didn't tug at time like most people did.

"What news?" I asked.

"She-who-rose," he said, his voice hushed like the words might catch the wind and run. "Whispers say she wiped out the Feldcroft region last night. Her forces are growing."

My brow lifted slightly. "What is it with people needing more? Why ruin what already is?"

There was a weight behind my voice I didn't expect. The kind that comes when a thought isn't new—it's just finally found air.

"How many survived?" I asked. I couldn't help scanning the trees like always. A bird's nest caught my eye, tucked in a crooked branch above us. Life still humming along, quietly, as if untouched.

"Nearly half," said Ominis. "But most either got taken... or they joined her."

The air shifted.

I glanced back.

Sebastian hadn't spoken once. His eyes were on the ground, his steps a little slower. Feldcroft. He was from there. I wondered who he'd lost this time.

The silence between us held something heavy and sharp.

Eventually, we reached Hogsmeade, and once Professor Weasley gave her distracted "all clear," the three of us slipped off on our own. I paused, turning toward the hills.

"I've got a feeling he's by the Shrieking Shack today," I said.

Ominis frowned. "The Shrieking Shack? Why would the vendor be all the way up there?"

I gave him a small look. "You know I don't always have answers. Just feelings."

He sighed with theatrical patience. "Right. I keep forgetting that logic packs its bags when you're around."

I grinned. "Well, it's overrated."

We walked. The wind picked up slightly as the shack came into view, and sure enough, the little vendor cart was nestled beside the crooked fence like it had always belonged there.

"Told you," I said, unable to hide the note of smugness in my voice.

We approached. The vendor—an odd little man who always seemed like he might be dreaming—shook his head when I asked about the brooch.

"Sold out," the vendor said. "But if I come across another, I'll let you know."

Ominis nodded, polite as ever, but I could feel his disappointment—it lingered in the air like a quiet hum.

"Here," I said, surprising even myself. "Take mine. I don't really need it."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," I said with a small smile. "You need it more than I do. I can tell when someone's lying—no enchanted brooch required." I added a playful wink, forgetting he couldn't see it. Maybe he could sense it anyway.

"Thank you, Ria. That's... very kind of you," he said, his voice softer than usual.

I placed the brooch gently in his hand, and for a moment, the silence between us felt warm.

I was about to suggest we rejoin the group when something shifted. Not loudly—but like a thread pulling loose in the weave of the world.

A whisper.

My gaze snapped out toward the woods. Then downward.

There, nestled in a patch of moss at my feet, sat a small, speckled toad. He blinked slowly, expectantly. I crouched, letting my fingers hover until he hopped willingly into my hand.

His voice was faint, even in my mind. But it was clear.

Danger down the road. Cages. Smoke. A crying thing with silver eyes.

My brow furrowed.

"He says there are poachers nearby," I said, still listening as the toad—Flower, his name was Flower—told me everything he'd seen. His words weren't exact, more like feelings braided together, but I understood.

I set him gently down on the moss. "Thank you, Flower."

Then I stood. My heartbeat had already shifted into something sharper. Faster.

"Where are you going?" Ominis asked, sensing the change.

"To rescue a Demiguise," I said plainly. "They're rare. I won't let poachers take one."

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

This girl can't even take a normal walk without stumbling into a side quest. / S

Chapter Text

Brothers in Shadow

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold."

- Fall Out Boy

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Neither of them questioned me. I hadn't even thought whether they'd come—just assumed I'd go alone. But they fell into step behind me, silent and steady. That made my lips tug into the faintest smile.

Ominis I expected. Sebastian? I wasn't sure.

The trees thickened around us. My boots pressed into the softened earth as we slipped into the forest, every sound louder here. A twig breaking. Wings flapping far off. My eyes darted, focused. Flower had said down the road, but I worried he'd been mistaken—until I caught it.

Smoke.

"Here," I said quietly, nodding toward the drift curling between the trunks.

As we crept closer, tents came into view—leaning, half-collapsed structures. A cage stood near a fire, and inside it: the Demiguise. His eyes met mine.

Careful, he said to me, clear as day in my mind. They'll feel your magic if you're not quiet.

I crouched behind a rusted carriage with the boys. Ominis steadied himself beside the wheel. Sebastian crouched to my other side, tense but composed.

Two poachers stood near the fire, mid-conversation. Around them wandered Nightbinders.

"Can't believe we caught the damn thing."

"Worth a fortune though. You know how the Black Market is about foresight creatures. This'll pay off the Ashwinder debt."

"Not if Griggs finds out we haven't delivered yet."

They laughed. I didn't.

My gaze drifted—against my will—to their wrists. There it was: the mark. A dragon, inked in black fire, coiled tight as though it might come alive at any second. Every one of them bore it. The brand of Lysandra Vale. A silent oath carved into skin.

I turned back to the Demiguise. "Hold still," I whispered.

With one motion, I slipped my wand free and held my breath. The lock clicked softly. The Demiguise shimmered into invisibility, and I felt his gratitude like a warm gust of wind pass through me as he fled into the trees.

Just as I turned to signal the boys—

"Stop where you are!" one of the Nightbinders barked. Wand already drawn.

My body stiffened. So did the boys. I stood up slowly. Didn't flinch.

"Confringo!" one yelled.

The blast of heat surged toward me—but I caught it mid-air with a flick of my wrist, absorbing the energy and letting it spin around my palm like a mini storm before dissipating in a quiet hum.

Another flash came—this one from behind me. Sebastian stepped forward without hesitation, his stance solid, wand in hand.

"Stay behind me, Ominis," he said.

The way he said it made something in me still. His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It was steady. Commanding. Cold.

Ominis gritted his teeth, already raising his wand to defend. I could tell he hated being protected. But he knew Sebastian wouldn't let him down.

A third curse flew.

This time, I didn't block it.

I unraveled it.

The curse broke apart mid-air—threads of raw magic twisting away like smoke drawn into my chest. I raised both hands now, wand gripped tight in one, and the forest pulsed faintly around me.

I didn't say a word.

The air vibrated. Leaves trembled. The men hesitated.

Then I moved.

No incantations. No flourishes.

Just will.

The earth beneath them cracked, vines exploding from the ground and wrapping fast around their ankles, arms, mouths. One tried to speak—another curse—but his wand turned to ash before he could finish. I twisted my wrist and sent him flying into the side of a tree, where he slumped unconscious.

Another dropped his wand and ran.

A mistake.

I lifted my hand and from the canopy above, a burst of golden spores rained down. He tripped, collapsed coughing, and the vines finished the rest.

Silence returned.

The fire crackled. The Demiguise was long gone.

I exhaled and lowered my arms.

Sebastian stepped up beside me, eyes still on the scene. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was something else beneath it.

"I forget what you can do, sometimes," Sebastian muttered, his voice low.

I glanced at him. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" I asked, brushing a smear of dirt from my sleeve.

He didn't answer.

And that's when it struck me—those were the first words he'd spoken to me directly in two years. Funny how my mind always seemed to latch onto moments like that, quiet details most people would forget.

Ominis caught up to us, face tight. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Ria."

"You'd have to try very hard to do that," I said, smiling softly.

But just when I thought it was over, a sound stopped everything.

It was faint—like a vibration through the soil beneath our feet. A shiver in the air. Then, from the ether, a figure materialized. One moment there was nothing—then she was there. A woman. Motionless in the center of the clearing, where the silence clung to her like fog.

Her cloak was long, pitch-black velvet that shimmered faintly like oil in moonlight. White hair spilled down her back in loose, silver-streaked waves, catching what little light filtered through the forest canopy. Her expression was twisted—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer, something in between, like she already knew the ending to a story we hadn't begun.

Around us, seven men emerged from the trees like shadows given form, their faces half-masked, wands raised in perfect, silent unison. A ring of threat. More Nightbinders.

Instinct took over. I spun and stepped back until I felt Sebastian's shoulder press into mine. Ominis flanked the other side. The three of us stood in a triangle—backs to each other, wands up, breathing steady but shallow.

The woman stepped forward.

"Finally," she said, her voice low and silken, like honey laced with poison.

I arched a brow. "Lysandra Vale," I said.

She laughed—soft, cruel, amused. "I must say," she murmured, dragging a glance over me, "I expected... more."

Then she moved toward one of the men—one I'd immobilized earlier, bound by conjured blackroot veins now withering at his feet. She nudged his chin up with the tip of her boot until his dull eyes met hers. "Thank you for signaling, Gerald," she purred.

With a flick of her wand, the vines dissolved. He collapsed, gasping.

My heart thudded harder.

"Ria. What do we do?" Ominis whispered, barely audible.

Lysandra didn't raise her wand. She didn't need to. Her presence was heavier than any spell—commanding, ancient, inevitable.

I squared my shoulders. "What do you want?"

She tilted her head. "With you? You'll find out soon enough."

Then she chuckled again, something low and strange that curled in the air like mist, and she whispered something I couldn't quite catch—an incantation, or maybe just a curse.

She came closer. No hesitation. Now she stood just inches from me. I didn't flinch.

"When the girl meets the beast," she said, voice slow and deliberate, "flanked by brothers cast in shadow... the flame of fate shall reignite."

My brow furrowed. Cryptic much?

She studied me, head tilted like I was a puzzle she didn't quite believe. "And here I thought you'd at least be a grown woman by now. What's your name, child?"

I stared into her eyes. "Valeria Velkan."

There. Her gaze flickered. Barely. But I caught it.

"Velkan," she repeated slowly, tasting the name like ash on her tongue.

And then—three things happened at once.

A crack of light. A scream of spellfire. The air exploded.

Wands blazed all around us. Spells flew, a storm of color and sound. I moved by instinct—my wand slashing, deflecting curses with near-silent counter-charms. I didn't need words. I didn't need fear. Just focus. Pure, crystalline, wild focus. Magic surged through me like wildfire.

Beside me, Sebastian moved just as fast—precise, brutal, silent. His spells were quick, deadly. I didn't know he could cast like that.

But then—I heard it.

A strangled breath.

I turned just in time to see Ominis get struck by a twisting golden coil. Ropes laced with cursed runes wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms, silencing him.

"Ominis!"

The distraction cost me.

A jet of white-blue light struck my side. My wand flew from my hand, and I slammed hard into the earth. Pain bloomed.

"Valeria!" Sebastian shouted, pivoting toward me. His wand lashed out—one curse, two, three. He cut Ominis loose, deflected a hex meant for me, and reached me just as I tried to rise.

But it was too late.

Another spell came—this one from behind. A flash of red. Binding magic.

I hit the ground again, the breath knocked from my chest. Ropes tightened around my limbs like iron snakes. Beside me, Sebastian cried out and fell too—dragged down mid-cast.

Silence returned like a held breath. Through the dust and blood and spinning stars in my vision, I saw boots. Smooth leather, black as pitch.

Lysandra.

She knelt, slow and deliberate, and pulled her wand. Her voice curled through the chaos, soft and serpentine:

"There, there... Sleep now, Veilborn child."

A whisper laced with power. And then—

Everything turned black. 

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

POV: Harry and Voldemort in another universe? / S

Chapter Text

Reluctant Hero

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Don't get too close, it's dark inside."

- Imagine Dragons

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

"Sebastian, wake up."

A voice, soft and distant, like someone calling me from beneath the surface of water. My head throbbed, heavy and slow, but the voice came again—clearer this time, sharp with panic and something else.

"Sebastian!"

My eyes fluttered open.

Valeria hovered above me, face pale, hair tangled, blood streaking down from a gash on her temple. She was shaking me, her hands trembling. Behind her, Ominis sat rigidly upright, his blind eyes tracking my every twitch like he could hear my confusion crawling out of me.

"Thank Merlin, Sallow," she whispered, her breath breaking with relief. "We thought you were dead."

I forced myself upright, every bone aching against the cold stone floor. Damp. Uneven. My skull throbbed like gravity had shifted sideways, dragging me somewhere I didn't belong.

For a moment I thought I'd been dreaming—half-formed memories clawing at the back of my mind, a whisper of words I shouldn't have spoken. But no... not a dream. The weight of it pressed heavy in my chest.

I swallowed hard, masking the chaos in my head behind a blank stare. Better they didn't see. Better they never knew.

Then I noticed it—along the wall, a shimmer. Not fire. Not torchlight. Magic. Restless and alive, flickering as though it knew something I didn't.

Ominis turned his head toward me. "He's awake?"

"Barely," I muttered, voice dry as ash. "What the hell happened?"

Valeria didn't look at me. Her gaze was locked on the shimmering bars in front of us. "We were abducted."

My stomach sank.

I followed her stare. A cell. Crude iron bars humming faintly with enchantment. The room outside was small—dusty, dim, cluttered with books, trinkets, shelves stacked with things that reeked of dark history.

Valeria pressed a sleeve to her brow, smearing the blood instead of stopping it. Her blouse was streaked with red and dirt. The green Slytherin tie hung loose, her expression unreadable.

I stood, wobbling. She moved to the bars and ran her fingers along them—slow, deliberate, like she was listening to them.

"There's magic in these," she murmured. "Old. Designed to hold us."

I patted myself down. Robes, shirt, nothing. No wand.

"They took them," she said flatly, confirming what I feared.

My thoughts scrambled to catch up, every nerve in my body taut.

"Ria," Ominis said suddenly, his voice steady but sharper than usual.

She stilled. Turned. Her eyes met his, wide, uncertain.

"Why did Lysandra call you Veilborn child?"

He didn't frame it like a question. It landed like a verdict.

For a heartbeat, no one breathed.

Valeria blinked slowly, her voice thin. "I don't know."

The silence that followed was unbearable—dense with all the things we weren't saying. That word. Veilborn. It wasn't just myth, not some forgotten bedtime story whispered in old families. It was something heavier. A prophecy. A curse.

The air pressed down, full of unspoken questions, but none of us dared to voice the one we all thought:

Why her?

I swallowed hard, forcing down the thoughts clawing their way up. For now, silence was the only choice I had.

"How long do you think we've been gone?" Ominis asked after a moment, his voice gravel-soft.

"No way to know," Valeria murmured. "Not without my wand. Not without the stars."

Ominis sat down heavily, rubbing his temples. I could see bruises on his wrists, around his throat. Rope burns. Whoever took us, they hadn't been gentle.

I didn't have to look in a mirror to know I looked just as wrecked. My hands were scraped. Something was wrong with my ribs—breathing felt sharp. And my chest—

My chest was tight. Locked. The walls pressed too close. It was happening again.

Not again.

Not another cell.

I clenched my fists. Looked away.

I wasn't a child anymore.

But it felt the same. The silence settled back in, heavy as stone.

I heard them before I saw them—voices, low and echoing, like predators speaking just out of reach.

"Did she tell you what to do with them?" one male voice asked, hushed but confident.

"Only to signal once they're awake," said another, closer.

Footsteps. Getting louder. Coming down the stairs.

Valeria moved first. "Quick—pretend to be knocked out."

Smart. Instinctively smart. We followed without question, dropping like corpses back onto the cold stone floor. My limbs screamed in protest, but I stilled them. Eyes half-lidded. Breath shallow.

The cell fell into silence just as the footsteps stopped inches from the bars.

"Still knocked out," one of the men muttered.

I fought the urge to blink.

"And the girl? Do you suppose she's the one?"

My pulse spiked. They were talking about Valeria.

"The description fits. And she seemed quite sure. I'd never question her."

Lysandra. Always so sure.

The other man made a low sound in his throat. A hum. "What's she gonna do with her once she's awake?"

"Why so curious?"

"No reason."

A pause.

"She mentioned something... about the missing keys. That only the Veilborn could find them."

Veilborn.

I focused every cell in my body on staying still, even as my mind spun.

"The keys?" the second man asked, his voice sharper now, like he'd been waiting to hear that.

"The ones she's been chasing. Supposedly connected to the houses. And apparently, only an heir can find them."

Connected to the Houses... Heir?

It felt like the temperature in the dungeon dropped a few degrees.

"And what about the boys?"

I held my breath.

"I suppose she'll kill them. Or... recruit them."

Then—

BANG.

A sharp, distant crash. Not close enough to be a threat, but loud enough to rattle nerves.

"Shit," one of the men hissed.

"Let's go. They're still asleep. We'll watch from above when they stir."

Their boots scraped the stairs as they retreated, voices fading into the ceiling above. I waited—ten seconds, twenty—then cracked open my eyes.

Gone.

One by one, we sat up.

"Well," Ominis said dryly, brushing dust off his shoulder. "That was interesting."

Valeria didn't speak at first. She looked haunted—staring blankly at the bars like she could still hear the echo of that name in them. Veilborn.

"What do you suppose they meant about the keys?" she finally asked.

"No idea," Ominis said, stretching stiffly, "but if Lysandra Vale wants them, they must be important."

I leaned back against the wall, jaw clenched. "If by important you mean the key to ending the world as we know it—then yes."

Valeria didn't respond. She was somewhere else again. Locked behind her eyes.

And so we fell into silence once more.

"Wait," Valeria said, sharply. She froze like she'd just stepped on something that wasn't quite right.

Ominis turned to her. "What?"

"I hear something."

Ominis and I both went silent. I strained my ears, trying to catch whatever she was sensing—but nothing. Just the soft drip of water in the dungeon and the low creak of stone.

"I don't hear anything," Ominis muttered.

But she stood up anyway, walking with quiet urgency toward the bars. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was trying to focus on a frequency just beyond human range. Then, softly:

"Oswald?"

Ominis and I shared a confused look.

And then—out of nowhere—he appeared.

A shimmer in the air, a pulse of magic, and suddenly, a demiguise stood just outside the cell. Long, wide eyes blinking at us, arms cradling something.

Three wands.

My wand.

"You're an angel, Oswald," Valeria whispered, stepping forward. There was a reverence in her tone that made me pay attention. She accepted the wands from the creature gently, like they were relics.

She handed mine to me, and Ominis's to him. I felt the familiar weight of mine settle into my palm like an extension of my soul. Relief flooded through me.

But Valeria didn't turn away.

She was... talking to him.

Not in words. The demiguise made strange, soft noises—grunts, clicks, gestures with its long fingers. And she was actually understanding him. Her face twisted in confusion, then deepened into something else—shock.

"You're serious?" she said to him, voice low.

I frowned. "What's he saying?"

"Wait," she snapped, not looking at me. "I'm trying to listen."

Right. Fine. I shut up—but not without bristling. She was focused entirely on the demiguise now, nodding slowly as if putting pieces together none of us could even see.

Then she swallowed. I could see her throat tighten. "Thank you, Oswald," she said, and just like that—he was gone. Vanished in a blink.

She turned to us, face unreadable. "I'll have to explain later. We need to get out of here."

Her wand came up. She clenched it so tightly her knuckles went white. She closed her eyes—and with a short flick and a whisper under her breath, the cage's lock clicked open.

Just like that.

We slipped out silently, all of us on edge. I kept my wand raised, my eyes darting to every shadow. Then Valeria halted, spinning on her heel in front of us.

I tensed.

She looked us both up and down—assessing. Calculating.

Then she raised her wand at us.

My heart kicked hard against my ribs. "Valeria—"

But she didn't attack. She mouthed something—too quick for me to catch—and suddenly everything shifted. A shimmer of air, like sunlight on water, and I couldn't see her properly anymore.

Or Ominis.

And then I realized—I couldn't see me, either.

A disillusionment charm.

Perfectly cast.

I blinked. "Okay... that's new."

"Follow me," she whispered.

That tone—sharp, focused, commanding. No argument allowed.

Ominis and I followed without hesitation. Two boys trailing after a girl cloaked in secrets and moonlight.

She slipped up the stairs first—silent as a cat—and I followed with Ominis close behind. My heartbeat was a steady drum, not out of fear exactly, but that gnawing feeling that this was a mistake. That if I got involved, it'd end the way everything does when I try to help: in ruin.

The room we entered was bigger than I expected, lit by floating lanterns that cast long, flickering shadows. People bustled about, carrying crates, scribbling furiously with quills on long rolls of parchment. I had no idea what they were planning—and Merlin help me, I didn't want to know.

"Over there," Valeria's voice was soft but certain, and when I glanced back, her finger pointed toward a door across the room. A possible way out. We crept behind a stack of wooden boxes, moving slow, silent, like prey in a wolf's den. The exit was within reach when—

"Don't tell me they're still unconscious."

That voice froze me in place. A voice I'd hoped not to hear again so soon. Lysandra Vale.

We crouched lower, hearts hammering as shadows moved ahead of us.

"I told you to keep them out for a few hours, not three days!" Her tone cracked like a whip.

Three days? What the hell—

"We tried everything, Madam," one of the men stammered. "Draught of Awakening, Reviving Charms—nothing's worked."

"Well, try again!" she snapped. Her voice was fire and poison all at once. "I'm not wasting precious time. The keys must be found. I have the magic, the box, the vessel that binds them—but without the keys..." A sharp exhale. "I didn't dedicate my entire life to finishing what Vincent started, only to be delayed by some little girl and her pathetic friends."

The words hit like a hex. Vincent? 

The men scrambled off at her command, leaving Lysandra standing like a storm about to break. Valeria's voice cut through the tension in a whisper:

"Crap. Time to go."

We didn't argue. Somehow, by a miracle, we slipped through the door and out of that cursed tent. It was one of those enchanted ones—looked small from the outside, inside it was a fortress. No wonder the Aurors couldn't find her. Clever witch.

"Did she say three days? Three bloody days?!" Ominis burst out once we were far enough from the camp to breathe.

My head spun. Three days gone. What had happened while we were rotting on that stone floor?

"Someone's bound to have noticed," Valeria muttered, brushing stray hair from her face. She looked... pale. Worn. But determined. Always determined.

"We have to tell someone what happened," Ominis said firmly.

"No!" The word tore out of her like a whipcrack. Both of us stopped dead.

"And why the hell not?" Ominis pressed.

She hesitated. Her voice softened, but it held steel underneath. "Because... I just have a feeling we weren't meant to hear that. And let's be honest—do you really think anyone would believe us?" Her eyes flicked between us, sharp and knowing.

And she wasn't wrong. The school oddity, the ex-Azkaban convict, and the Gaunt heir? Yeah, real trustworthy trio we made.

But I could tell it wasn't just that. Something else weighed on her. Something heavier.

"You're worried," I said before I could stop myself. "Worried Lysandra's right. That the prophecy's about you."

Valeria froze, throat bobbing as she swallowed. Her voice was calm, too calm: "We can't rule it out."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Veilborn. The word alone made my skin crawl. A myth. A savior. And if Lysandra thought Valeria was the one...

I clenched my jaw. I didn't sign up for this. This wasn't my fight. I wasn't a hero—hell, I'd tried to save one person, and that ended in death, Azkaban, and blood on my hands. This? This was bigger. Dangerous in ways I couldn't even picture. And if I touched it, I'd ruin it. Like I ruin everything. Best keep to my word.

"So what do we do?" Ominis asked, ever the voice of bloody reason.

"We..." Valeria started walking again, slow but steady, and we fell in behind her like planets orbiting a star. "We find out what we can. All we know is Lysandra's searching for keys, linked to the Hogwarts houses. And only one person can find them. For some reason, they think it's me."

She sounded so matter-of-fact, like she wasn't walking with a target on her back the size of the castle itself.

"Do either of you know the prophecy by heart?" Ominis asked.

"No," Valeria said, frustrated. I shook my head too.

"Then maybe that's where we start."

"And where do we find it?" she asked.

"Ministry, maybe. They keep prophecies in the Department of Mysteries," Ominis said.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Or the Hogwarts archives," I added quickly. "Depends where it originated. When Lysandra first raised her army," I went on, catching the flicker of surprise in both their eyes, "it's said one of the greatest wizards alive foresaw the prophecy."

As if I could stay out of it anyway.

Valeria turned, eyes catching mine. "Do you know who?"

"No." I hated how flat it sounded.

"Then we find out," she said, voice sharp with resolve. "Bagshot might know. Bathilda's a walking library these days."

"Or Flamel," I muttered. "He's been alive since the fourteenth century."

Her lips curved faintly. "That's... actually not a bad idea."

Before I could even process the warmth of her smile, Ominis cut in, deadpan. "Sebastian? With an idea? Brilliant. I'll fetch the fire extinguisher."

I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Typical. Merlin knew why I'd even opened my mouth—I had no business adding to this.

We walked on, piecing scraps of half-truths into something resembling a plan.

"Whatever those keys unlock," Valeria said, glancing toward the treeline like the wind itself was whispering secrets, "it matters. Enough that Lysandra would kill for them. And she doesn't know that we know."

Then she stopped, turning to us with a spark in her eyes that was equal parts madness and courage. "So... who's up for an adventure?"

Ominis hesitated, lips pressed in thought, then sighed. "Alright."

Her gaze slid to me. "Sebastian?"

Every instinct screamed no. No, no, and Merlin's bloody balls, no.

I wasn't doing this. Not again. Not after everything. Because I knew what happened when I got involved—blood. Always blood. Every time I touched something, it broke. Every time I tried to save someone, they bled for it.

But then I remembered my word. 

Ominis was watching me with that quiet weight that always saw too much. And Valeria—she stood there like she'd march into hellfire alone if no one followed.

And I hated myself for it. For the way I already knew what I'd choose.

Damn it all.

"Fine."

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Party of three has entered the chat. / S

Chapter Text

The Alchemist's Trail

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I've got fire for a heart, I'm not scared of the dark."

-  One Direction

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I shot upright, breath ripping from my lungs in a ragged scream I barely recognized as my own. My chest heaved, nails digging into my palms as I clawed for reality—this reality, not the other one.

Darkness pressed in, heavy and suffocating, yet the room felt too bright compared to where I'd just been. My pulse thudded against my throat like it was trying to escape.

Shit.

"Val?" Lola's voice cut through the fog, fragile but steady.

"Merlin's sake, Ria—again?" Bia groaned, her voice thick with sleep. "You alright, or are you just trying to keep us all up for fun?"

Typical Bia. Sharp edges first, care tucked in behind them where no one would look too closely. Still—it counted.

Their concern pressed warm against me, grounding and undeserved all at once. Guilt curled sharp in my chest. My nightmares weren't theirs to bear, yet here I was, dragging them through the wreckage of my mind.

"I'm fine," I lied softly, voice hoarse, thick with the tears I refused to let fall. "Just a nightmare."

"Want me to come lie with you?" Ruby's voice drifted from across the room—gentle, hopeful.

My heart squeezed. No. If you hold me, I'll break. And if I break, I might not stop.

"No thanks, Ruby. I'm fine." I tried for lightness, but the words felt like ash.

Silence stretched, the kind that feels like walking on glass barefoot. Eventually, the beds creaked as they settled back into slumber, trusting me to tell the truth. Trusting me. If only they knew.

I stared into the dark for a long time, listening to their even breaths, and the weight of it pressed in again. Sleep was gone—burned away by adrenaline and ghosts. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet meeting the cool stone floor with a small shiver. My skin still prickled, like something unseen had followed me back.

The window called to me like it always did after nights like these. I padded across the room, slow and careful, and sank onto the wide ledge, hugging my knees to my chest. The moon hung heavy and perfect outside, silver bleeding across the glass, washing me in a light that almost felt holy. I cracked the window open and let the night air curl around me, cool and damp, soft fingers against overheated skin.

I reached for my oldest friend—Beneath the Moonlight. Its pages were worn, the spine frayed from the countless times I'd returned to it. A knight and a princess, doomed and devoted. I knew every line, every stolen glance, but it still made my heart ache in that sweet, sharp way that almost feels like living.

The nightmare still pulsed faintly behind my eyes, but the story dulled its claws. Words are good like that—tiny anchors in a sea determined to swallow you.

I've always loved how words can reveal so much about a person—and how effortlessly they can pull you under, binding you to a story with nothing more than ink on a page. Just a handful of chosen words, and suddenly, you're somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere between the knight's oath and the princess's secret, the night began to dissolve. Moonlight faded into dawn, brushing gold across the floor. It wasn't until the sun's glare slapped the page that I blinked and realized—oh no.

Panic spiked. Lola would scold me to hell and back about the importance of proper sleep, and frankly, she'd be right. I shoved the book aside, dove under the covers, and squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe, just maybe, if I stayed very, very still, I could fool her—and myself—into believing I'd slept like a perfectly normal girl who didn't wake the dead with her screams at night.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

Thankfully, I hadn't been caught earlier—and if I had, I'd done a damn good job pretending to wake like everyone else. Now, in Potions, I sat staring blankly at the parchment in front of me, Sharp's voice a distant hum. Precision, accuracy, ruin the whole batch if you so much as sneeze wrong. Yes, yes, I'd read all of this last year for fun.

Suddenly, Professor Sharp's voice cut through the chatter. "Miss Deveraux, Miss Sterling, Miss Castelle—anything you'd care to share with the class?"

I snapped my head up to see Bia, Alora, and Rania snickering like schoolchildren over some private joke. Of course, the moment his voice cut through the air, their laughter died sharp, as if they'd never made a sound.

"No, Professor," Bia drawled, half-rolling her eyes. Alora mirrored her energy, the pair of them perfectly in sync.

For Gryffindors, Alora and Rania had an uncanny talent for stirring trouble wherever they went. I didn't know Rania all that well — only that she was a prefect. Alora, though... she was softer on the inside than she liked to admit. Boys bored her — in fact, she claimed they were "slugs that ought to be stepped on" — and she never missed a chance to say it aloud. Different from Bia in every way, yet the two still managed to orbit the same circle of popularity.

I never minded Alora much. Ever since I'd won my first Crossed Wands duel back in fifth year, she'd given me a kind of respect that she rarely showed others. Not friendship exactly — we didn't spend time together — but a nod, an unspoken recognition. Alora respected winners, no matter the house. She'd held her own record since first year, after all.

And in her world, that meant something.

My eyes drifted down the page anyway, pretending to care while my brain wandered. Last night hadn't helped. Lack of sleep was an invisible weight pressing against the inside of my skull, making me restless in all the wrong ways.

By the time I blinked myself back into the present, everyone else was already moving—chairs scraping back, students rushing to the supply shelves. Great. Practice time.

I stood, muttering something under my breath, and dragged my tired legs toward the ingredients. Ashwinder eggs. Easy enough. Except—of course—they were on the top shelf. Someone really had it out for people under seven feet.

I stretched on my toes, reaching as high as I could, fingers brushing against the cold glass of the jar. Almost there. Just a little—

And then I felt it. A warmth that wasn't mine. Skin, brushing against my fingertips.

I froze.

Before my brain could process anything, I stumbled back—one foot landing wrong. My stomach lurched as the floor tilted away from me, but then—

An arm. Strong, firm, sliding around my waist in one quick, effortless motion, pulling me upright. My breath hitched as I looked up, and there he was.

Sebastian Sallow.

Every ounce of air left my lungs like someone had siphoned it out. His face was closer than I'd ever seen it, close enough to trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scars marring his skin like secrets he'd never tell. His eyes—God, his eyes—dark and steady, locked on mine like he was trying to read me. And winning.

It couldn't have lasted more than two seconds, but it felt like an eternity lodged in my throat.

Then he moved—smooth, deliberate—and in his other hand, the hand not currently keeping me upright like some infuriatingly calm hero, was the jar. The damn eggs.

My brain scrambled to reboot as he released me, slow, controlled. I stepped back like his touch might burn through my robes if I lingered, my pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the clatter of cauldrons.

"T-thanks," I managed, and wow, that was pathetic. Absolutely stellar delivery, Valeria.

He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. Sebastian never wasted words when a silence could do the job better. He just handed me the jar with a flick of his wrist, something unreadable in his gaze, and then turned away—grabbing his own ingredients like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just sent my nervous system into an unplanned riot.

What just happened?

I stared at his back for half a heartbeat too long, then clutched the eggs to my chest and forced myself toward my station. Breathe in. Breathe out. It was just... shock. Surprise.

The next hour in Potions was a blur of clinking glass and curling steam. My hands moved on autopilot, grinding, pouring, stirring clockwise, then counter. I finished first, like always, but today it wasn't because of ambition. It was because I was in a hurry—a very specific kind of hurry that made my pulse throb against my collar.

I'd promised Ominis—and yes, Sebastian too—that we'd meet in the library tonight. To dig. To learn something. Anything. About this whole mess we'd stumbled into.

By the time the last class ended, my mind felt like a tangled skein of yarn. I'd decided—firmly, absolutely—not to think about what happened earlier with Sebastian. Not his hand at my waist, not the heat of it, not the way time folded in on itself like a badly cast spell. Definitely not the way my pulse had betrayed me. No. That was locked in a mental drawer, sealed and buried in the back of my mind where embarrassing thoughts go to die.

I wasn't even sure I'd forgiven him for... well, for everything. For fifth year. For the wreckage he left behind in me and Ominis both. So why on earth my body behaved like that when he was near? No idea. Must've been low blood sugar. Or shock.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

I opened the library doors with a deep breath that felt more like a bracing charm, and there they were: Ominis and Sebastian, already moving through the towering shelves. Ominis' white-blond head tilted toward the sound of fluttering pages. Sebastian's broad back, dark and still, as his fingers traced spines with methodical slowness.

"Hey, boys," I called softly.

Ominis' head lifted. "Hi, Ria." His voice was a balm, smooth and warm like a hearth fire. Sebastian didn't say a word. Of course he didn't. Ever the gentleman. Was it physically painful for him to converse? A tragic curse of silence, maybe? No, Valeria. Don't spiral.

"Find anything useful?" I asked, pretending my stomach wasn't doing odd acrobatics.

"No," Ominis sighed. "I'm not even sure we know where to look."

Neither was I, honestly. My thoughts scrambled like loose parchment in a gale. We didn't know where to look. We didn't even know what exactly we were hoping to find—beyond the prophecy. That had to be step one. Understand the words, the origins. Maybe then the rest would make sense.

"I have a plan," I blurted, even though what I had barely qualified as a thought, let alone a plan.

"Oh, brilliant," Ominis deadpanned. "Because I was about to call it quits."

I led them deeper into the library, away from prying eyes, until the hush pressed like velvet around us. "We need to find any trace of Nicolas Flamel. If we can reach him, maybe he can tell us more about the prophecy."

Sebastian glanced at me then—just a flicker, a glance like a shadow cast by firelight—but it felt like being brushed by a storm wind.

"And where exactly do you think we'll find him?" Ominis asked.

"Something about him must be here. Or nowhere." I forced steel into my voice. "If not, maybe a professor..."

"And you think they won't want to know why we're asking?" Sebastian's voice cut clean through the space between us, dark and edged.

I swallowed, heat prickling my neck. "Maybe. Let's just... start with the books." Keep moving, keep control. "There's always a way." I had to believe that. Magic had rules. Rules could be bent.

Four hours later, the library was a ghost of itself. Moonlight spilled silver across the tables, pooling over mountains of useless books. Our wands cast lazy orbits of light as we skimmed, searched, failed.

Sebastian had given up hours ago. Of course he had. He sat near the arched window, the night pressing against his silhouette like ink. A knife glinted in his hand, flashing silver as he dragged the tip in slow, deliberate lines over the wood. Over and over.

I told myself to look away. I didn't. His brow was furrowed, his mouth a hard line, his focus absolute—like the rest of the world was ash and only that piece of wood mattered. I swallowed hard, my pulse a staccato drum.

"It calms him down," Ominis murmured, voice pitched low, like a secret passed in the dark.

My head snapped toward him. "Hm?" Too fast. Too guilty.

"I think he used to write on the walls... in there," Ominis said gently. "He does the same on the bed boards."

Something in my chest cinched tight. Breath harder to catch, for reasons I didn't want to examine. Intimidation? Maybe. But if I scraped down to the bone truth—no. It wasn't fear. It was... fascination. Curiosity curling like smoke. What had changed him? What had they carved out and left behind in its place?

A wild thought surged—walk over. Ask. Say something. But my legs refused. My tongue locked. So I did the only thing I could: snapped my gaze back to the useless book in front of me and pretended the pounding in my chest was just exhaustion.

The quiet had grown so thick it was almost a sound. Just the occasional sigh from Ominis, the lazy scrape of Sebastian's knife, and the maddening tick tick tick of my own brain eating itself alive.

Then—rustle. The sound of glossy paper tearing. I glanced up to see Ominis fishing out yet another Chocolate Frog from a crumpled box, his long fingers brushing foil. He bit into it delicately, like someone who knows he's eating something ridiculous but does it anyway.

And then—oh. 

Oh. 

My thoughts slammed together like colliding broomsticks. "Ominis," I blurted, probably too loud for a library. "You're a genius!"

He froze mid-chew, head tilting, lips parting around half-melted chocolate. "...Hm?" he managed, looking utterly lost, crumbs of frog clinging to his mouth.

I didn't answer him. Instead, I lunged for one of the discarded wrappers and smoothed it out on the table, my heart thudding like it had just remembered it had a purpose. It wasn't this specific card, but that didn't matter—it was the idea. "Doesn't one of these—" I shook the wrapper at him, as if that would jog his memory—"state that Nicolas Flamel lives in Paris? With his wife?"

Ominis blinked, then nodded slowly, like someone sorting through foggy recollections. "You're right. I've read that before."

Before I could revel in my brilliance, Sebastian's voice cut in, rich and low. "What's going on?"

I looked up and—of course—he'd wandered closer, silent as a cat. Now he was dropping into the chair beside me, his presence dragging all the air with it. My pulse misfired. Why did sitting down have to look so... deliberate when he did it?

"Flamel lives in Paris," I said, maybe a little too fast, like if I didn't keep talking I'd start thinking about things that had nothing to do with prophecies or brilliant revelations. "We know where he is."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he said slowly. "But Paris isn't exactly... small. Do you plan to knock on every door?"

I opened my mouth—and then it hit me like lightning through my veins. Oh. Oh, this is good. "Vestigia Vitae," I whispered, almost reverently.

The boys stared. Ominis frowned faintly. Sebastian looked like I'd just spoken Parseltongue. I sat up straighter, heat rising in my chest. "It's an alchemical locator charm," I explained, my words tumbling over each other. "If we can find something Flamel made—anything that carries his magical imprint—we can trace it. Straight to him. No wandering the streets of Paris. No blind guessing."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sebastian's mouth curved—just barely—but it was enough to look like approval. "Brilliant," he said, in that low, velvety tone that could make a girl rethink all her life choices.

"All we have to do now," I said, snapping the wrapper between my fingers, "is find something he created. Which, honestly, shouldn't be that hard. The man's basically a magical celebrity."

"Right," Ominis said drily. "And where, exactly, do you propose we find such an object?"

I hesitated for half a second, then felt the wicked little spark of an idea catch fire. "The Headmaster's office."

Dead silence. Two sets of eyes—well, one pair of eyes and one deeply disapproving face—turned toward me.

"Oh sure," Ominis said flatly. "Because breaking into the most heavily warded room in the castle will be a delightful evening stroll."

"Leave that to me." I grinned, the plan already writing itself across my mind in glittering ink. For the first time in hours, maybe days, I felt alive again.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Waist caught, brain rot, Paris hot. / S

Chapter Text

Vestigia Vitae

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after."

- Adam Lambert

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Valeria Velkan might just be the brightest witch I've ever met—and I'm not saying that lightly. Her mind works like it's been collecting wisdom for centuries. Except, unlike every genius I've ever read about, she's... gentle. Kind. Which doesn't make any sense. If I had her brains, the world would probably be in ruins by now—not because I wanted to destroy it, but because I always seem to break everything I touch.

And honestly, it never made sense to me. A pure-hearted Slytherin? That wasn't supposed to exist. Sure, there were exceptions—Ominis, for one—but Valeria? She didn't fit the mold. Not even close. I still remember the Sorting—how the Hat went silent for once, humming and stalling like it had no idea what to do with her. Minutes passed. Long enough for people to start whispering. In the end, I swear it just rolled the dice and called out Slytherin. Because where else do you put someone who seems to belong everywhere and nowhere at once?

I watched her now as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder with that infuriating confidence of hers. A week had passed since that night in the library when she told us to "leave things to her." Of course, I'd been skeptical—when am I not? But then she waltzed into the common room days later with a smug little smile and a letter in hand. A letter from Nicolas Flamel to Headmaster Black. And now, here we were, apparently on our way to Paris.

Brilliant. Paris. As if being surrounded by people whispering about the Azkaban escapee at Hogwarts wasn't enough, now I'd get to deal with a whole new country full of judgmental stares. Magical Europe was small. News traveled fast. And people love a good dark wizard headline.

"Okay, so you have to say it very carefully," Valeria said, handing Ominis a pinch of powder like he'd never traveled by Floo in his life.

"This isn't my first time traveling via Floo, Ria," he replied dryly.

I smirked despite myself at the disappointed little frown tugging at her lips. Merlin, she hated being unnecessary.

"Yes, well, forgive me for being cautious. I don't want to spend the rest of my day hunting you two idiots across a country I've never even been to," she said briskly, shoving some Floo powder into my hand without so much as glancing at me.

Always looking everywhere but at me. Maybe she thought I'd bite.

"We'll go to London, King's Cross Station. From there, we take a train to Paris," she explained.

"Some plan," I muttered. Didn't even know why I said it. I'd agreed to this madness. And I'd keep my word. Maybe it was the way her presence kept clawing at my brain, making everything heavier. Harder to think. Like that day in Potions when she couldn't reach the Ashwinder eggs. I'd told myself to stay put, to let her struggle. But no, I had to step in. And of course, she had to stumble like a newborn calf, forcing me to catch her. My arm around her waist—it had been a mistake. A short, sharp jolt of something I didn't want to name.

I shoved the thought down where it belonged—buried deep. She should've learned by now: playing with fire gets you burned.

Valeria's voice snapped me back. "And what was your brilliant idea then? Apparition? We can't do that, can we? You're the only one of us who's turned eighteen, and unless you've been granted some special exception—oh, and how about a Portkey? Do you just happen to have one in your pocket? Maybe labeled 'Paris'? Or perhaps—"

"I get it," I cut her off, her voice pounding in my skull like a bloody hammer. She was impossible. Maddening. 

"Wonderful. So let's go."

She stepped into the fire with that commanding tone that made people follow without thinking. Not me, of course. Well... not willingly.

"King's Cross Station!" she called, and in a blur of green flames, she was gone.

Ominis followed, quiet as ever. Lucky bastard—no inner chaos rattling him senseless.

I dragged in a breath, feeling the heat of the Floo on my skin. My stomach clenched—not from fear, just... whatever this whole mess was turning into.

Then I stepped in after them.

King's Cross was always... something. A mix of nostalgia and something sour clawing at the back of my throat. It smelled the same—coal, oil, and the faint trace of old newspapers. Too many memories of goodbyes and promises we never kept.

It didn't take long for Valeria to figure everything out—what train, where, how. She always did. She had this irritating knack for making complicated things seem obvious, like the universe had handed her the answers in advance.

Before I knew it, we were seated on a crowded train, surrounded by Muggles chattering away in their strange rhythm. Two hours passed in a blur of steel and smoke. I didn't say a word. Didn't want to. My hand stayed on my wand the entire time, tucked beneath my robes, just in case.

I stared out the window, watching the countryside peel away into something foreign. Meanwhile, Valeria and Ominis murmured about everything and nothing like this was some leisurely trip to Hogsmeade. I didn't bother joining in. Let them talk. Someone had to keep watch.

The train screeched to a halt at last. I stood first, scanning the platform like my life depended on it. Ordinary town. High stone buildings. Narrow streets crawling with carriages and horses. Similar to London in all the worst ways. I'd been to Paris a few times as a kid. Father loved France. Being back stirred... odd thoughts.

Valeria didn't look worried. She walked with that damned confidence of hers, ducking into a narrow alley before anyone could notice. Back against the hard brick wall, wand in hand. Ominis and I stood before her, waiting.

Waiting for her to speak—because, of course, she would. The real challenge with Valeria Velkan wasn't getting her to talk. It was figuring out how to make her shut up.

She pulled the letter from her coat, the parchment already worn from how many times she'd read it. Her lips moved around the incantation with a precision that made my jaw clench for reasons I didn't want to name.

"Vestigia Vitae," she whispered.

The wand-tip flared gold—just for a moment—before the light bled out in thin threads, spilling across the page like veins. Then the magic surged outward, snapping through the alley in ghostly tendrils of bronze and white. They slithered through the air, seeking something unseen, something tied to him.

The letter lifted from her hand as though caught in a wind only the spell could summon. The air tasted sharp—like ozone and old secrets—and my skin prickled under my robes. Slowly, the parchment spun, aligning with the direction of the pull.

A single shimmering line stretched from the letter's edge, glowing faintly in the dusky alleyway. It pulsed—once, twice—like a heartbeat. Then it darted forward, carving a glowing path through the air that vanished around the corner.

"Follow it," Valeria breathed, her eyes catching the golden shimmer. There was something in her voice—thrill, urgency, maybe both.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, sensing the magic. "How far does this... trail lead?"

"Hopefully just a few blocks," she murmured. Her confidence was maddening, but Merlin help me, it was contagious.

I didn't speak. Just adjusted the grip on my wand and stepped forward into the fading light, chasing after that phantom thread.

We walked in silence for what felt like forever until we hit a dead end—a brick wall. Wonderful. Just what I needed.

"It says we must continue here," Valeria said, pointing her wand toward the wall like that would somehow make it less solid.

"Brilliant," I muttered under my breath. A brick wall. In Paris. Of course.

Ominis stepped forward, his hand sweeping over the cold surface. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "The spell is correct. This is where the trail ends... or starts. Anyone have any experience with walking through walls?"

I almost laughed. "Other than platform nine and three-quarters? Not really."

Valeria pressed her lips together, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It was a habit of hers when she was thinking, and Merlin, did she overthink everything. I found myself watching her for longer than necessary, half curious if she would actually figure this one out. And, of course, she did.

"Revelio," she whispered, raising her wand.

To my surprise, four of the bricks began to glow faintly. Huh.

She shot us a look, the tiniest smirk curling her lips. "Sometimes the answer is easier than you think." Clever as hell. I hated that I hadn't thought of it first.

One by one, she tapped the glowing bricks, and the wall began to shift, groaning as the stones rearranged themselves into an archway.

We stepped through, and I couldn't help letting out a small breath I hadn't realized I was holding. On the other side, the alley was alive with magic. Shops lined the streets, lanterns floated in mid-air, and witches and wizards were darting around, laughing, talking, testing little charms. It wasn't Diagon Alley, but it had that same untamed kind of warmth that made me feel... almost at home.

"Great," Valeria said, already walking ahead like she owned the place. "All we have to do is keep following the trail. Flamel has to live somewhere around here."

I glanced around, taking in the chaos and color. Safe. Harmless. Almost comforting.

Until everything changed.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Sorry for the cliffhanger. / S

Chapter Text

The Chase

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking maybe six feet ain't so far down."

- Creed

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

It started with a scream. Far away, muffled, almost too faint to register—but my body heard it before my mind did. My shoulders locked, breath catching in my throat, a cold shiver crawling up my spine.

"What is it?" Valeria's voice cut through the noise. She always noticed when my attention shifted—like she had a radar for the things I didn't want her to see.

But I didn't have time to answer.

A flash of green light—too close. A spell hissed past my shoulder, the heat of it searing my sleeve. I grabbed Ominis's arm, my other hand latching onto Valeria's wrist. "Run!" I barked, yanking them both into a run.

Behind us, I saw them. Cloaked figures, their wands raised, gliding through the street like they'd been waiting for us. Thirty? Maybe more. I didn't bother counting.

Shit.

The world turned inside out in a heartbeat.

What had been calm—street chatter, the laughter of children, the clinking of shop doors—fractured like glass. Screams pierced the air. Spells cracked like thunder, sizzling past us, hitting stone walls with the hiss of molten metal. Windows shattered, glass raining down like deadly confetti. Horses whinnied and bolted, carriages tipped over in the street, and the crowd of witches and wizards scattered like leaves in the wind.

My boots slammed against the cobblestones, each step jarring up my legs, pounding in sync with my pulse. I yanked Ominis forward with one hand, refusing to let him stumble. His breath came ragged and quick, his blind eyes wide with confusion. Behind me, Valeria's footsteps slapped against the ground, quick and sharp, her breath a staccato rhythm—but not frantic enough. She wasn't running like she understood how close we were to dying.

A flash of red cut through the air. I ducked instinctively, feeling the heat of the curse as it singed past my ear. Valeria's reflexes were faster—she spun, her wand slicing through the air, deflecting the curse in a perfect arc that lit up her pale hair for a heartbeat.

But then—she stopped.

I didn't notice until the sound of her boots vanished from behind me. I whipped around, skidding hard on the stones, almost losing my footing.

"Valeria!" I roared, my voice breaking through the chaos.

She stood her ground, wand drawn, every line of her body tense. A lone figure staring down a wall of dark wizards, cloaks flaring, wands raised. Brave? No. Suicidal. Reckless in the way only she could be, like her own survival was a secondary concern.

"Are you out of your mind?" I shouted, sprinting back toward her. Her eyes snapped to mine just as I reached her, and I grabbed her arm—harder than I should have, enough to make her flinch.

"Hey—!" she started, indignant, but I cut her off, my voice sharp and raw.

"Did you think you could take on all of them alone? Run!"

The word tore out of me like a command, like I wasn't asking. Maybe it was fear talking. Maybe it was rage. But she didn't argue this time.

We ran.

The sound of our breath filled my head, ragged and uneven, broken by the pounding of our boots and the constant hiss of spells flying past. My skull felt muffled, like the world had narrowed down to a tunnel—just the alley ahead of me, just the rhythm of my breathing, just don't stop.

We swerved past a burning cart, ducked under a low awning as a curse tore it apart behind us. Sparks flew, burning holes through the fabric of my robes. I shoved Ominis left, barely catching him before he smacked into a barrel. "Right! There's a corner!" I shouted, but I couldn't even hear my own voice over the chaos.

Another blast hit the stones beside me, the shockwave rattling my teeth. Valeria spun mid-run, her wand flashing as she cast a shield, blocking a spell that would've torn through my back. I felt the force of it hit the barrier and shatter like glass, the crack echoing in my ears.

We turned sharply into a narrow street, my shoulder brushing hard against a stone wall. The path was too tight, too exposed. I fired a curse over my shoulder without aiming, just to slow them down. I caught sight of their silhouettes through the chaos—dozens of dark shapes sprinting after us, their cloaks billowing like wings.

Ominis's voice broke through the pounding of my pulse, high-pitched and panicked. "Shit, shit, shit!" He wasn't wrong.

I dragged him forward, my grip iron-tight. Valeria's steps were right behind mine now, faster, harder. I could feel her determination, but it wasn't enough.

Another curse slammed into the wall to our left, the stone exploding in a rain of dust and shards. I covered Ominis with my arm as we sprinted past. My lungs burned. My vision blurred. Every turn we took felt slower than it should've been, like we were running through water, time dragging out the seconds.

Then I felt it—her energy falter. Just the smallest hesitation in her footsteps. I glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of her face, pale but fierce. But still—too brave.

The alley opened into a wider street, but it wasn't safe. Not even close. More cloaked figures were cutting us off. I gritted my teeth, veering into another alley. No time to think, no time to breathe.

We were seconds from being caught. I knew it.

And then—dead end.

"Damn it," I growled, scanning the alley. Nothing but crates and a wall. The only way was up.

I leapt onto the nearest stack of boxes, hauling myself up the wall, splinters digging into my palms. "Ominis—come on!" I reached down, grabbed his arm, and yanked him up with me. Valeria came last. She took my hand, and the moment our fingers brushed, I felt it—a sharp jolt, like static electricity, sparking up my arm.

I pulled her up, my chest heaving, and we ran across the slanted rooftops. Small jumps at first, tiles breaking beneath our boots. I kept a hand on Ominis's shoulder to guide him, and Valeria moved beside us, her hair catching in the wind as she ran.

Behind us, they followed. Leaping, climbing, using spells to bridge the gaps. We cast as we ran, sending curses over our shoulders, but we couldn't hit them all. There were too many.

Then the rooftops ended.

I stopped so fast I nearly slid off. Below us—a drop. Far enough that a bad landing meant broken bones. The only option was to jump.

I didn't hesitate. I leapt, landing hard but steady on the next roof. "Jump!" I yelled.

Ominis went next. I caught his arm mid-fall and hauled him forward.

"Valeria! Jump!"

But she didn't.

She stood on the ledge, staring down, her face pale, her wand clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Behind her, the dark wizards were closing in.

"Valeria, jump!" I shouted again, but she spun, firing off a flurry of spells at the pursuers.

My blood ran cold. "You can't take them all! Jump to me—I'll catch you!"

"I can't!" Her voice cracked, high and frantic.

"You can! You have to!" I reached out my hand as far as I could, my heart pounding like it wanted out of my chest. She just stood there, frozen. My voice rose, harsh and desperate. "You need to trust me!"

Her eyes met mine, wide and wild.

And then she said it. The words that hit harder than any curse could.

"I don't!"

For a split second, everything went quiet. Just the pounding in my ears. Just her voice replaying like an echo I couldn't escape.

"I— I'm scared," she added, softer now, like it cost her everything to admit it.

I swallowed hard, my own breath shaky. "I know. But I'll catch you. I promise you, Valeria—just jump!"

She hesitated, turning slowly, her gaze darting from me to the men now seconds away. She took a step forward. Another. My hand reached for hers, every muscle in my body tense.

"Valeria, now!" I bellowed, my throat raw.

She froze, just for a heartbeat too long—her gaze flicked back, and I saw them closing in. One of the dark wizards was so close I could see the whites of his knuckles as he reached out, his fingers snagging at the edge of her robe.

"Valeria!" I roared again, my chest tight with panic.

She yanked herself free just in time, the sound of tearing fabric splitting through the chaos. If she'd waited even a second longer, he would've dragged her down—dragged her away.

And then she jumped.

The world slowed.

Her hair fanned out behind her, her body suspended mid-air, a flash of pale green against the night sky. For a single, horrifying second, I thought I wouldn't reach her—that she'd fall short, crash onto the stones below. My stomach lurched as I lunged forward, stretching my arm as far as it would go, my fingers aching to grab hers.

Please.

My hand caught her wrist, the impact jarring through my bones. Hard enough to bruise, maybe even cut, but I didn't care. I yanked her toward me with all the strength I had, dragging her up and over the ledge.

She slammed into me, breathless, shaking, her chest pressed to mine as if she couldn't catch her breath. I could feel her pulse thundering under her skin. My own heart was a wild thing, trying to claw its way out of my chest.

"Got you," I muttered, voice low and unsteady, gripping her like I'd never let go. Like if I loosened my hold for even a second, she'd vanish.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Her fingers were clenched tight in my robe, as if she didn't trust the ground under her feet. I hated the flicker of fear I saw in her eyes—hated that she didn't trust me to catch her. But she'd jumped. She had. And now, with the sound of footsteps thundering closer behind us, I knew we had no time to think about anything else.

"Go," I hissed, giving her a small push forward. "Run!"

We ran again. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I didn't stop. Not until—

"Valeria! In here!"

The voice came from below—sharp, urgent, and cutting through the night like a blade. We all froze, our boots skidding on the tiles, breaths ragged. I turned, scanning, my wand still raised.

There—just below us.

A man stood half-shrouded in the darkness of a narrow doorway, tucked beneath the house we were standing on. The faint glow of street lanterns caught the silver in his graying hair, and for a split second, I didn't know if he was friend or foe. But the look in his eyes—focused, commanding—told me to trust him.

"Down there," I muttered, more to myself than anyone. We didn't have time to argue.

The alley below was barely ten feet down, the drop easier than the leaps we'd just taken across rooftops. "Go!" I barked, grabbing Valeria's arm and practically hauling her forward. She hesitated only for a heartbeat—still shaken from the jump before—but I didn't give her a chance to second-guess it. I vaulted off the ledge, landing hard on the cobblestones below, and reached up.

"Come on!"

She jumped, this time straight into my arms. I steadied her with one hand on her waist and turned instantly, pulling her after me. Ominis landed just behind us, his boots scraping against the stones.

The curses came again—searing flashes of red and green lighting up the alley like a storm. One spell slammed into the wall above us, stone exploding into shards. I didn't stop to think. I grabbed Valeria's hand, my fingers curling tight around hers, and dragged her toward the stranger. Ominis was only a step behind.

The man's hand shot out to usher us in, his movements quick and deliberate. We crossed the threshold, and the second we were through, he slammed the heavy wooden door shut with a finality that silenced everything outside.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

This scene gave me asthma. Man really said parkour + trauma bonding. Would you trust Sebastian to catch you? / S

Chapter Text

Fate and Forgiveness

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending."

- Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing the chaos outside like it had never existed. My lungs burned, desperate for air, and my heart was still running faster than my legs had seconds ago. Everything inside me felt tight, coiled, like my body hadn't realized we'd stopped running.

It was only when I shifted that I felt it—my hand wrapped tight around something warm and solid. Not my wand. Not my robe. Sebastian's sleeve.

I released it like it burned me, taking a quick step back. As if my ragged breath and sweaty hair plastered to my forehead weren't embarrassing enough, now I was clutching Sebastian like some terrified child. I coughed, trying to play it off, but it sounded more like a pathetic wheeze.

"You kids okay?"

The voice was calm. Low, steady, and so completely out of place compared to the frantic storm inside my head that I jerked my gaze up. There, standing a few feet away, was a tall man with graying hair and a face that looked carved from stone—stern but not unkind.

"Yeah, we're fine," I managed, though my voice cracked in the middle of fine, making me sound about as convincing as a dying toad.

"Thank you," Sebastian said next to me, his tone quiet but firm, like he meant every syllable.

I forced myself upright, my knees still trembling, and glanced toward the nearest window. My pulse spiked again until I realized the dark figures outside weren't there. Through the narrow glass, I saw the alley emptying—our pursuers had run past the house, probably still scanning the streets.

I finally took in the house around us. It wasn't grand, but it had weight—a presence that felt older than anything I'd known. The flicker of candles stretched long shadows across high, timeworn walls. Shelves lined the room, buckling slightly under the weight of leather-bound books and odd trinkets. Alchemical symbols were etched into the woodwork, half-hidden under dust, and faintly glowing crystals pulsed in corners like watchful eyes. Every inch of it whispered secrets, the kind that didn't like to stay buried.

"You ought to know better," the man said, his voice calm but with an edge that demanded attention. "Lysandra's followers are not to be trifled with."

"Yeah, we kinda got that one," Ominis muttered dryly, still catching his breath, but I could feel the tension in his voice.

Something about the man's face tugged at me—like a name on the tip of my tongue. And then it clicked. My stomach dropped.

"Y–you're..." My voice faltered. "You're Nicholas Flamel."

The man's lips curved into a faint smile. It wasn't smug, just knowing. "I am," he said simply.

I stared. For a moment, I forgot about the chase, the thirty dark-cloaked wizards, and the fact that my robes were torn at the hem. Nicholas Flamel. The wizard who'd achieved what no other had. The name whispered through history books, buried in obscure footnotes, the kind of name that almost didn't feel real because it was too... impossible.

But he was here. And apparently, so was I.

I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up with the coincidence. What are the odds we were looking for him, only to accidentally run into him? I wonder where the letter we enchanted went. "But... how do you know who I am?" I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them. There was no reason he should know me. I was just—me.

Flamel's smile softened. "I know who you are, Valeria," he said, his tone as calm as the sea before a storm. "And I know why you're here."

That stopped me cold. My mind stuttered to a halt, overthinking so hard I almost missed the way he gestured, already turning to lead us deeper inside. Of course, he'd know. He was Nicholas Flamel. The man was practically a walking library of the universe. He'd probably forgotten more about magic than I'd learned in my entire life.

"Please," he said with a quiet nod, "come in."

I exchanged a look with Sebastian—his jaw tight, his dark eyes narrowed in silent questions—and Ominis, who looked as if he'd just stepped into the pages of a history book. Without a word, the three of us followed Flamel further inside, like moths drawn to something both dangerous and inevitable.

He led us through a narrow corridor into a larger sitting room that looked like it had been assembled over three different centuries and never fully agreed which it preferred. A long divan upholstered in something sun-faded but expensive. Two mismatched armchairs—one patched, one pristine. Tables crowded with scroll cases, stoppered vials, quills made from unfamiliar feathers. A brass astrolabe rotated lazily in midair over the hearth.

We sat where he gestured: me on the sofa; Ominis angled in the nearer chair, posture careful; Sebastian at my side, still keyed up—shoulders tight, fingers drumming once against his knee before going still. 

Flamel brought tea and biscuits which we couldn't deny. After taking a sip off my tea and a small bite of the biscuit, I finally found my voice again. 

"You said you know why we're here." I set the cup down so I wouldn't fidget with it. "So—what can you tell us?"

His gray brows rose. Without a word he reached behind his back and drew out a folded sheet of parchment, the kind that smelled faintly of smoke and old ink. Oh — the letter. 

"I should ask first," he said, holding it between us, voice flat, "why come to me?"

I stared at the letter as if it might explain itself. It had found him. I inhaled, the sound small and useless in the space between us."Because we needed someone old enough—and brilliant enough—to remember things the rest of the world forgot. Someone who still works in... deeper magics." I gestured vaguely toward a shelf where three different alchemical texts were open and ink-pinned. "And because you correspond with Headmaster Black." I nodded at the letter. "If anyone alive would know the origins of the Veilborn prophecy, it's you."

Sebastian glanced at me; I pretended I didn't see the flicker of grudging approval.

Flamel's mouth curved. "Then you chose well." He sat back. "And you are not wrong: I do know it."

My heartbeat kicked again.

"I was present," he said quietly, "when the prophecy was spoken. The Seer's name was Seraphine Lenoir—Perenelle's cousin. She worked briefly with a Veil-study cell under the French Ministry. Sighted, powerful... fragile. True Sight burns hot. She spoke once, in trance, and never again. She died within the year."

My skin prickled. "And she saw the prophecy?"

"She saw the Veilborn child," he corrected gently. "But the markers were clear enough to those who listened." His gaze met mine. "Date. Sign. Role."

I swallowed. "Can you recite it?"

He inclined his head and spoke, tone like woven smoke:

"When shadow swallows the dawn and silence drowns the stars, the Veilborn shall awaken, child of the first November sun. Through what was forged for ruin shall salvation bloom, and the world, unmade, shall be made anew."

No one moved. Even the astrolabe seemed to slow.

He continued. "Seraphine spoke fragments beyond that night—shards that surfaced when the first was misunderstood. One, recorded later:

"When the girl meets the beast," he said, voice slow and deliberate, "flanked by brothers cast in shadow... the flame of fate shall reignite."

My mouth went dry. Beast. Brothers. My mind jumped—demiguise in the forest. Ominis. Sebastian. Lysandra in the clearing. She had quoted that shard. She knew.

Flamel watched me put it together. "You see it."

I nodded slowly. "Lysandra killed the wrong child."

His expression tightened. "Yes. A girl born earlier that day—November first—north of Calais. When she learned of Seraphine's words, she believed that infant to be the Veilborn and... removed the threat. But—" He leaned forward. "The original transcript, which she never saw, specified the first November sun. Not sunrise. Sun. In magical reckoning, the day is counted from the moment the sun first crosses the meridian at noon. Any child born under that arc belonged to the mark." His eyes held mine. "You were born at eleven fifty-nine that night. Just under the gate."

My hands were cold. "And she didn't know."

"Not then." He folded his fingers. "Later shards warned her she'd failed. She's been hunting the true Veilborn since."

I sat back, something between nausea and clarity washing through me. "So it is me."

"Yes." No hesitation.

Ominis let out a long breath. Sebastian swore softly under it.

"What does that mean?" I asked, though I already knew. "Practically?"

"It means Lysandra will not stop," Flamel said. "It means anything tied to the founders—particularly that which was repurposed for harm—will stir now. And it means you will be drawn to it, whether you like it or not."

Drawn. My stomach flipped.

I blinked hard. "Then why did her men find us so fast? We cloaked. We hid. How—?"

Flamel's gaze slid to the letter on the table. "Because you cast Vestigia Vitae on an active artifact—one stamped with my residual alchemical signature, routed through the British Headmaster's seal—while still under the Underage Trace."

I stared. "Oh," I breathed. Then louder: "Oh."

Sebastian frowned. "Explain."

"The Trace," I said, turning to him, words tumbling now. "It flags underage magic outside approved boundaries. I cast a long-distance, alchemically binding locator outside Britain—across borders—using an international correspondent object. That would've lit up half the bureaucratic monitors between here and the Channel. Anyone watching for anomalies—like, say, Lysandra's informants—could piggyback the surge."

"And we followed the thread like fools," Sebastian muttered.

Flamel nodded. "And they followed you."

I looked at Ominis. "We still have the Trace."

He grimaced. "Brilliant."

Flamel poured more tea as though we hadn't just been hunted by thirty cloaked killers. "For what it's worth, Valeria—I expected you sooner or later. Destiny doesn't keep polite hours."

I almost laughed. "I didn't even know I was invited."

"You came anyway," he said. "You followed intuition. That's often how prophecy chooses: through the choices you think are yours."

Ominis let out a shaky chuckle. "Bit of a coincidence we ran into you on the very night we were nearly murdered."

I shook my head. "No. Not coincidence." I met Flamel's eyes. "It's already been written, hasn't it?"

He inclined his head. "Yes."

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

The house was quiet, almost unnervingly so. The kind of quiet that made you aware of every breath, every creak of the floorboards, every beat of your own heart. Flamel had retreated hours ago, leaving the three of us to sort through whatever this night had made of us. We'd eaten, though I barely tasted anything. I sat still on the sofa long after, tea cooling in my hands, watching the steam curl and vanish like it had better places to be.

None of it made sense—except that it did. Of all the witches and wizards alive, why me? I'd grown up thinking the Veilborn was a myth, some bedtime story meant to make you feel like destiny had grand plans for someone—just not you. Now I was that someone. And the worst part? Flamel believed it. Ominis believed it. And... Sebastian hadn't said it, but I could see it in the set of his jaw, in the way his eyes lingered on me like I might shatter.

Merlin's beard, I was going to lose my mind if I kept thinking about this.

Flamel had offered us rooms for the night—a kindness I wasn't about to refuse. Ominis took the smaller bedroom, I took the larger one, and Sebastian, naturally, claimed the couch like he had something to prove. I'd crawled into the bed, but sleep was as far away as the stars hiding above the clouds. My head was a hurricane of thoughts—prophecies, Lysandra, the Trace I'd stupidly forgotten about, and—annoyingly—Sebastian.

Especially that moment. Trust me, he'd said. And I hadn't.

It wasn't even his fault that I hesitated, not entirely. But it burned anyway. He'd left me in the dark two years ago, ran off with his secrets and his anger, and now I was supposed to just... leap? Into his arms, no less? The thought made me sit up, running a hand over my face.

A drink of water. That would help.

The floorboards creaked under my bare feet as I opened the door. The living room was dimly lit by the low flame in the hearth, just enough to catch the rise and fall of Sebastian's chest. He was sprawled on the couch, one arm slung behind his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked asleep. For some reason, that made my throat tighten. I slipped past him, as silent as I could manage, and reached for a glass in the kitchen.

"Aquamenti," I whispered, and the glass filled. I sipped, the cool water steadying me.

"Can't sleep?" came a low voice.

I stiffened. Turned. His eyes were open now and fixed on me. Moonlight through the mullioned window traced two pale scars across his face. He looked tired. Not physically—Sebastian never lets himself look weak—but tired somewhere deep.

"Not really," I said. The words scratched on the way out.

We stared at each other. The house hummed quietly—the low throb of layered wards and old alchemical charms. Ominis's even breathing drifted from the closed bedroom door. The fire snapped once, and that was somehow worse than silence.

I took a step toward the hallway, then stopped. My body wouldn't move. Something tight behind my ribs said if you walk away now, you won't do this later. And I couldn't—Merlin, I couldn't go on like this. Not when he was back. Not when I'd nearly died jumping toward him and hadn't trusted him to catch me.

"I'm sorry," I blurted.

His brow creased as if I'd spoken Gobbledegook. "For what?"

I shifted the glass from one hand to the other. Why was I apologizing? Still, the words tumbled out.

"For not trusting you. Earlier. On the roof." My throat tightened. "But honestly—why would I? How do you expect me to trust you, Sebastian?"

He just looked at me. Not angry. Not smug. That maddening stillness. Like he'd learned to lock everything away where even Dementors couldn't reach it.

Heat flared in me. "Right. Of course you don't have an answer." I rolled my eyes, mostly to stop them stinging. "Forget it—"

"I get why you don't trust me. It's fine." His voice cut through mine—rough, unused, like each word was dragged over broken glass.

I froze, startled he'd even answered.

"It's not fine." The words came out sharper than I meant, and I slammed the glass down on the table. Water sloshed over the rim, running cold against my fingers. "You left me." There it was. Out in the open. No taking it back now.

He pushed himself upright, elbows on knees, gaze angled somewhere near the floorboards by my feet. Waiting. Listening.

"You killed him," I said—him meaning his uncle, meaning that night in the catacombs when everything burned—and the memory punched air from my lungs. "And then you left. You ran. You dropped it all—on me. On Ominis. Like we were cleanup." My voice cracked; I kept going. "You dragged me into the Scriptorium, the dungeons, Feldcroft, everything, and I followed because I thought—Merlin help me—I thought you knew what you were doing. And when it fell apart, when we couldn't save Anne—"

"I don't blame yo—"

"Yes, you did!" I snapped, louder than I meant. "Maybe not out loud, but you looked at me like I should've fixed it. Like if I had tried she wouldn't—" My breath hitched. 

He stood. Fast. The room seemed to lurch with him.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he barked, and I flinched—not from fear, from shock. "I'm sorry for dragging you into danger. For thinking I could fix things by pushing harder. For every stupid thing I did that put you in the line of fire. Don't you think I sat in that cell replaying it? Every day? Over and over? Wondering how I turned into the kind of person who gets his friends hurt?"

Silence slammed down after that. His chest rose and fell like he'd run again. I don't think I've heard him speak several sentences like that since before he left.

I swallowed. "Then why didn't you say so? You come back, and you don't speak to me. You don't even look at me when I say hello. And then you tell me 'trust me' in the middle of a rooftop chase?"

His jaw flexed. 

"I'm not—" he started, then stopped, dragged a hand through his hair. "Look. I'm not good at... making things better. Every time I touch something, I break it. So if you didn't trust me back there?" He lifted his eyes. "You were right."

Some ridiculous noise left me—half laugh, half something sharp. "You caught me."

He huffed once. "I nearly missed."

"But you didn't." I shrugged, suddenly exhausted. "And I... want to trust you." That felt like stepping off another roof.

His fingers curled where they rested on his knees. "You shouldn't."

"You heard Flamel," I went on, softer now. "Apparently I'm destined for something absurd and terrifying and world‑sized, and I cannot do that alone. The only people who know are you and Ominis. So unless you'd like the apocalypse to be a solo performance, I need you both. I need you."

He held my gaze for a long beat, and whatever storm lived in his eyes broke enough for me to see the boy I used to climb castle ledges with in fifth year—the one who laughed too loud and made terrible plans at 2 a.m.

"I'm no hero, Valeria," he said, low. Honest.

"Then fake it," I said. "Pretend. Because I'm out of other options."

Something changed then. Not big—no dramatic music—but the room felt less tipped. He let out a breath I don't think he knew he was holding.

"You're not alone," he said.

My heartbeat stuttered. "Yeah? You in, then?"

He gave the smallest nod. "I always keep my promises Valeria."

"Good," I said, and the burn behind my eyes threatened to rise again. "Guess it's my turn to drag you into cursed crypts."

One corner of his mouth twitched. Then—Merlin help me—it actually became a smile. Lopsided, tired, real. I had forgotten how much I liked that smile. My pulse spiked and I stared resolutely at the hearth.

"Right," I said too briskly. "Well. Goodnight."

I took a step, then hesitated. How do you say goodnight to the boy who wrecked you, vanished for two years, returned scarred, and just apologized like he meant it?

You don't think about it. You just do it.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around him. Quick, decisive. Braver than I felt. My pulse hammered like a drum, but I held on for a heartbeat longer than I should have, convincing myself it was fine—more than fine.

He froze. Not a word. Not a breath. Every muscle in him stiff, like he'd been turned to stone.

That was all I needed to know. I pulled back fast, almost too fast, my fingers already snatching up the abandoned glass as if that had been my entire reason for moving in the first place. My pulse was wildfire now, rushing hot through my veins.

By the time I reached the door, I was practically bolting. Behind me, I heard it—the faintest exhale. One quiet, disbelieving sound, as if hugging me had been far more dangerous than facing down thirty dark wizards.

And for the first time since everything went sideways in fifth year, I went to bed feeling lighter. Not whole. Not safe. But lighter. Like maybe the boy I once knew was still buried under all that ash—and maybe, if I kept digging, I could find him.

A reckless, impossible thought. The sort of thing that only ends in ruin. But I've always had a weakness for lost things.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I wonder when the last time Sebastian hugged someone was? / S

Chapter Text

Pieces on the Board

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."

- Tears for Fears

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The blade caught the dying light of sunset, a sharp glint slicing across my vision. I twirled it between my fingers, watching the edge blur as my eyes unfocused. My thumb traced along the steel, slow and deliberate, like testing if I could still feel anything at all. With a short exhale, I flicked my wrist and let it fly.

Thunk.

Dead center on the target pinned to the wall. Perfect. Always perfect.

I reached for another dagger from the pile on the bed, weighing it in my palm, watching the blade catch the last smear of orange sky through the window. My mind wouldn't quiet, wouldn't stop. I threw again.

Thunk.

Right into the hilt of the first.

I sighed and dragged a hand through my hair, frustration simmering low in my chest. Having thoughts follow me wasn't something I tolerated well. But lately? That's all I had. Two years locked in a cell with nothing but my own head—it leaves you raw. Hollowed out.

I stood, yanked the blades from the wood, and collapsed back onto the mattress, laying flat with one dagger spinning between my fingers. My eyes narrowed on the ceiling, but my mind was miles away.

"You caught me."

"I nearly missed."

"But you didn't. And I... want to trust you."

Valeria's voice echoed through me like a bruise that wouldn't fade. That conversation, two nights ago in Flamel's house, wouldn't leave me alone. Her stubborn insistence, her stupidly bright faith. How does one person still manage to look at the world like it hasn't chewed her up yet?

I huffed a bitter laugh under my breath. The Veilborn. Of course it's Valeria. Who else would the universe choose to save the world? The girl who gets perfect marks without trying, who talks to creatures like they're old friends, who looks at flowers and they bloom for her—like even the earth listens. It's ridiculous. And it made sense now. 

But I felt... sorry for her.

She had no idea how cruel this world could be, how it could strip you bare until you're nothing but the worst parts of yourself. I knew because I'd already done it to her. I'd dragged her through hell with me. And it wasn't over. I could feel it in my bones, like a curse I'd never shake.

"Guess it's my turn to drag you into cursed crypts."

The words from her, half teasing, half serious, stabbed at me. I didn't like the way I changed her. She was like something fragile—sharp-minded, yes, but soft at the edges, like a wildflower that bends in the wind but doesn't break. Only, every time she's near me, I can see those edges cracking.

And I hate it.

But I'll still do it. I'm a bastard, but I keep my word. So when she takes her next reckless step into danger, I'll follow. I'll help. I'll ruin her if I have to.

A part of me wished I wouldn't. That maybe, if I wasn't there, she'd have a better chance. A cleaner one.

I don't want the world on my hands. I already have enough blood.

But Valeria Velkan, with her stubborn light, her maddening optimism, her ridiculous faith in me—she doesn't deserve any of this.

I sat up in bed again. Couldn't shake the restlessness. Ominis wasn't here—his bed empty, sheets still tucked tight. Where the hell had he gone this late?

I glanced at the clock. Half past midnight. My other dormmates, Asher and Hugo, were already snoring. I didn't bother with them—they were as dull as the stones in the courtyard. Not that I wanted to be at this bloody school at all.

I swung my legs off the bed, pulling on my boots with a sigh, and stepped out. The dorm hallways were quiet, the air heavy with the kind of silence that almost rings in your ears. My footsteps echoed slightly on the worn stone. Every creak of the staircase felt amplified, a whisper in the dark.

The common room opened up before me, bathed in the low, golden flicker of dying firelight. A few stragglers were scattered around, buried in books or nodding off in armchairs. Shadows clung to the corners, and the whole place felt... hollow, like an old photograph.

I stepped further in, half out of boredom, half because I had nowhere else to be—and then I spotted them.

Figures bent over a table, heads close together. A shock of white-blond hair, unmistakable even in the dim light. Ominis.

And opposite him—her.

Of course. It was Tuesday.

"Oh, hi Sebastian." Her voice broke through the quiet like honey dripping into tea. Sweet, warm, annoyingly pleasant. Green eyes flicked up at me from under long lashes, catching the glow of the fire.

"Sebastian, is that you?" Ominis asked, tilting his head slightly.

"No," I said flatly, because... why not.

Valeria's lips twitched in a smile, like she was used to my poor attempts at humor.

Ominis cleared his throat. "We were just finishing up. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Not tired," I muttered, dragging a chair from a nearby table. I flipped it around and straddled it backward, leaning my arms on the backrest. I wasn't tired. I was exhausted. But that's not the same thing.

Ominis returned his attention to the board, hands hovering as he mentally traced out the next moves. "Your turn."

"Knight to E5," Valeria said, her voice soft but confident.

The knight piece moved smoothly across the board by itself, clicking into place.

I watched them, my chin propped on my folded arms. I still didn't get the appeal of this game. Two hours of plotting tiny wooden soldiers against each other—it seemed pointless. But Valeria's gaze sharpened when she looked at the board, her brow furrowing in quiet calculation. There was something relentless about it.

Ominis once told me they started this weekly chess match a couple of years ago, and they never stopped. Every Tuesday night. A tradition. And, apparently, one of Valeria's favorite ways to flex that annoyingly clever brain of hers.

Another voice cut through my thoughts like a blunt knife.

"Ria? Why aren't you in bed?"

I blinked, looking up. Bianca Deveraux—Valeria's dormmate—stood a few steps away, half asleep, hair in giant rollers, wearing a silk nightgown that looked like it belonged in someone else's life entirely. She'd clearly rolled straight out of bed and come looking.

"It's Tuesday, Bia. I'm playing chess with Ominis," Valeria said, not even glancing up from the board.

Bianca leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Her voice carried that mix of irritation and drowsiness only she could manage. "This long? We thought you'd be back ages ago. Ruby was practically pacing, worried sick. And honestly, you should thank Merlin Lola's already asleep—if she caught you sneaking this late, she'd march down here herself and have you signing detention slips before breakfast."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it takes a while. Especially when Ominis refuses to just give up," Valeria smirked, shifting a bishop.

"Please. You're just annoyed I'm a hard chess player," Ominis countered, his tone flat but amused.

Then Bianca spotted me. Her eyes widened a little, as though I'd materialized out of nowhere.

"Oh! Hello, Sebastian. How are you?"

I considered not answering. It would've been easy to just ignore her and keep watching the board, but I wasn't quite that rude. Was I? Maybe I was.

"...I'm well, thank you," I said finally, my voice low and clipped.

Valeria glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and I swear I caught a flicker of a smile. A small one, like she found my ability to converse amusing. I ignored it.

Bianca, however, seemed determined to force conversation. "I—uh—" She hesitated, like words were falling apart in her mouth. "I've been meaning to say... it's, um... good to have you back."

I stared. I wasn't sure what she expected me to say to that.

When I didn't answer, she pressed on, a little too brightly. "And, uh—well, I'm... we're all sorry for your loss."

The air shifted. I felt Valeria stiffen across the table. Even Ominis's head turned slightly, like he wanted to interject. Valeria's gaze snapped to Bianca, sharp and cutting—girls could communicate whole paragraphs with just one look, and that one clearly said shut up.

I found it darkly entertaining. She was sorry for my loss? My loss? As though I hadn't been the one to cause it. People never know how to handle murderers, especially when the murderer used to share their common room. Two years in Azkaban, and suddenly I'm back and everyone's meant to pretend I'm just another student.

I could've ignored Bianca. Let the awkwardness drown her. But something about the embarrassed tension between Valeria and Ominis made me speak.

"Thank you," I said finally, the words flat and cold. "That's very kind."

It was crap. A lie. Everyone knew it. Bianca's polite smile faltered, but she didn't stop digging.

"You two ought to get along now, at least. I mean, you have something in common."

That caught my interest. I raised a brow. "Which is?"

She hesitated. For a moment I thought she might drop it. Then:

"You're both... orphans."

The silence that followed was deafening. Bianca's face went pale the moment the words left her mouth. And then, in a brilliant attempt to save herself, she blurted:

"Except that—you do have parents now, Ria!"

Great save.

Valeria's voice dropped, cool and unshaken. "Bia, I'm still an orphan. My parents are dead. I'll always be an orphan."

"Right. Uh..." Bianca faltered, fidgeting with the end of her sleeve. "I'll just... go back to bed. Don't stay up too late or I will wake Lola up just for the fun of it."

She gave a stiff little nod, then practically ran off, her slippers squeaking on the floorboards.

"That was awkward," Ominis said plainly, because of course he would.

Valeria shot him a sharp look. "She tried her best, alright?" Ever the peacemaker.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her study the board with that quiet intensity of hers. Valeria Velkan—always so careful, so kind. She patched up first-years when they botched a potion, slipped scraps to the courtyard cats, buried herself in books like they were lifelines. Nothing about her screamed Slytherin. And yet... beneath all that softness was steel. Stubborn as hell. Relentless when she set her mind on something. Maybe that was what the Hat had seen—that flicker of ambition wrapped in gentleness, a storm disguised as calm.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Valeria asked, her voice softer than usual—like she didn't really want to know the answer. Probably aimed at both of us, though Ominis was the one who answered.

"If by ready you mean ready to get ourselves killed or at least maimed, then no. Not particularly," Ominis replied, deadpan.

Valeria didn't laugh. She usually does when Ominis cracks dry humor like that, but tonight... nothing. I could see it in her face—the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers lingered too long on the table. It was weighing on her, being the so-called savior. The Veilborn. And of course, because karma is cruel, she had to drag me into it too.

"We're ready," I said, even though I had no reason to. Maybe I just hated the look in her eyes—the doubt.

Her shoulders eased a little. "Good," she said, almost like she believed me. "We'll start with Slytherin. It's probably the easiest since we can access almost anything here."

Ominis tilted his head. "But what exactly are we looking for? And where? Because 'let's wander around and hope for the best' doesn't scream 'plan' to me."

"No clue," she said, with an irritating amount of confidence. "But it's alright. We'll figure it out."

She said it like she was forcing herself to believe it. Like if she kept saying it, maybe it would become true. Neither Ominis nor I sounded too convinced, because silence filled the room. She noticed.

"We know it's a key," she continued, as if explaining it again would make us feel better. "Now, whether it's a hypothetical key or an actual key, we don't know. But I have a feeling we'll know when we see it."

"More like you'll know," I muttered.

Her eyes flicked to me, sharp and focused, like I'd just challenged her. Those eyes could burn holes through walls if she wanted.

"Yeah," she said after a moment, looking away. "I guess."

She muttered something under her breath, and one of her pawns slid forward on the board.

"It can't be that hard. A key linked to each house. Ones only the Veilborn can find. I can do that." She said it more to herself than to us, like she was convincing herself that she wasn't about to lead us straight into chaos.

She won the match a few moves later, of course. Ominis sighed, muttering something about her unsettling ability to predict every move he'd make. It made her grin, and for a moment, she looked lighter.

I didn't say anything. I just walked Ominis back to the dorms, both of us quiet. My mind wasn't on chess or keys, but on the way she'd said "I can do that" like it was a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

When I finally crawled into bed, sleep didn't even bother showing up.

Tomorrow we'd start. Start what, exactly? Hunting down some mysterious key like clueless idiots, hoping it'll somehow lead us to saving the world. As if the world's ever been that easy to save.

A key. That's all we knew. No map, no instructions—just blind faith that Valeria would "know it when she sees it." I had a bad feeling.

By tomorrow night, we'd either have something worth fighting for—or we'd be fucked.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Bia is my spirit animal. / S

Chapter Text

The Serpent's Coil

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone."

- My Chemical Romace

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"Incendio."

Smoke.

The smell first, bitter and sharp, clawing down my throat. Then fire. Screaming fire. It crackled too loud, too close. Don't touch it. Don't—

"Take her!" A voice—shouted, broken. Then everything shook, and the world spun red.

Arms. Strong, desperate, scooping me up. My cheek pressed against rough cloth, chest pounding against my ear. Running. 

"Ria?"

Ominis's voice pierced through, and the vision shattered like glass.

I blinked. Stone. Cold air. My wand trembling in my hand. Right. The mission.

"You were there again, weren't you?" Ominis asked, quiet but sure.

I stared at him, throat dry. "Where—?"

"In your mind."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry." I forced myself to steady my hand. Back to now. Back to the present.

"Incendio."

The last torch sputtered, catching flame. It licked the stone wall like a serpent's tongue, and with a groan of magic, the door revealed itself.

I swallowed hard. I never thought I'd be here again—with them, two years later. It was like stepping back into a nightmare I'd already lived once. The last time I'd stood in front of this cursed place, everything had gone wrong. Now, we were back.

"Ready?" I asked, but my voice didn't sound like mine. My fingers twitched at my sides, as if they already remembered the weight of everything we'd done here.

"Are you sure this is where we should look?" Ominis's voice drifted from behind me, calm and hesitant. It echoed through the silent corridor, mingling with the low crackle of the torches. The castle was asleep, and it felt like the walls were listening.

I turned to face him, my hair brushing my cheek. "If I'm not mistaken, something hidden in the castle—something tied to Slytherin—wouldn't exactly be lying around on a bookshelf, would it?" My eyes flicked back to the dark, ancient door. "This is the first place that came to mind. But I told you—I'm open to suggestions neither of you had." My voice was sharper than I intended, like I was trying to convince them—or myself—that I had control of this.

They didn't argue. We'd already had this conversation hours ago in the common room, voices hushed while everyone else slept, brainstorming places where a key like this might hide. The Scriptorium had won by default.

I braced myself, stepping forward, the air heavy and damp around me. My hand hovered just above the door handle when—

Something caught my eye.

A flicker. A flash of reflected light.

I froze and turned my head, squinting. It wasn't the door. Beside it, carved into the stone wall like it had always been there, was a faint symbol. I furrowed my brow. The torchlight bounced off its surface, and for a split second, it almost blinded me.

Then I heard it.

A low hum. A vibration crawling under my skin. A thin, high-pitched ringing that made my breath catch.

Without thinking, I stepped closer. The symbol sharpened in the light—a dragon, its wings curled inward, with a serpent coiled around its body, its head poised to strike.

"Valeria?" Ominis's voice cut through the ringing, closer now, rough and steady.

But I couldn't answer. My chest felt tight, as if the walls had shifted inward. How had I never seen this before? It wasn't just etched into the wall. It was waiting.

I lifted a hand. My fingertips brushed over the cool stone, over the scales of the serpent, and—

The ground shuddered.

I staggered back, breath lodged in my throat, as the stone rippled outward like water. The symbol stretched, expanded, and a door—an entirely new door—bloomed from the wall.

Sebastian muttered something under his breath. Even Ominis tilted his head like he'd heard something unnatural shift in the air.

"I have a feeling the key's in there," Sebastian said finally, voice low, eyes on the dark door. His tone was grim, almost resigned, as if he'd rather face the Scriptorium than whatever waited beyond this.

I swallowed, hard. My hand shook slightly as I reached out. The door was cool under my palm, unnaturally smooth, like it hadn't been touched for centuries.

"Here goes nothing," I whispered, pushing it open.

The door groaned open with a sound like old bones cracking, the hinges protesting every inch. A rush of cold air escaped, carrying the stale scent of dust and stone that hadn't been disturbed in centuries. Inside, there was nothing but blackness—thick, impenetrable.

"Lumos," I whispered. My wandtip flared to life, its pale glow spilling into the void and illuminating... cobwebs. Thick ones, tangled across the doorframe like silver-veined sheets. I swallowed hard and stepped inside, my boots crunching softly against grit and dirt.

The boys followed—Sebastian close behind, his presence like a steady shadow, and Ominis moving slower, wand outstretched. The moment Ominis stepped across the threshold, the door behind us slammed shut with a deafening thud.

Then silence.

I spun on my heel. Where the door had been, there was nothing but smooth, cold stone.

"Of course," I muttered under my breath.

"I'm getting serious déjà vu," Ominis said. His tone was flat—not a joke, but something like memory creeping back in.

I took a deep breath and faced forward, lifting my wand higher. The room was small and empty, as if it had been carved out of the castle itself. The stone walls were blank, bare except for streaks of age and dust. The floor was nothing but dirt, cobwebs clinging in corners like skeletal hands.

But something was here. I could feel it.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step forward. "There's something hidden," I said quietly. "I can feel it. It's... here. Just not visible."

Sebastian raised a brow but said nothing. I could feel both of their gazes on the back of my neck, the weight of their silence pressing in.

Think, Valeria. You're the Veilborn. You're supposed to find the keys. Where are you?

I closed my eyes and placed my free hand over my wand, feeling the faint hum of magic beneath my skin. My pulse slowed. I breathed deeply, searching for the thread of something I couldn't name. A whisper of energy. A pull.

Show me.

The hum grew stronger—just a flicker, faint but undeniable. My breath caught. My eyes snapped open.

There—at the center of the room—something shimmered. Barely visible, like the glint of water in moonlight.

I raised my wand and whispered, "Revelio." No, it wasn't quite strong enough. My magic surged, unbidden, and I pushed harder. "Verum Ostende." Show yourself.

The shimmer grew, coalescing into shape. The glow of my wand caught on something smooth, something real. A bowl. A deep, silver basin suspended above the ground, like it had always been waiting.

"What happened?" Ominis asked, tilting his head toward me, straining to hear the magic hum in the air.

"It's a Pensieve," I said, taking a few careful steps toward it.

I recognized the shape of it instantly—the swirling runes, the faint mist rising from its surface. It reminded me of the trials with the Keepers, the memories they had locked away in their magical vaults.

"Of course it's a Pensieve," Sebastian muttered behind me, voice low. I glanced back just long enough to see his face tight, cautious. He wasn't afraid, not like Ominis, but there was tension there—like he expected something bad to happen the second I touched it.

"Careful," he added, almost under his breath.

I ignored him.

I stepped closer, my boots silent on the dirt. Hanging above the basin was something even stranger—a vial, thin and translucent, hovering like a sheet of moonlight. Its edges shimmered faintly, as if caught in a breeze I couldn't feel.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the bottle. With a slow inhale, I grasped it, and poured the liquid contents in. It dissolved into a swirl of silver mist that bled into the Pensieve. I hesitated for just a heartbeat, glancing at Sebastian and Ominis. Ominis had taken a step back, as if distance might help, while Sebastian was watching me, jaw tight but eyes sharp.

I drew a deep breath, braced myself, and lowered my head into the swirling memory.

"Welcome... to The Serpent's Coil"

The voice was faint, like a whisper curling through mist, but it pulled me down, down until the world shifted under my feet. My stomach dropped, and then—

I landed.

The stone floor beneath me was slick, wet with moisture as if the walls themselves were sweating. I staggered forward, my hand brushing rough stone, and the world emerged around me. I was standing in the dungeons. Or at least, something that looked like them.

A figure stood ahead—tall, sharp-edged like a shadow given form. His hair was graying, dark as ink streaked with silver. His robes were deep green, embroidered with serpentine patterns so intricate they almost looked alive. His face was pale, severe, the faint curve of his mouth not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. His eyes—cold, piercing gray—rested on me like he already knew me, like he'd been waiting.

"Salazar Slytherin," I whispered before I could stop myself.

He didn't answer, just tilted his head slightly, studying me the way one might study a dangerous but intriguing animal. Finally, his voice filled the chamber again, smooth and echoing like it came from the walls themselves.

"Ambition. Cunning. Resourcefulness." His gaze sharpened. "Power. These are the traits I value. Traits that separate the weak from the worthy."

A strange sensation crawled over my skin, like the very air around us was alive.

"You wish to claim the key," he said, his voice deliberate, each syllable heavy. "But this key is not for the untested. Not for the timid. Only a witch who understands the cost of strength... will pass."

I swallowed, throat dry.

He raised one hand, and a green light flared from his palm, spiraling upward to form three floating serpents made of mist, their eyes glinting like emerald fire. They slithered around him in the air, coiling and twisting like they could see me.

"Three doors stand before you," he said. "Each bound to a truth of power. Cunning, control, and sacrifice. Fail, and the chamber will keep you... forever."

My pulse thudded painfully in my ears.

"You will do what must be done," Slytherin continued, his gaze like a blade cutting through me. "Even if it requires darkness. Even if it requires cruelty. Do you understand?"

I wanted to answer. To say no, or yes, or anything. But the words tangled on my tongue.

"Prove yourself," he said, his tone dropping to something cold and final. "Or die here, nameless, forgotten—your bones rotting in the dark with all the others who failed."

The serpents hissed louder, their misty forms coiling tighter, their emerald eyes flaring like small fires. The air grew colder, pressing against my skin, and I could feel the weight of his words settle into my chest like a stone.

"There is no mercy in this chamber," Slytherin continued, his voice reverberating through the walls like a curse. "If you hesitate, if you falter, the door will remain sealed. You will be trapped here... until death takes you."

The serpents burst into smoke, and the world shifted again—the mist curling around me, the floor rumbling beneath my feet.

I staggered back from the Pensieve, my breath catching like a knife in my throat. My vision was swimming—shadows and light blurring together—and for a second, I couldn't feel my body at all. My knees buckled, and I collided with something firm yet strangely soft. Arms.

"Valeria?" A low, cautious voice cut through the haze.

I blinked, the world slowly snapping back into focus, and realized I was sitting against Sebastian's chest, his arms braced around my waist, steadying me as if I might shatter. His body was warm against mine, solid. I hated how fast my heart was beating. I hated how aware I was of his hands holding me there. 

Arms. 

I scrambled upright, brushing myself off with a clumsy sort of urgency.

"What did you see?" Ominis's voice was quieter, but sharper—leaning into every word as if he could hear the shape of my thoughts.

Sebastian rose too, and I felt his gaze on me, heavy, waiting.

"I..." The words died in my throat. How was I supposed to tell them? How was I supposed to say that out loud? "I know what we have to do," I managed, my voice thin and uneven.

Sebastian's jaw tightened like he already knew. His dark eyes locked on mine, as if trying to read the answer before I said it. I wanted him to—Merlin, I wanted him to say this was impossible, that I was wrong. I needed something, anything.

"Don't say we have to do it again," he muttered, his voice gravel, his brow furrowed.

I looked down at the stone floor, the light from Ominis's wand catching the faint tremor in my hands. "It's worse this time."

"What is?" Ominis asked, tension in his voice.

"Cunning, control, and sacrifice," I said, each word falling like a weight.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I didn't need to explain it—they both knew. We all knew.

Sebastian's eyes lowered to the floor, his voice almost a whisper but heavy with something dark. "The Unforgivable Curses."

I swallowed, the air suddenly thick and cold. Ominis opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. He didn't have to say it—he knew too. There was no escaping this. There never had been.

"It's fine," I said, my voice almost too bright, brittle. "We've done it before. We can do it again."

Sebastian's head snapped up at that, his eyes catching the dim light. "All three of them?"

The way he said it made my pulse spike. We both knew which one he meant—the curse that wasn't really a curse at all but a death sentence. The curse you didn't come back from.

"Let's... think about that when we get there," I said, too fast. My voice cracked on the last word. "I could be wrong. Maybe if I—"

"No," Sebastian said, his voice low and certain, like stone grinding on stone. "You're not wrong."

My throat felt tight, my thoughts a tangled mess, but I nodded, steeling myself. "Then let's start with the first one."

I looked at Sebastian again. He didn't flinch. He just gave me the smallest nod, like a soldier walking into battle.

"I'm ready when you are," he said.

I raised my wand, forcing myself to breathe steadily. My arm shook, just slightly. Sebastian mirrored me, stepping back, squaring his shoulders. The firelight carved sharp edges into his face—he looked almost unreal, like a statue carved from anger and ash.

I swallowed hard, then arched my brows in warning.

"Imperio!"

The spell burst from my wand, slamming into him like a silent wave. Sebastian jerked back, then froze, unnaturally still. His eyes glowed faintly green, their usual fire hollowed out into something eerie, wrong. For a moment, it was like his soul had left the room.

A faint grinding sound echoed from the wall. I turned sharply to see the faint outline of a door start to etch itself into the stone. Half-formed. Waiting. Testing.

I lowered my wand, releasing him, and Sebastian stumbled forward, catching himself on the wall with one hand. He dragged his other hand through his hair, his jaw tight.

"You okay?" I asked, stepping toward him before I could stop myself.

"Fine," he muttered, shaking it off. His voice was rougher now.

I pressed my palm against the half-formed door, but the stone was cold and solid beneath my hand. We weren't done yet.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I wonder how they're gonna get out of that last spell... / S

Chapter Text

Bloodless Sacrifice

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real."

- Evanescence

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The walls of this goddamn room were closing in on me. It was like the air was thicker here—like every breath I took scraped down my throat. Trapped. That's all I could think about. Another room. Another cell. Another fucking prison. And this time, the only way out was through something worse than chains.

Valeria gripped her wand so tightly her knuckles were white. She was watching me—waiting, probably, for me to say something, do something. But I had nothing. No clever plan, no way around it. We both knew what had to happen next. The first curse had been easy enough. Painless. A warm-up.

But the next one... I didn't even want to think about it.

Her voice cut through the silence, soft but firm. "Cast it on me."

The words made my stomach twist. I froze, my jaw tightening like stone. "No." I said it simply, but my voice carried enough weight that even Ominis went quiet. There was no way in hell I was doing that again.

Images flashed in my head—her screaming, her body arching like every bone was on fire the last time I cast Crucio on her. She'd agreed to it, but that hadn't mattered. I could still hear her ragged cries if I let myself. That was the first time I'd really felt it—blood on my hands, even if there was no blood at all. It had broken something in me. I'd sworn I'd never do it again. Not to her.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice softer now, but I didn't answer. She knew why. Hell, I could see it in her eyes.

She swallowed, and then she said, "Okay," like it cost her something.

Her wand came up.

"Valeria, you can't—" Ominis started, but she cut him off just by looking at him. She didn't say it, but we all knew. There was no going back now. No other way forward.

I'd already made my choice. If someone had to take the next step, it was going to be me. I wouldn't let her bear that weight. I was already broken, already stained. What's one more crack in a ruined man?

I stepped back, planting my feet on the cold stone floor, forcing myself to look at her. She didn't want to do this—Merlin, I could see that—but she was stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Smarter, too. She understood the truth that most people didn't: sometimes dark magic wasn't evil, just... necessary.

Still, the look in her eyes told me she hated this. Maybe as much as I did.

"You ready?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost too soft, but steady.

"Yes." My throat was dry. It was a lie, but I'd never admit that.

"Crucio!"

The curse tore through me like fire ripping into my veins. I didn't even hear the sound I made—some guttural, broken thing that didn't even sound human—but I felt it rip out of my chest. My body jerked so violently my knees hit the floor. I tried to hold on, to anchor myself against the pain, but it was everywhere. Inside my bones, crawling under my skin, stabbing like a thousand knives all at once.

It felt like I was burning alive. No—worse. It felt like someone had reached inside me and was ripping me apart, piece by piece.

I clawed at the stone, my nails scraping against it until I felt something raw beneath them. My vision went white, then black, then exploded in colors I couldn't name. There was no breath. No thought. Just pain.

And then—just as suddenly—it stopped.

I collapsed, half-sagging against the floor. My lungs dragged in a brutal, shuddering breath like I'd been drowning. Every muscle in my body trembled. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Sebastian—" Valeria's voice was sharp, panicked, but I lifted a hand before she could touch me. I wasn't about to let her see how close I'd been to breaking.

"I'm fine," I muttered, though my voice was ragged and barely convincing. I forced myself up on shaky legs, my back against the wall as I tried to breathe past the phantom fire still crawling under my skin.

The sound came next—a grinding noise like stone shifting—and I turned my head, still panting, to see the outline of the door grow clearer, carved deeper into the wall. One step closer.

Almost there.

And then I remembered what came next. The last curse. The one you can't take back.

I could tell neither of them were going to say anything. But the sooner we got it over with, the better.

"Last one," I muttered, my voice rough. "I'm ready."

The words tasted sour on my tongue. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready. But I'd rather take the hit than stand around pretending we had a choice. My fingers tightened around my wand, the wood slick against my palm.

Valeria stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean." I met her gaze, refusing to flinch. "The last test. The last curse. Do it."

She froze, her breath catching. "No. Sebastian, absolutely not. That's not—"

"There's no other way," I snapped, sharper than I meant to. The words echoed off the walls, swallowed by the thick, stale air. "That door's not going to open unless someone dies. And it's not going to be you or Ominis. So just get it over with."

"Are you out of your mind?" she shot back, eyes flashing. "I'm not killing you! That's insane, Sebastian!"

"Think, Valeria. Look around you!" I jabbed a finger toward the door, where the carved outline still glowed faintly, mocking us with its silence. "It's just like last time. The only way forward is through the curses. All of them. This is the last one."

Ominis stepped between us, his wand hand trembling slightly, but his voice was steady. "There has to be another way. Something we're not seeing. A spell—anything. We haven't even tried yet!"

"There's nothing else!" I barked, my voice cracking under the weight of the moment. My chest felt too tight, my breath ragged. "You think I want this? You think I want her to—" I stopped, swallowing hard, jaw clenched. "I'm telling you, it's the only way."

"No," Valeria hissed, shaking her head. Her hand trembled on her wand, but her voice didn't. "I'm not killing you, Sebastian. There's got to be another option, and I'm going to find it."

She turned from me like she was trying to focus, trying to find something I couldn't see. I started to argue again when she suddenly froze. Her head tilted slightly, like she was... listening?

"Wait," she whispered.

Ominis and I both looked at her. "What?" I demanded.

"Shh." She crouched down, her hand hovering just over the ground. Then she reached for something I hadn't even noticed. A small black beetle crawled across the stone floor, moving slow, like it didn't realize it was being watched.

She picked it up carefully, holding it close to her ear. "What is it?" I asked, frowning.

"I'm trying to listen," she whispered, almost like she didn't believe it herself.

Ominis' brows furrowed. "What's it saying?"

She stopped, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Her eyes met mine. She didn't have to say it.

"No," she said, shaking her head, her voice cracking. "No, I can't do that. It's just a beetle. It's alive. I can't—"

"Valeria." My voice was quieter now, but firm.

"No," she said again, more sharply this time. "Sebastian, we can't. We're not killing some helpless creature just to prove ourselves to some insane test. That's—"

"Necessary," I finished for her, stepping closer.

She stared at me, and for a moment I thought she'd fight me on it. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers trembling as she held the tiny thing in her hand.

"Valeria," I said, softer this time, my voice low and rough. "Look at me. We don't have another way. It's either this... or us."

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

"Give it to me," I said.

She hesitated, her hand tightening around the beetle as if she could protect it from what had to be done. But finally, slowly, she looked up at me. Her eyes burned with a mix of anger, grief, and something else I couldn't name.

She looked down at the beetle, her lips tightening. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and it wasn't just words—it was a promise, an apology, maybe even a prayer. I could see it in her face, the way her fingers trembled. Of course this was hard for her—she could understand the damn thing, hear its voice. I had no clue what it had said to her, but I didn't need to. I could tell she didn't want this—didn't want to watch it die—but she knew. She understood this was the only way forward.

She held out her hand.

I stepped forward before I could think too much, my hand brushing against hers. Her fingers were warm, trembling. For some reason, I held on for half a second—like I could pass this off to her, like I could delay the inevitable—but then I took the beetle from her palm.

It was so small. Pathetic, really. Its shell glinted in the wandlight like polished onyx, its tiny legs twitching as if it knew. Something in my chest tightened. It's just a bug, I told myself. Just a bug. Not a person. Not him. But my fingers shook anyway.

I crouched and set it down on the cold stone floor. My hand lingered, stupidly, like I couldn't quite let go. Merlin, what was wrong with me? For a second, it wasn't a beetle I saw at all. It was him. The look in his eyes. The sound when it was done.

My jaw locked. No. Don't think. Just do it.

I straightened slowly, wand tight in my grip. My mouth felt like it was filled with sand. I hated these words. Hated how they sat on my tongue, like poison I had to swallow. I took a shallow breath.

"Avada Kedavra," I whispered.

The flash of green burned against the walls, painting the shadows for a heartbeat. The beetle hit the stone with a hollow little sound, lifeless. Just like that.

Silence followed. Not a peaceful kind, but the kind that presses in on your skull. I stared down at the still shape, my throat dry. I hated this room. I hated this test. And I hated how easy it was, once you got used to it.

Then it came—the low, shuddering grind of stone against stone. The wall trembled, glowing faintly as the carved lines of a door etched themselves deeper, molten silver bleeding through the cracks.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, though it felt more like a curse than relief. My gaze slid to Valeria. She hadn't moved. Her eyes were locked on the empty patch of floor where the beetle had fallen, like the little thing's shadow still lingered there. Her jaw was clenched, her lips pressed thin. Too pale. Too quiet.

Ominis lingered off to the side, his wand lowered, his face carved into something unreadable—but the weight in his silence said more than words ever could. He didn't speak, and neither did I.

Then, without warning, light erupted from the center of the room—blinding, raw, like fire searing the dark. I squinted against it, my hand half-raising on instinct. It burned for a moment, swallowing every shadow, and then—just as suddenly—it stilled.

Floating in its wake was a key.

I stared at it, momentarily stunned. I wasn't sure I believed it had actually worked, that we'd bled and clawed our way through only to come out the other side. Valeria stepped forward, slow and careful, as though afraid it might vanish if she moved too fast. Her fingers brushed its metal surface before she closed her hand around it.

The key was blackened silver, etched with the same symbol as the door: a dragon, and a serpent coiling around it like it was strangling its own creation.

"One done. Three to go," she muttered. Her voice was quiet but steady, even though I could tell the whole ordeal had scraped her raw.

I crossed the room, the grind of my boots on stone breaking the silence, and took hold of the iron handle. It turned with a slow, reluctant groan, and the door creaked open.

We'd passed.

But it didn't feel like victory—only like the start of something worse.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Thank you dear beetle for your service. / S

Chapter Text

Drifting Through Daydreams

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one, 'cause most of us are bitter over someone."

- Daughter

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I couldn't believe our luck.

Or maybe it wasn't luck at all. Maybe it was fate, or some bizarre cosmic joke. The odds that we'd stumbled upon Flamel that day, that we'd even found the first key, still made my head spin. The key — the key — I'd found it. And yet, it almost destroyed us. What I still couldn't stitch together was the dragon. The serpent made sense—Slytherin's creature, his chosen legacy. But the dragon? Why was it carved into that hidden door, coiled in flame as though guarding a secret? The same symbol Lysandra Vale paraded as her own, etched into her skin and branded into the flesh of every Nightbinder who bent the knee. It wasn't just ink. It was a claim. A chain. Proof that they belonged to her, body and soul.

And if that was true—if the dragon was hers—then why in Merlin's name was it here, in the heart of Hogwarts?

I tried not to think about Larry, the beetle. Poor thing. If it hadn't been for him... if I'd had to make the other choice... I didn't even want to go down that road.

But my mind wouldn't leave it alone. It clawed at me like a persistent itch as I sat in Beasts class, kneeling on the straw-covered ground. It was strange being here now. Before, classes were cozy. Comforting, even. One of the few places where I could just... breathe. Now it felt wrong. I shouldn't be here, petting kneazles, when there were three more keys to find. When there were answers locked behind doors in this castle, and all I could think about was how to break into Gryffindor's area without raising suspicion.

"—she saying right now?"

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts like someone had slapped me. "What?"

Poppy was crouched beside me, her back straight as she gently scratched a kneazle behind its tufted ears. She didn't look at me, just stared at the creature with that calm, patient smile she always had. "I said, what's she saying right now?"

"Oh. Right." I forced my attention back to Emma, the kneazle in front of us, who had been purring and swishing her tail with clear irritation. Emma had not, in fact, been saying anything worth repeating. Something along the lines of stop touching my tail, stupid human. I smirked instead.

"She said she likes when you pet her tail," I said casually, letting my voice carry an innocence I absolutely did not feel.

Poppy's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," I lied, stifling a laugh as Emma flicked her tail in irritation and shot me a glare that only I could understand.

A new voice cut into our little bubble. "Hello, Ria. Poppy. How are you?"

I looked up, and there was Ominis, standing just outside the den with a handful of pellets in his hand. The pale sunlight streaming into the enclosure softened his sharp features, but the way he tilted his head slightly — like he was listening more than seeing — always gave him an oddly regal presence.

"Hi, Ominis. We're good," Poppy said brightly, still petting Emma.

"Emma doesn't seem convinced," Ominis said dryly, his lips curving faintly.

I grinned. "She's having... a moment."

Ominis tilted his head in my direction, like he was about to comment, but I was already thinking about Ylva, Emma's daughter. I needed to bring her to class next time. Emma hadn't seen her in over a week since Ylva was still living in the vivarium with me. I'd saved her from Professor Howin's plans to sell her — there was no way I could let that happen. She was family now.

"So," Ominis started again, crouching slightly to offer Emma a pellet. She sniffed it but ignored him, of course. "Poppy, I heard you managed to tame a mooncalf that even Howin was afraid of?"

Poppy smiled like she'd just been caught red-handed doing something good. "Oh, she was just misunderstood! You'd be surprised how many creatures aren't half as scary once you take the time to listen."

"Or half as cute, I'm sure," Ominis said, amusement curling in his voice.

I watched the two of them with growing curiosity. They had this quiet rhythm in conversation — Poppy's warmth against Ominis's reserved but subtle charm. It made me tilt my head, calculating. Is there something there? Maybe? No? I don't know. Would Ominis even...? My brain spun for no reason other than it always does.

What if... what if they ended up having children one day? The thought curled warm and dangerous through me. A little girl with Poppy's bright eyes. Or a boy with Ominis's pale hair. Would I ever have children? Could I?

"Mum, I'm ready to go," the little girl said, her voice chiming like a bell.

"Oh, are you now?" I answered, kneeling to smooth her dress. "Did you brush your hair?"

"Yes!" she giggled, tipping her head so her curls bounced.

"Ominis, are you ready to go?"

The voice cut through everything, shattering the illusion like glass. My head whipped around so fast I must have looked ridiculous. But it didn't matter. Because there he was—Sebastian, striding toward me with that quiet authority that always seemed to claim the space around him.

Sebastian didn't need to try to stand out. He just did. He walked with this natural purpose, broad shoulders squared, dark hair falling just perfectly into place in a way that had to be unfairly accidental. He took a stop at the fence and rested his left hand on it. And my eyes, traitorous as ever, lingered on how the sleeves of his shirt stretched faintly against his arms, how his fingers gripped the wood. Why am I looking at that? Stop looking at that. It's just... arms. Muscles. Totally normal. I swallowed and forced myself to look back at Emma. She flicked her tail again. I swear she was judging me.

Sebastian stopped a few feet away, waiting as Ominis finished talking to Poppy. Why are they still talking? My brain, of course, started making up ridiculous scenarios — was Poppy flirting with Ominis? Could Ominis even tell? He'd probably hate me for even thinking that. Ugh.

"So, Poppy," Ominis said, leaning slightly on the fence as Emma finally took one of the pellets. "Tell me, are you still trying to convince the professors to allow a Niffler adoption program?"

Poppy beamed. "Oh, absolutely. Who wouldn't want a Niffler? They're adorable and clever! I think I might've convinced Sharp, actually."

Ominis chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can't imagine Sharp letting a Niffler near his potions."

"Oh, he pretends to be cross, but I caught him feeding treats to one last week," Poppy whispered conspiratorially, as if she was letting us in on some grand secret.

I caught myself smiling, watching the two of them, and it made me curious. Too curious.

Meanwhile, Sebastian stood nearby, leaning against the fence of the den, waiting. I snuck another glance at him, just for a second.

Big mistake.

Because suddenly my mind wasn't here anymore. It went spiraling into that place where thoughts tangled like vines. What would it even feel like, to have those arms around me again? Like when he caught me on the roof — that warm, solid weight of his grip that somehow didn't feel scary at all. Or when I stumbled back from the pensive in the Serpent's Coil, when I'd barely been able to breathe and found myself in his arms before I even realized I was falling. What would his fingers feel like—

No.

I studied him now without meaning to. The way his hand rested on the fence, veins faintly raised as if the mere act of leaning was enough to make the muscles in his arm tighten. Did boys' arms just... look like that? Was that normal? I didn't think so. Then again, I'd never really paid attention before. I'd long ago made peace with the idea that I'd probably die an old maid with a hundred beasts and maybe a nice book collection. But apparently my brain had decided to start caring now.

Students passed us on their way back toward the castle, and the sound of boots scraping the path broke my wandering thoughts. Right. Class. Beasts class. Kneazles. Not Sebastian's arms. I blinked, and just like that, class was over.

"Hey, Ria."

The voice pulled me back. I turned to see Lola walking toward me, her brown hair braided neatly into two short plaits that framed her face. They looked... cute. I made a mental note to braid my hair more often.

"We're going to lunch. You joining?" she asked, glancing between me and Poppy.

Lunch. Right. That's when I remembered — I'd planned to talk to the boys today. About... well, the other thing. The next key. I'd been turning it over in my head all week, trying to sketch out a half-plan that didn't sound entirely mad. I needed their input before I drove myself crazy with my own thoughts. I'd asked them to meet me here after class. That's probably why Sebastian and Ominis were still hanging around while everyone else had gone.

"I'm good, Lola. I'm staying here with Ominis and Sebastian," I said quickly, waving a hand. "But you go ahead!"

"Alright. Poppy, you?" Lola asked, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

They weren't really friends — Lola was the type who spent most of her time on the Quidditch pitch, head of the Slytherin team, with wind in her hair and mud on her boots. But she knew Poppy and I were close, and Lola was polite enough to ask. And of course there was Ruby who were dear friends with Poppy as well.

"Yeah, I'll join," Poppy said, standing and brushing straw off her skirt. She gave Ominis a bright smile. "Bye, Ominis. Bye, Ria."

"See you," I said, watching her leave as she caught up with Lola.

I turned back to the boys, brushing dirt off my hands. "You boys ready?"

Ominis's gaze slid to me, his tone dry as ever. "Sure. But I don't like the cryptic tone you have about this plan of yours."

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

After piling a bit of everything on my plate — roasted chicken, a few potatoes, some bread, and, of course, a generous handful of cherries — I decided this would do. I'd always been a bit picky with food. Not in an obnoxious way, but... if it didn't look right, I wasn't eating it.

We skipped the Great Hall. Too noisy. Too many eyes. Instead, we carried our plates to the courtyard, where sunlight spilled over the stone like warm honey. It was quiet here, the hum of distant chatter muffled by the thick walls.

I sat on the edge of the fountain, Ominis next to me with his plate balanced on his knees. Sebastian sat across from us on the grass, leaning back on one hand, his plate in front of him. The sunlight caught on the dark strands of his hair, almost turning them bronze. I tossed my robe to the side and popped a cherry into my mouth.

The sunlight hit my face, and for a second, it almost felt like life was normal. Sunlight had a way of tricking you like that. Even as the cold nipped at your cheeks, everything always felt a little less impossible under sunlight.

"So," Ominis said, his voice cutting through my thoughts, "what did you want to talk about?" He sounded like he'd already run out of patience, and we hadn't even started. Not that I blamed him. We were plotting something insane, and we all knew it. Still, if we didn't save the world, who would?

"I have an idea for getting into Gryffindor," I said, balancing a cherry between my fingers.

Sebastian glanced up from his food, interest flickering in his dark eyes. Ominis tilted his head, listening.

I shifted slightly, leaning my elbows on my knees. "So. We want to drag as little attention to ourselves as possible. Which means blasting their common room door open with some big charm or trick is... not an option. Someone would notice. Someone always notices. And that portrait isn't letting anyone in who doesn't look like a Gryffindor. And she knows exactly who we are." I bit into the cherry, savoring its sweetness for a second before continuing. Damn these were good. I'd forgotten how much I loved cherries. "So I thought..."

I let the pause linger, just for drama. "We use Polyjuice Potion."

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up like I'd just suggested we set the entire courtyard on fire. "Polyjuice potion?" he repeated, his tone flat — but for Sebastian, that flatness was about as close to a laugh as it got.

"Yes," I said, as if it were obvious. "We just need hair from a few Gryffindors, we enchant our robes red—or steal theirs—and sneak inside. Then we can start looking."

Ominis tilted his head again, processing. "Alright... but after that? We don't even know where to start. We don't know the layout of their common room, or their dorms, or... anything, really."

"Exactly," I said, swallowing another cherry. "Which is why the Polyjuice potion works in our favor. It'll take a month to brew. That's a month to plan, and to figure out exactly where to search once we get in."

"A month?" Sebastian said, like I'd just told him we'd wait a century.

"Yes, a month," I shot back, giving him a look. "It's not instant magic, Sebastian. And if you've got a better plan, I'd love to hear it."

He didn't. None of us did.

They both went quiet. I could feel Ominis thinking — I could always tell when he was thinking, the way his jaw would shift slightly, like he was tasting the thought before he spoke it. Sebastian, though... he just sat there, watching me while pretending to focus on the piece of bread in his hand. I'd learned to read him in the small ways — the way his brow twitched, the way he swallowed before saying something he didn't like. He didn't speak much unless he had to. It bugged me sometimes. He had all these sharp thoughts hiding behind his quiet, and I wanted to pry them out.

"Look," I said finally, breaking the silence, "it's the only plan we've got."

Sebastian took another bite of his food. I caught myself watching him — the way he chewed slowly, the way his throat moved when he swallowed — and then quickly looked away, annoyed at myself.

After a beat, he set his plate aside and gave me a slow nod. It wasn't much, but it was something. Agreement, in Sebastian language.

I made a mental note of that, too — of how much he said without saying anything at all.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Cherries. / S

Chapter Text

Ink and Overthinking

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"With your feet on the air and your head on the ground."

- Pixies

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I finally finished the braid in my hair, though "finished" felt like a generous word. My arms throbbed from the effort—braiding half my hair into a half-up style, while the rest tumbled loose down my neck. The braid wasn't perfect, but it would do. I caught my reflection in the mirror and for a second, I thought — okay, maybe I'm kind of cute like this.

But then the stubborn knot of frustration settled in my chest. I hated that I was supposed to wear my hair up when I was turning eighteen. Or maybe I didn't have to, but all the women did it. It was like an unspoken rule, a signal that I was stepping into a different world, a world where my hair wasn't just hair anymore — it was a statement, a responsibility. I wasn't ready for that. I wanted my hair loose, messy, easy, like a blanket I could wrap around myself. It was simpler. Cozier. Less work.

I dropped down onto my bed, the rough cotton sheets cool against my legs. The sunset was pouring in through the windows, painting the room in pale gold and soft pink shadows, making everything feel quiet and suspended, like time had slowed just for me.

"Oh, that's cute — you should wear that more often," Bia said from her conversation with Ruby, tossing a quick glance my way that felt like a warm nudge.

I smiled, the small compliment catching me off guard. "Thanks, Bia."

She smiled back and returned to her whispering with Ruby. They were sitting cross-legged on Ruby's bed, each clutching a pillow like it was a shield against the world. The two of them were draped in soft nightgowns, their hair tousled from the day, and the whole scene was the definition of cozy.

Ruby's voice was soft, with this gentle, sweet lilt that always made me think of warm sunlight filtered through lace curtains. "Did you see Garreth nearly set his eyebrows on fire during potions yesterday? I almost cried laughing."

Bia scoffed, clearly taking her role as the badass commentator seriously. "Honestly, he deserved it. Who leaves their cauldron unattended like that? Garreth Weasley's a disaster, but I kind of admire his commitment to chaos. If I were him, I'd just set the whole dungeon on fire and call it a day."

Ruby giggled, clutching her pillow tighter, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I don't know, Bia. Maybe he was trying to impress someone. You know, danger and all that."

"Danger?" Bia scoffed, rolling her eyes so dramatically I thought they might get stuck. "The only danger Garreth Weasley's ever caused is to his own eyebrows. And maybe the entire potion batch. Which, by the way, Professor Sharp was not thrilled about."

Ruby's laugh slipped out soft and airy, a sparkle lighting her eyes. Mischief practically lived there. "He's a walking disaster," she said, voice lilting, "but honestly... you can't help but love him."

Bia snorted, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

"Do you know what we should do?" Ruby asked suddenly, sitting up straighter.

Bia leaned in immediately, like a co-conspirator already hooked. "What?"

Ruby's smile turned sly, the exact look she always got right before hatching something ridiculous. "Enchant his cauldron so whatever he brews looks perfect. He'll think he's nailed it, finally—" her grin widened, "—and then bam! It all implodes right when he's about to celebrate."

That did it. They both doubled over, laughter spilling between them like it had been waiting all day.

Their noise wrapped around me like a blanket I didn't ask for but needed anyway, cushioning the edges of my tangled thoughts.

Above them, Lola was sprawled across Ruby's bedframe, her legs dangling like she owned gravity itself. A battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages rested on her chest, pages flipping lazily whenever she bothered. Her fingers tapped against the leather cover in steady rhythm, eyes darting between the book and the ceiling as if deciding which was more interesting.

"Don't make me come down there," she muttered without looking away from the book.

Bia and Ruby ignored her, still caught in their bubble of giggles. Then, without warning, Bia grabbed the brush from the nightstand and dragged it through her long hair—until—

"Agh!" she shrieked, nearly leaping off the bed.

We all whipped our heads around. She wasn't brushing her hair anymore—she was brushing at her robes, swatting frantically.

"Lewis!" Ruby chirped, scooping up the little white blur from the sheets. She cradled the ferret like it was a crown jewel, pressing a kiss to its nose. "Good boy."

"That rat just bit me in the buttocks and you're praising him?" Bia wailed, rubbing furiously at her hip.

Ruby only grinned, holding Lewis aloft like a prize. "Don't be so dramatic. He just nibbled. I'm teaching him to be fierce."

Bia collapsed back onto the mattress, muttering darkly, "One day I'm making ferret soup out of you, Lewis."

Ruby kissed the ferret's head again, completely unfazed. Somehow she'd managed to convince the school the little menace was a cat—just unusually short and sleek. Whether it was down to her family's pull at the Ministry or her silver-tongued manipulations, I didn't know. But looking at Lewis's twitching nose and bead-bright eyes, he was kind of cute.

You're next.

His voice slithered into my head, sly and smug. My gaze snapped toward him, and sure enough, Lewis was perched there, whiskers twitching like he'd just told the best joke in the world. I rolled my eyes. Mischief ran in his blood — no wonder, given his owner.

Still... I knew better. Beneath all the theatrics, he liked me. I was the one who slipped him treats under the table, after all.

I tore my gaze away from the lively bubble of voices and reached beneath my mattress for my diary. I lifted it onto my lap and grabbed a quill, weighing the decision to write by hand. My fingers still felt numb and stiff from the braid, a dull ache that made holding the quill uncomfortable.

Instead, I grabbed my wand. A soft whisper of magic curled from its tip as I enchanted the quill, setting it to write on its own. It was convenient — usually, enchanted quills required you to speak aloud what you wanted written, but I'd tweaked the charm so it captured my thoughts instead. Sometimes it meant the diary got a bit messy, tangled in fragments and half-formed ideas. But then again, so were my thoughts. Messy, chaotic, and sometimes impossible to put into words.

I let the quill start moving, the tip scratching softly on the page, and settled back against my pillows as the last colors of sunset faded from the sky.

October 3rd

Dear diary,

Sebastian's arms. Wait, shit—don't write that down. Okay, nevermind. Yeah, I noticed Sebastian's arms earlier in Beasts, which made me think... do I notice things about boys now? I couldn't wrap my head around when it happened, but apparently it had. I didn't know if it meant anything, but it got me thinking.

Most girls my age had had their first kiss, even done some other stuff. I remember the Gryffindor party a while ago, after they won the Quidditch match, when I walked in on Bia and Adam in the broom cupboard. I couldn't look her in the eyes for days. But I hadn't thought much about it then... until now.

Because suddenly, my interest had peaked. And if it was Sebastian's arms—or just me being hormonal—I didn't know. But part of me wanted his arms to pick me up and thrust me onto a counter whilst I felt his hands roam my body. Wait—did you write that down too?

Anyways, probably best not to think too much about it.

They agreed, by the way, to the Polyjuice Potion. So now all we had to do was find three Gryffindors, grab some of their hair, and start brewing the potion. I'd never done it before, but how hard could it be? I had the recipe in one of my books.

Okay, I really should stop scribbling before my thoughts spiral completely out of hand again. And sleep—Merlin knows I could use at least a few hours of it. Especially after tonight. Hecat dragged me into yet another one of her private lessons. She's been doing that since my fifth year, insisting on training me herself. I've never really understood why, but I haven't dared question it either. Still... it's because of her I know the spells I do. The ones that don't show up in textbooks. The ones that make me wonder what she sees in me that I don't.

Daily Rosebuds:

Rose: I actually look kind of cute with a braid. Who knew?

Bud: Try not to get mad at my head when it won't stop overthinking. It's not like my brain has an off switch.

Thorn: Pretty sure the world's about to end any minute now—unless I somehow magically save it. No pressure or anything.

I lifted my wand and whispered the counterspell, freezing the quill's ink mid-sentence. I blinked at the page, smiling at the little mistakes the quill had made—more like happy accidents, really. Some words bled into each other, a jumble of half-thoughts and scrambled feelings.

I closed the diary gently and slid it back beneath my mattress. A yawn escaped me, and suddenly the weight of everything settled in—Sebastian, the potion, the veilborn secret I hadn't told anyone. I couldn't tell the girls, not really. But I hated lying to them.

Fingers crossed I manage to sleep tonight.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Arms. / S

Chapter Text

Borrowed Trouble

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Next time you point a finger, I might have to bend it back, or break it, break it off."

- Paramore

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Herbology always felt like babysitting leaves while pretending they had personalities. I stared at the plant in front of me. Something called a Flickering Fimbulleaf—at least, that's what Professor Garlick had said before launching into an enthusiastic lecture about its seasonal moods. Moods. Right.

The thing looked like a weed that had been electrocuted. Its leaves twitched every few seconds, like it was deciding whether to die or attack. It was hard to tell if that was normal behavior or just a cry for help.

Garlick beamed at it like it was her long-lost child. "Now remember," she said, "the Fimbulleaf is sensitive to harsh tones. Speak gently, and it may respond with a bloom."

I glanced sideways. Ominis had already backed a step away, wand loose at his side like he didn't trust the thing either. I didn't blame him.

"Sensitive to tone," I muttered under my breath. "Should get along great with first-years then."

My gloves were already halfway off. I wasn't touching it. Instead, I poked it with the tip of my wand, just enough to see if it reacted. It didn't.

Across the greenhouse, someone shrieked—probably because theirs had bloomed. Garlick clapped delightedly, full of praise.

I leaned my chin on my hand and sighed. Brilliant. They've discovered how to emotionally validate a shrub.

I was halfway through glaring at a plant with too many teeth when I heard a voice.

Laced like honey, smooth enough to crawl under my skin.

Valeria.

I glanced up just in time to see her bending over the ridiculous flower that had bloomed like it knew she was watching. Garlic looked like she'd just witnessed a miracle.

"Would you care for some water, Mr. Fimbulleaf?" Valeria asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, kind witch, I'm absolutely parched," she continued in the flower's supposed voice, flicking her wand to give it a delicate sip.

My eyes stayed glued to her longer than I should've let them. Her hair was half up today, the top section woven into a braid that trailed down the back of her head, while the rest fell loose around her shoulders. I only realized I was staring once it was too obvious, and I snapped my gaze away.

"Sallow?"

Not her. A different voice—low, but sharp enough to cut through my thoughts.

I turned, ready to bite, and found myself staring into blue eyes under a mess of brown hair. Definitely not the face I expected for that tone.

"May I have a word with you?"

I lifted a brow. Lola Nottley. Slytherin's Quidditch captain — and Head Girl, for whatever that was worth. Not exactly the type to waste time on pleasantries. Against my better judgment, I shoved my chair back and followed her into the corridor. Arms crossed, I leaned against the wall and waited. Most students who stopped me looked like they expected to die on the spot. This one? Didn't even flinch.

"So. Gavin's been kicked off the team," she said, "—inappropriate use of a Stunning Charm during a match. We're down a beater."

I stared at her. That was supposed to be my problem?

"So you in?" she pressed.

"In on what," I deadpanned.

"To take his spot." She tilted her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I know you played before. You'd be perfect."

I almost laughed. Some girl I hadn't spoken to since third year suddenly wanted me to swoop in and save her team? Absolutely not.

"No thanks."

"Why not?" she challenged, arms crossed now too. Brave. Or stupid.

"Don't want to."

She groaned, rubbing at her nose like I was giving her a headache.

"Please?" Her voice dropped into something closer to serious. "I've asked everyone else. You're the last option."

"How do you even know I'm still any good?"

"Because talent doesn't just vanish. I've seen you play."

Charming.

"Sebastian, ready to go?" Ominis's voice pulled my attention down the hall. And of course—Valeria was with him. Class must've ended. Thank fuck.

"Oh! Hi, Lola," Valeria said as they reached us, bright as ever. "What's going on?"

"Trying to get Sallow back on the team," Lola muttered.

"The Quidditch team?" Valeria gasped, as though I'd just been nominated for Minister of Magic. "That would be wonderful! You have to do it."

Why did she care?

"Well, he won't," Lola huffed.

"Why not?" Valeria asked, eyes too sharp for my liking.

"Yeah I think you'd be good for it. Nothing like getting smacked by a bludger to really toughen a man up." Ominis added.

"Come on, please?" Lola tried again.

"Please?" Valeria chimed in, her voice light and sing-song. "What's the matter, Sallow, scared of a little broomstick? Afraid you'll break a nail?"

I shot her a glare, but she only grinned wider, rocking back on her heels like she'd found the one button worth pressing.

"Oh, come on," Valeria pressed, her voice dipping into that infuriatingly sweet tone she knew got under my skin. "Just one game. Be nice for once in your life." She tilted her head, mock-sweet, lips curling. "Pretty pleeeeeease? With sugar on top?"

Merlin help me. She could've asked me to fly straight into a dragon's maw with that look and I might've considered it.

Before I could tell her exactly where she could shove her sugar, a voice cut through. "What's this, then? A corridor conference? Do I need to hand out detentions for loitering?"

I turned. Imelda Reyes, swagger in every step, that smug grin plastered across her face. Until she clocked Lola. Then it vanished like it had been Obliviated. "Oh—sorry, Captain. Didn't see you."

"If detentions were necessary, I'd have already written them," Lola replied, clipped and cool, as if the very idea of Imelda wagging her prefect badge at her was laughable.

"Right. Of course. My apologies."

Now, Imelda wasn't afraid of anything—she flew like she had a death wish, cursed like a sailor, and would duel you bloody just for sneezing in her direction. But even she gave Lola a wide berth. Not fear—respect. Lola was Head Girl and Quidditch Captain, two titles Imelda would've killed for. But hierarchy was hierarchy, and she knew it.

"We're trying to convince Sallow to come back to the team," Lola said, nodding toward me like I was some broomstick she was bartering over.

Imelda's brows shot up. "Sallow? You think he's worth the trouble?" Arms crossed, chin lifted—challenge clear in every line of her face.

"Without another Beater, you'll have your head taken off by a Bludger before the first whistle," Lola said smoothly.

"Please. I'll manage." Imelda flicked a hand like swatting away a fly. She was Seeker—fastest in the sky, and she bloody knew it. But apparently she didn't mind the prospect of a concussion or two. Be my guest.

The arguing went on. Lola's calm persuasion. Valeria's incessant poking. Imelda tossing in her two sickles. Even Ominis, smirking like this was the best entertainment he'd had all year.

The noise piled up in my skull until it felt like I was being pecked to death by a flock of bloody magpies. Every word another jab at my temples. My head throbbed, and I wondered if a migraine curse might actually be kinder.

And before I even realized the words had left me, I heard myself say, "Fine. One game."

Valeria winked at Lola. Lola smirked back. And that—that smug little exchange—made my stomach twist. They knew exactly what they'd done. That I'd cave if they poked at me long enough.

I hated it.

I hated that Valeria knew me that well.

And I hated even more that she was right.

But I wasn't about to roll over without getting something out of it.

"If—" I cut in, right as they started celebrating. "You tell your little prefect lackeys not to hand me detention for a month." I wasn't doing this for free.

Lola's eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. Valeria's brows shot up, but there it was—a smirk tugging at her lips. Imelda smirked too, like a cat spotting prey.

"Oh, he knows how to play," she drawled. She leaned in, patted my shoulder. "Now that I think about it, we might make a good team."

My glare nailed her hand to the spot until she yanked it back with a roll of her eyes.

"A week," Lola said, like this was something to negotiate.

"A month," I shot back, unblinking.

"Two weeks. Final offer."

I glanced at Valeria. She was watching the exchange wide-eyed, caught between surprise and something closer to terror.

I sighed, long and sharp.

"Deal."

I turned on my heel, done with the whole conversation.

"Practice is tomorrow after lunch!" Lola called after me.

Would I show up to practice? Maybe. Maybe not. I said I'd play the game. That was more than enough.

Already regretted it.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

The dagger hit the wall with a satisfying thunk. Dead center. My aim was perfect—as always. But then something ridiculous happened. A shiver ran down my spine. Not the good kind either. The blade didn't scare me. Daggers never scared me. They were comfort. Consistency. Mine. But that shiver? That was something else.

And I hated it.

I don't shiver at steel. Steel doesn't make you feel. It just cuts. Clean, precise. Predictable.

But suddenly, there I was—watching the dagger tremble in the wall, and my own skin prickled like I'd seen something alive instead of forged. Like some piece of me had cracked open. I shoved the thought away. I don't feel. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Still, the sensation lingered, crawling under my skin. I pulled another dagger free and turned it in my hand. The light caught on the edge, sharp and silver, winking like it knew something I didn't. I dragged the tip along my gloved palm. Just a brush. Just enough. The leather split with barely any effort.

One wrong move. That's all it would take. One slip, and—

"Fucking hell, Sebastian—are you mental?"

Ominis' voice cracked through the haze, and I jerked out of it. He'd walked in. Closed the door. Now stood right there, inches from my line of fire.

"Sorry. Didn't see you." The words left my mouth automatically, flat.

His hand went to his chest, like he had to push his heart back into place. Probably could still feel the breeze of the dagger grazing past his shirt. His sigh was heavy, annoyed, but not surprised. He should be used to me by now.

He stepped closer, a book in his hands. "Can you help me with something?"

I arched a brow, not moving. He didn't wait—just sat on the bed beside me and pushed the book into my hands. Dusty, cracked spine. Some relic he'd dug up from the library.

"There's a spell I need," he explained, "a signal spell. Makes another person's wand vibrate if you're in trouble. But the book's in French, and, well..."

"You never paid attention when my uncle tried to teach you."

"Tried is generous. He gave me maybe three lessons before declaring me hopeless. I didn't exactly volunteer for more."

I flipped through the brittle pages. My stomach soured the second I saw my uncle's language glaring back at me. French. Tasted rotten in my mouth. Still, I scanned it, found the section, and muttered out the translation.

Ominis leaned back. "Finally."

"Finally what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Finally a use for all those years your family forced you to learn French."

My mouth twitched—dangerously close to a smile. "Let me know when all the poems I had to recite for your father come in handy."

He laughed, nudged me with his shoulder, then wandered off to his own bed, book tucked under his arm. I stayed where I was, elbows on my knees, eyes back on the dagger still stuck in the wall.

Maybe he was right. French had been useless—until now. My father and uncle drilled it into me and Anne like it mattered, like it was vital. I was fluent. Great. Hadn't helped me once—except that one time in class when I muttered something in Sharp's ear just to piss him off. Landed me detention. Worth it.

"By the way," Ominis called, interrupting the memory, "my family wants to know if you'll be joining us for the holidays."

I nodded. Where else would I go?

"Great. I was thinking we could—"

And I tuned him out. He could ramble all he liked about holiday plans. It was only October, and he was already planning it. Still... I never minded being at the Gaunts'. I'd met Ominis my first year, and staying at his place had become tradition. Anne and I always went. Gave my uncle a break, which suited everyone. I'd even spent summers there too, once or twice. With nothing left of my own family, Ominis was the nearest thing I had to one nowadays.

His family's... odd. Quiet. Unsocial. They didn't care if I was there, but now they wanted to ask? Strange. Still, Ominis' father—he's different. Calm. Cold. Believes in things Ominis hates. But with me... he's normal.

Normal's rare.

And maybe that's why I keep going back.

"Did Ria tell you the latest?" Ominis asked out of nowhere, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Latest what?" I frowned.

"The Polyjuice potion," he said.

I shook my head.

"She reckons it'll only be a couple more weeks until it's ready. But apparently it's on us to find two Gryffindor boys and... you know, nick a bit of hair."

I gave a short nod. Brilliant. In two weeks' time we'd be in even deeper shit.

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the hinges.

"Asher," Ominis groaned, already sounding exhausted.

Our roommate sauntered in, dragging the storm with him. He ripped his robe off, tossed it onto the nearest chair like it had personally offended him, and collapsed onto his bed with a heavy thud.

I smirked. "Well, someone's had a day."

He dragged a hand through his black hair, eyes half-lidded but sharp beneath. Asher was the quiet type—always had been. Spoke little, watched plenty. Most of the school feared him, even if they couldn't say why. Me? I respected it. You learn quick to value silence when it carries weight.

"Weasley," he muttered finally, voice low. "Three days' detention."

Ominis raised a brow. "For what this time?"

Asher gave a humorless laugh, dark and lazy. "Dueling club. Some Ravenclaw got mouthy. He's still coughing up slugs."

I barked a short laugh.

"—that's disgusting," Ominis cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"—brilliant," I finished, grinning.

Asher just lay there smirking faintly, soaking in our reactions like a cat in the sun.

The room went quiet for a beat, just the faint crackle of the fire in the grate. Then, Asher sat up halfway, his eyes locking on me. "I need a drink."

"Don't we all," I muttered.

"You're joining me, Sallow," he said, not asking. Stated. Like it was already decided.

"Fine," I said, sitting up with a groan. "But you're fetching them. I'm not your bloody house-elf."

"Of course," Ominis scoffed. "Off to corrupt the kitchens again. I'm getting déjà vu—and not the pleasant kind."

That earned him a low chuckle from Asher. He swung his legs off the bed and met my eyes, and for the first time in a while, it felt almost like fifth year again—back when it was the two of us against anyone stupid enough to stand in our way.

Strange thing was, he seemed to like me better now. Azkaban hadn't softened me—it had burned the softness out—and Asher respected that. He liked the sharp edges, the darker streak. And I... well, I liked that someone did.

"Be right back then," he said, voice low, a challenge in it.

Behind us, Ominis groaned, "Boys," under his breath.

For once, the dorm didn't feel like a tomb. It felt like old times. Darker, maybe. But good.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

I know Sebastian speaks french in most of my stories but I just feel like he gives me that vibe xd. / S

Chapter Text

Autumn Collision

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"It's like I've been awakened, every rule I had you breakin'."

- Beyonce

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I crouched over the cauldron, nose wrinkled as the potion's sour, vaguely rotten aroma hit me. Polyjuice potion, not the worst thing in the world... but now, thanks to it, the entire Room of Requirement smelled like moldy cheese.

"Ria?"

My eyelids shot up. Instinctively, I yanked the lid onto the cauldron and scooted toward the other side of the room like a proper heroine in a gothic painting, heart thudding.

"Rubes? What are you doing here?" I asked, spotting Ruby peeking through the doorway. She stepped in, closing it gently behind her.

"Sorry," she said. "I waited in our dorm but just wanted to make sure we weren't late."

Late? My mind did a little pirouette. Late for...?

"Did you forget?" she asked, her eyes flicking to mine with that uncanny ability friends have to read every neuron firing in your brain. "The Quidditch game?"

Ah. Right. The game this afternoon. That game. And, of course, I had promised Ruby I'd be there. Of course. Because what could possibly go wrong in a world where I'm the Veilborn, destined to save everything, and currently trying not to die in a potion haze?

"Right. No. I didn't forget. I just had to... give Patrick his seeds." I lied, voice innocuous but my brain throwing itself off the nearest cliff.

Ruby chuckled, eyes sparkling. "Come on, let's get changed into something more festive."

"Festive?" I echoed, curiosity lacing my careful calm.

"Yeah. In case Slytherin wins, you want to look good. And if we lose, well... better to mourn in something pretty, don't you think?"

I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, soft, a little like wind through a haunted garden. Festive mourning. Only Ruby could make sense of that.

We began walking toward the door, steps synchronized in comfortable rhythm, when she froze mid-step, nose wrinkling.

"Ugh, what is that smell?"

Perfect. The universe providing excuses like a kindly old fairy godmother with a twisted sense of humor. Any excuse, any.

"Uh... it's my new fertilizer," I said, voice even, delicate. Lie as polite as it was panicked.

She gave me a look, confused but tolerating. Shrugged. And I exhaled, just a little. Lies were a necessary evil, apparently. And what, pray tell, could I say? Oh, by the way, girls, the legend child who's going to save the world? The Veilborn? Yeah... that's me. And also, an army of villains wants to kill me. So, naturally, I'm hunting four magical keys tied to the four Hogwarts houses and brewing Polyjuice potion in a random magical room. Totally normal Friday.

Yeah. That sounded sane. Very convincing.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

After what felt like an excruciating eternity of outfit changes—Ruby insisting I swap dresses three times—I finally made it out toward the pitch.

"Do you think Leander will piss his pants the second he sees Sebastian?" Bia asked, arms crossed, that wicked smile lighting up her face as we walked.

I rolled my eyes. 

"What, afraid he's going to scare your boyfriend away?" Ruby teased.

"Ruby! Ew, you're disgusting. If I ever get within a broom's length of Leander Prewett, you are allowed to curse me straight into the grave," Bia said, voice dramatic as always.

"You do talk about him an awful lot," Ruby said, huffing to keep up with our pace. I was still taller than both, but Bia had the advantage of speed.

"I do not! I talk about all the boys equally," Bia shot back, indignantly.

"Not if it comes to Asher Vexley," Ruby said slyly.

Color flared high on Bia's cheeks. "Don't you dare compare Leander to Asher again! Asher is—he's hot. Cold. Cool," she stammered, tripping over her words.

Ruby smirked. "Yeah, and you'd love to know what his tongue tastes like."

"Rubes!" I blurted, scandalized.

"What? It's true!" she insisted.

"What's true?"

Another voice cut in. We all turned. Alora and Rania were making their way toward us, looking effortlessly put-together as always.

"Girls!" Bia chirped, darting forward to hug them.

"Hi, Alora," I said.

"Valeria," she greeted smoothly, her blue eyes catching mine with that piercing steadiness she carried everywhere. Alora always looked like she belonged at the top of a throne—sharp, deliberate, untouchable. The kind of presence most girls would kill for. "What's up?"

"Just being dragged to this match," I said, forcing a little shrug.

She laughed. "Same. Rania hasn't stopped talking about it. Apparently, Sallow's playing."

Rania nudged her sharply, twirling a strand of her copper hair between her fingers. "Al, shut up."

But Alora only smirked. "What? You do. You talk about him constantly." She flicked her gaze back to us. "Rania thinks Sallow's suddenly worth looking at now that he's all dark and brooding."

"I do not!" Rania's face went red.

"You do," Bia chimed, grinning like a cat. "But I get it. Though Asher's the real prize, if you ask me."

Alora rolled her eyes, flipping her glossy black hair back into a high ponytail. "You two are disgusting."

I should've laughed. Normally, I would've. But I didn't. Because I hadn't known Rania had an interest in Sebastian—and I didn't know why my chest suddenly felt heavier for it.

Alora, mercifully, changed the subject. "I haven't seen you at Crossed Wands lately, Valeria. I kind of miss dueling someone who can actually give me a challenge."

A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Coming from her, that was no small compliment. She was good—one of the best. And often, it came down to her or me.

"Yeah," I said, "I've been busy. But I'll be back. Soon."

"I hope so," Alora replied, sharp grin flickering. "I'm getting bored."

"Where's your little Head Girl shadow?" Rania asked suddenly, her tone lilting with that mock-sweet edge she always carried. "She's usually glued to your side, keeping an eye on you."

"Lola's on the pitch right now—she is captain, after all," Ruby answered, tugging her scarf tighter around her neck.

"Right," Alora drawled, pulling her red-and-gold robes tighter around her shoulders. "I always forget she's not just Head Girl but also Slytherin's golden captain. Though she basically lives in that office of hers anyway."

Ruby shrugged. "She does. She's already taking new prefect applications from the fifth years."

"Well, at least you'll get a break then," Rania said with a smirk. "My sister's applying. Ever the Ravenclaw."

Alora's grin sharpened. "Oh, that'll be fun. Imagine your own little sister handing you detention slips."

"Shut it, Al," Rania shot back, cheeks flushing.

I tilted my head, finally cutting in. "Lola's not so bad. Half the time she pretends she hasn't seen us if we're up to something questionable."

"That's true!" Ruby piped up quickly. "Once I smuggled in this screeching pop-box from Zonko's—you know, the one that won't shut up until you hex it?—and Lola just walked right past me. Didn't even blink. As if she hadn't seen a thing."

A smile tugged at my lips at the memory. That was Lola: all rules on parchment, but in practice... she picked her battles.

"I just hope she's doing alright," I added after a beat, softer. "Head Girl and Quidditch Captain? That's a lot for anyone. Even her."

The others went quiet for a second—rare silence among us—before the chatter picked back up, quick and sharp as ever. But the thought lingered with me. Lola, always carrying more than she let show.

Thirty minutes later, the score was tied. Gryffindor and Slytherin, neck and neck. Normally, Quidditch didn't capture my attention. But today... my gaze kept straying. Not to the game itself, but to him.

Sebastian.

He moved differently than the rest of them, precise, measured. Focused—not the vacant, still, unreadable focus he usually carried like armor—but focused on the task. Winning. And somehow, watching him care so much, I found myself... caring too. My stomach flipped. I had never noticed boys like this before. Never like this. But there was no shame in letting my brain wander. If it wanted to look, I would let it. I deserved kindness, even from myself, and if my thoughts lingered on him in that way... so be it.

And oh, the way the Quidditch robe clung to him. My God. I hadn't expected to notice, hadn't expected to care, but my eyes... they did, whether I willed them or not.

"Slytherin wins!" the announcer bellowed.

The stands erupted—an explosion of sound, of green scarves waving, feet pounding against the wood. Ruby and Bia shot up from their seats so fast the benches rattled, shrieking with laughter and victory. All around me, students leapt to their feet, a wild stampede of joy, spilling down the stands toward the pitch like a tidal wave.

But my eyes caught something softer. A single leaf, dislodged from the branches beyond the stadium. It floated lazily, spiraling in front of my face as though it were falling just for me. Its veins were painted with amber and rust, delicate and unique, so beautiful I couldn't stop the small smile curling at my lips.

I reached up instinctively, fingertips brushing the air as if I might catch it. When I blinked, I realized there were more. So many more. Dozens, drifting from the trees above, fluttering in the wind like autumn's confetti. Golds, reds, oranges—each one a fragment of fire suspended in the air.

The crowd roared, surging forward in a frenzy to greet the victorious team. But my legs moved slower, softer, as though in another world entirely. I rose carefully from my seat, the cheers muffled in my ears, and let my gaze stay fixed on the sky. Leaves swirled down in a quiet storm above me, and I followed them step by step, descending the wooden stairs as though in a trance.

My friends raced ahead, swept along with the crowd, but I trailed behind. I couldn't look away from the drifting canopy, my head tipped back, my neck craning upward. Every step onto the pitch was guided more by instinct than attention. The grass cushioned my feet, the cheers around me fading into background noise. It was only me, the sky, and the slow, endless rain of leaves.

Until—

"Ah!" The breath punched out of me as I collided with something unyielding. Pain sparked across my chin, my hand flying up to cradle it as I staggered back a step.

I blinked through the sudden sting, shaking the haze from my eyes—

—and froze.

Brown eyes. Piercing, familiar, far too close.

"S—Sebastian!" My voice stumbled, clumsy, entirely too loud in my head.

My skin ignited the instant my eyes landed on him. Heat rushed to my cheeks so quickly it felt like I'd swallowed fire. His Quidditch robe hung half-off his shoulder, careless, and beneath it—

Bare chest.

Sculpted muscle slick with sweat, catching the dying sunlight like liquid gold dripping across stone. Each bead clung to his skin before sliding downward, tracing lines I shouldn't be following with my eyes but oh, Merlin, I was. My breath caught. My brain short-circuited.

Stop looking at him, Valeria. Stop. Look at his face. His face... No. Too late.

I stood frozen, rooted to the earth like one of those old enchanted trees, utterly transfixed. And the worst part? He just stood there, silent, watching me. Not smirking, not teasing—just watching. Calm and steady, as though he had all the time in the world to let me drown in my own spiraling.

Then, suddenly, he tilted his head back, gaze lifting from me to the sky. My heart lurched, almost relieved, like I'd been released from invisible shackles. I followed his eyes upward, desperate to see whatever had stolen his attention, and—

Leaves.

Of course. Still falling, still twirling down around us in molten orange and gold, drifting like the world had conspired to make this moment unbearably, unfairly beautiful.

And then his gaze dropped again, landing squarely on me. My stomach flipped. My cheeks burned hotter.

"What were you looking at?" he asked, voice low, calm—but there was something else in it. Warmer. Curious. As if he hadn't missed a single second of my distraction, my wandering thoughts, or the way I'd walked straight into him as though under a spell.

"Leaves," I mumbled, heat rising to my cheeks. Pathetic, schoolgirl level pathetic.

And then—THEN.

He laughed.

Not the short, clipped exhale I'd hoarded in memory since fifth year, not the rare half-sound that felt more like a cough than joy. No—this was real. A laugh that broke through his stillness like sunlight through storm clouds, bright and unguarded and so achingly human I thought the world might stop spinning.

It hit me like a spell. My heart stuttered. My breath faltered.

He's laughing. At me. With me. He's laughing.

The sound of it was everything I didn't expect—honey-laced but rough around the edges, like fire meeting sugar, too hot and too sweet all at once. It rushed through me, curling low in my stomach, leaving my skin tingling, traitorous. It was unfair. Entirely unfair.

And his face—Merlin, his face. The hard lines softened, lips curved, eyes half-closed with the weight of joy. A sight so rare it felt like stumbling into forbidden treasure, like something I wasn't supposed to see, something not meant for me.

I stood there frozen, as if one wrong move might shatter it, my mind an absolute mess of panic and wonder. Every thought was screaming, but I couldn't look away.

"Leaves?" he asked after a beat, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yes... I mean, they were beautiful, swirling colors..." I trailed off. Stop. Stop talking. He doesn't care about leaves.

But my mouth had a mind of its own. "Well, laugh all you want. I happen to enjoy nature—not like someone else I know, who'd probably set it ablaze." My arms crossed, defensive, though I had no clue why. Perhaps it was the laugh, or the smile, or... his body. Don't look, Valeria.

He tilted his head, and I swallowed hard. "I know you have claws. You don't have to show them."

I blinked. "Claws?"

"Like a kitten."

My knees nearly buckled. A kitten? A kitten? Cute and soft and harmless—but with claws sharp enough to scratch? And he meant me? My lungs forgot how to work. Did he mean it as an insult? A joke? Or—Merlin help me—did he think I was... cute? My thoughts tumbled over one another in a dizzy pile, absurd and spiraling. And he just stood there—calm, composed, collected—as if he hadn't just ripped the ground out from under me.

Then, like it was nothing, he turned. Started walking away. My heart sank with each step until—he paused.

"I got a strand of hair, by the way."

I blinked, still catching up, still clinging to the word kitten like it was echoing in the chambers of my skull. Hair? What did he mean—oh. The potion. And then—

"See you, Chaton."

Everything inside me stopped.

Chaton.

The word slid past me like silk, low and deliberate, but it took my brain a full second—two, maybe three—to process it. I just stood there, frozen, while my thoughts scrambled, useless, chaotic. Chaton. French. Kitten. A nickname. Not for anyone else. For me.

Heat surged to my cheeks, my chest, my ears—I thought I might combust right there on the pitch. Did he just—? Did Sebastian Sallow just give me a nickname? A French nickname? My nickname?

My heart hammered so hard it was deafening. My mind was a mess of shrieks and questions. Did he mean it as teasing? Did he mean it as sweet? Did he even know what it sounded like, falling from his mouth like that—hot and heavy and—Merlin above, breathe, Valeria, breathe.

But he was already gone. Already walking away, slipping back toward the castle, leaving me stranded in the middle of the pitch with my thoughts sparking like a firework display. By the time I remembered to breathe, everyone else was long gone. Just me. The autumn leaves. And the ghost of his voice lingering in my ears.

Chaton.

I was... nervous. Around him. Why? Why did it feel like my mind suddenly wanted to unravel every corner of him, every thought he held, while I couldn't even read my own racing heart?

I shook my head, turned, and started back to the castle, footsteps echoing softly across the empty pitch.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Valid crashout tbh. / S

Chapter Text

Words Like Lead

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"But really I would rather be at home all by myself, not in this room with people who don't even care about my well being."

- Alessia Cara

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

I tossed my robe onto the nearest chair and collapsed onto my bed. My muscles ached. My lungs burned. But... it hadn't been hard. Not like I thought it would be. Years since I'd played a real game, yet it had... clicked. The game, the strategy, the chase. I'd won. I'd made sure of it. And for a moment, the cheers didn't irritate me. They... felt good. Dangerous to admit it. I hated that.

I let myself lie there for a beat, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind drift. To a leaf. A single, damn leaf that had fallen straight into my path. Hadn't registered it at the time. Not until I walked away from the crowd, down the quieter path back to the castle, and collided with her.

Valeria.

She had walked straight into me, nose to the sky, entirely unaware of the world—or maybe just blissfully lost in it. She muttered something about leaves, and only then did I notice. She'd been watching them. Fascinated. Obsessed. Beautifully distracted.

I had laughed. Laughed, of all things. Regretted it instantly. But... not entirely. The sound of her chaos, her sudden stumble into me, it reminded me of something I hadn't thought of in years.

The kitten.

When I was nine, I'd found a stray outside our house. Anne had coaxed my uncle into letting us keep her. Naming her had been a disaster. We called her Kitten at first. Later, Chaton, because of my uncle's love of French. I'd adored that little creature, every hour of every day. And the damned kitten had a thing for leaves—chasing them, tumbling after them, utterly captivated.

The leaves, the backtalk, the hiss, the small bursts of independence—Valeria.

She reminded me of Chaton. Hence... the name. I had let it slip without thinking. Whatever.

I turned onto my side, staring at the wall, replaying it all. The way she'd watched me. Her quiet. That rare, soft focus she always had on things—on me. She had been... nervous. My chest tightened at the thought. It wasn't the first time someone had been nervous around me. But her? Valeria? She was never nervous. Ever. And now? Heat in her cheeks, hesitant steps, eyes wide and unsure... She was fragile. Not weak. Fragile. Like a princess carved from glass. One wrong move, one touch, and she could shatter.

And yet... part of me liked it.

Liked that I could get under her skin so easily. That my mere presence could flush her cheeks pink and leave her stumbling over her own tongue. Liked that I made her feel something. 

Dangerous thought. Wrong thought. The kind I should bury six feet deep and never let crawl back up again.

But it lingered. 

Because part of me wanted to see how far I could push her. Wanted to bend her over my knee, shove her skirt up, and find out just how wet she got every time she blushed like that. My fingers itched with the need to touch, to claim, to ruin—

Nothing. I clenched them into fists. 

Couldn't. Shouldn't.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain just enough to lie still. Quiet. Waiting. Thinking. 

My thoughts splintered under the sound I had been hoping to avoid. The door slammed open, and ten Slytherin boys charged in like a pack of overexcited hyenas, ties crooked around their heads, butterbeers swinging, fists pounding my shoulders.

"Sallow!"

"There he is! The man!"

"We owe it all to you, pal!"

I didn't flinch. Didn't even look at them. One kid, far too confident, let his hand linger on my shoulder as if it were part of me now. I turned my head just enough to let him know I noticed. He jerked back so fast it was comical.

They paused for a heartbeat, probably realizing that winning a Quidditch game didn't suddenly make me... sociable. Didn't make me want to laugh along with them. Didn't make me care.

"C'mon, you coming?" Richard, tall, loud, the kind of guy who believes charisma is a weapon, asked. Party. Common room. Always after a game. Always loud. Always a waste of my time. I narrowed my eyes. Not happening.

"Leave," I said. Short. Hard. Enough to make anyone else flinch.

"Aw, don't be like that!" someone shouted, elbowing another, who tried to sneak up behind me to nudge my back. I saw the movement. Met his gaze. He froze, red creeping across his ears.

Another one—Isaac, grinned and spun his butterbeer in a circle before taking a mock bow. "Fine, Sallow, if you won't come to us, we'll just bring the party to your dorm!"

I ignored him. Tried not to sigh. But they kept coming. One tossed a pillow onto my bed. Another jostled the robe I'd thrown carelessly onto the chair. The smell of butterbeer, sweat, and cheap cologne filled the air. I noted every movement. Every smirk. Every attempt at charm. I cataloged it all.

Then came the whispers. "He's never gonna cave." "Nah, Sallow's too grumpy. Won't happen." "Just keep pushing." The chorus grated against my skull. Every voice layered on top of the other like nails on slate.

And they weren't done. One of them—blissfully unaware of my gaze—grabbed a book from my shelf, yanked it open, and dropped it onto the floor like it was a drum. Another tried to clamber onto my bed, grinning like this was some joke. I could have snapped them in half with a single motion.

Screw this.

Options: stay here, dismantle them one by one, risk getting expelled—or worse, end up back... there. Or—go to the party, watch them fumble and drink themselves into a mess for ten minutes, then leave.

I drew in a slow, measured breath. Exhaled. "Fine."

The room erupted. Shouts, cheers, even high-fives exchanged midair. Isaac threw a pillow that bounced harmlessly off the bedframe. One kid tried to hug me in celebration; I stepped aside like a shadow, ignoring the attempt. Another muttered something under his breath and slinked off, pretending he hadn't been terrified five seconds ago.

I watched each of them go, noting every twitch of their posture, every small glance over their shoulder to see if I was following. Observant. In control. Still impossibly calm, even as my mind ticked off every annoyance. And part of me—dangerous, infuriating part—liked it. Liked the subtle thrill of knowing I could make them squirm, that my patience was finite, that I could bend them with nothing more than my attention or lack of it.

Finally, I drew a deep breath, shoulders squared. Calm. Controlled. I pulled on a shirt and  followed them out.

The sticky drag of my boots against the flagstones was the first mistake of the night. Nothing said bad idea quite like stale mead soaking through centuries-old grout. I should've turned around the second I smelled the firewhisky—sweet, acrid, and cloying enough to choke out the oxygen. Instead, here I was, leaning against a stone wall like some reluctant gargoyle, watching half-grown children lose what little dignity they had to cheap liquor and worse decisions.

One boy in the corner was trying—and failing—to look suave while pouring himself another drink, the liquid sloshing over the rim, soaking into the sleeve of his robe. Another was loudly insisting he could duel anyone in the room, wand dangling dangerously from fingers that couldn't hold a cup straight. Brilliant. Just what we needed: a spontaneous pyrotechnics display courtesy of too much mead and not enough brain cells.

The music thumped against the walls, some enchanted gramophone belting out a warbling tune that was two beats too fast. Every laugh sounded too loud, every smile stretched thin with the promise of tomorrow's regrets. I catalogued it all without meaning to: the way the candles dripped wax unevenly down their sconces, the charred spot near the fireplace where someone had clearly set off a spell too close, the slight dip in the floor where a dozen bodies had already spilled their drinks.

And all the while, a single thought kept circling in my mind:

I could be anywhere else.

But instead, I was here.

"Finally, someone worth my time at this sorry excuse for a party." 

I blinked as Asher appeared out of nowhere, sliding up beside me with that slow, deliberate swagger that made half the room step out of his way. He extended a bottle of firewhisky like it was a peace offering.

I eyed the bottle but didn't take it.

"What?" His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Not drinking tonight?"

"Not even attending," I muttered. "I'll be gone the second no one notices."

He chuckled, dark and low. "Entertaining enough for me. Watching idiots try to survive their own vices? Always worth the show."

He jerked his chin toward a knot of Slytherins across the room. I followed his gaze.

One boy was trying to hover himself with a charm, wobbling mid-air before a small explosion sent him sprawling onto his arse. The crowd howled.

A grin tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.

Asher caught it. "Now that's something you wouldn't have seen back in our dorm," he said.

I snatched the bottle from his grip. "Fine. Give it here." I took a long swallow, the burn clawing down my throat.

"Yeah, go Ria!" A girl's voice cut above the din.

My head snapped toward the sound.

Of course.

A circle had formed at the far end of the room—half-drunk students chanting, cheering, the kind of circle that always ended with someone sobbing in the bathroom. And in the middle of it, on top of the table, was Valeria.

Blonde hair flying, laughing too loud, spinning on unsteady boots like the whole world belonged to her. Carefree. Reckless. Too damned much.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. Of all the nights...

"Isn't that your little fifth-year girlfriend?" Asher asked, leaning against the wall beside me. His tone was all mockery, but his eyes were sharp, watching me.

My glare snapped to him. "She was never my girlfriend."

"Whoa—easy." He lifted his hands, smirk unbothered. "Just a question."

Then he added, almost idly, "Wouldn't have blamed you, though. Strange, sure. But... quite a sight."

My body went taut. I forced myself to ignore him, eyes dragging back to Valeria no matter how I tried to look away.

Asher chuckled under his breath. "Better than that one, anyway." He tilted his chin toward another corner.

I followed—and caught Nadia Reign staring. The second my eyes found hers, she jerked her gaze away, cheeks blazing.

"Pretty sure she's got a crush on you," Asher said, enjoying himself far too much.

"Nadia has a crush on any boy her father would disown her for," I said flatly.

Asher barked a laugh and nudged my arm, a rare spark of camaraderie. Against my will, the corner of my mouth twitched upward. 

But the moment didn't last. My gaze was already back on her. 

Her friends clapped, cheered, egged her on. She lifted her arms, gave a little twirl, tried to make it look effortless—but the nerves were there. Too quick glances toward the crowd, the way her laugh cracked a little too high, the tremor in her fingers when she steadied herself against the bottle someone shoved at her.

I told myself I didn't care. That she could topple over and hit the floor for all it mattered to me. I was halfway to looking away when I saw it—her boot catching on the edge of the table.

She's going down.

And before my brain caught up, my body was already moving. Shoving through the wall of people, reaching out.

Half a second later she wasn't falling—she was in my arms.

The room went dead quiet for a breath, then erupted into laughter and cheers, whistles cutting sharp through the noise. To them, it was just another party stunt. To me, it was a mistake. I clenched my jaw. I didn't even know why I'd bothered.

She felt too light against me, too small for someone who carried herself like she was invincible. Her eyes met mine—wide, startled, a flicker of shame beneath the shock. For a second, neither of us moved.

Then she scrambled out of my hold like my touch burned her. "Sebastian," she breathed, as if saying my name might explain anything.

Bianca shoved her way forward. "Oh my god, Ria, that was insane! I thought for sure you'd break your neck."

Ruby's voice cut quieter, almost an afterthought: "Glad you didn't, Thanks to Sebastian."

Lola, ever the rational one, frowned. "I told you to slow down on the firewhisky." Then she turned to me, calm as if I hadn't just saved Valeria from shattering on the stone floor. "Thanks for stepping up tonight, Sebastian. We really needed that win."

I gave a curt nod and turned away before anyone else could drag me further into it.

I didn't understand Valeria and her friends. They were nothing alike. Half the time I overheard them calling her strange. But still, they stuck to her—like moths to a flame. 

I was done for the night. Too many voices, too much heat in the room, and far too much of her. I slipped out, letting the heavy door fall shut behind me. The cool air of the corridor felt like relief.

"Sebastian?"

I froze, jaw tightening. Her voice again. Of course. I turned my head, and there she was—hurrying down the hall after me, her steps uneven, a faint flush on her cheeks. She stopped too close, swaying ever so slightly.

"I, uh—" she started, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth. For a moment she just stood there, staring at me as though trying to pin me in place with her eyes alone. Then the words spilled out, clumsy but determined. "Great game today."

I arched a brow. That was it? Small talk? I weighed the effort of replying but my tongue refused. What was I supposed to say to that? I said nothing.

She gave a thin laugh, the sound brittle. "You don't make this easy, you know." Her voice wavered between humor and something sharper. "Does it hurt you that much to converse?"

I should've ignored it. She was drunk, her words loosened by liquor, reaching for anyone within reach.

"Words are useless," I said at last, the syllables flat, heavy.

She scoffed. Threw her hands up, head tilting toward the ceiling, eyes closed in exasperation. "Useless? Gods, you don't understand anything, do you?" She shook her head, then looked back at me, gaze steady now, burning despite the alcohol. "Words are everything. They're the shape of our feelings, the weight of our choices. They can wound, yes, but they can heal too. They're how you pull someone back from the edge. How you tell a soul they're not alone."

Her words landed like arrows, one after the other. She wasn't just speaking to me. She was pleading.

I looked away. The sharp tang of liquor clung to her. I should have walked off. Let her return to her laughter and her drinks.

Instead, I stood there. Silent.

Her shoulders sagged. She gave a small, resigned shake of her head, her voice softer now, laced with something that almost sounded like hurt. "Forget it."

She turned, steps unsteady but determined, retreating down the corridor.

Something inside me clenched. Against every better instinct, my hand shot out, catching her wrist before I could stop myself.

She froze, breath hitching, then slowly turned back, eyes locking on mine.

"Try not to get into more trouble, Chaton," I murmured, my voice lower, rougher than I meant it to be.

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more. Instead she only nodded once, a small, trembling movement.

I released her.

Without another word, I walked away, each step heavier than the last. I should have left her where she was, let her drown her fire in wine and laughter. Every time she drew near, I risked dragging her into my shadows.

And yet—the memory of her wrist lingered in my palm, warm, fragile, unbearably alive.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

The way she literally fell for him. / S

Chapter Text

The Confession Circle

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"If they knew what they said would go straight to my head, what would they say instead?"

- Billie Eilish

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"There she is, the freak."

"Shh, she can hear you."

The faint smell of vanilla drifted by with the sound of girls' laughter, sharp and muffled behind cupped hands. Don't worry. They don't know any better. Their lives are probably painfully boring. Keep walking.

I clutched my book tighter, my boots echoing against the stone floor. Focus.

Skin of a boomslang. I'd read the same sentence three times now and retained nothing. Most potions disgusted me, the way they tore pieces from living things. Eyes. Tongues. Skins. I hated it. I'd bought what I could—better that than kill anything myself—but the boomslang skin still eluded me.

Maybe the little shop by the river? Hogsmeade was useless, I've tried everywhere. I need it now. The potion's almost done. 

A voice cut through my thoughts: "Is that her?"

Of course they're loud. Girls always are. Do they want me to hear them, or just not care? Maybe both. In fifth year, I would have hexed their eyebrows off without hesitation. Now... not worth it. Not when it's me. If it were Ominis they were mocking, I'd burn them down in an instant. But for myself? I let it wash over.

The corridor hummed with the rush of students heading to lunch. I stayed buried in my book, threading my thoughts through the noise, until—

I slammed into something solid and stumbled back. The floor knocked the breath from me, and a sharp throb ignited behind my forehead. My hand flew up to the spot, muttering silent curses.

"Whoops."

The voice was too familiar. Of course. I blinked through the daze and found myself staring up at Cedar Steel. Hufflepuff's very own stain on the house reputation. His laughter bounced off the walls, quickly joined by the snickers of his little entourage.

"Should look where you're going, freak."

My blood boiled hot in my veins. Cedar again. Always Cedar. Other boys kept their distance. Girls too. But him? He seemed to live for these moments, as if tormenting me gave him purpose. He hadn't bothered me in months, but I should have known—it never lasts. He always comes back, no matter how many times I've bested him in a duel.

I groaned, pushing myself up on one elbow, the other hand pressed hard against my forehead. My skull throbbed, like it had been cracked open. Still half on the floor, I glared up at him.

"Oh, look, the castle's biggest waste of oxygen. Careful, Cedar. Crashing into girls is the closest you'll ever get to one," I said dryly, my voice steadier than I felt.

Cedar blinked, momentarily thrown off, before smirking down at me.

For a moment, he faltered—just a beat too long before his sneer returned. His friends snickered on cue, though they seemed more eager to impress him than anything else.

I reached for my book, its worn leather cover lying just out of reach on the flagstones. Before my fingers could reach it, Cedar's boot shot out and sent the book skidding across the corridor. The thud as it smacked the wall echoed like a slap.

I drew a slow breath, forcing my heartbeat to steady, then turned my eyes on him. "What's the plan here, Cedar? Kick enough books and you'll make the Quidditch team?"

He tilted his head, grin widening as if he'd scored a point. "Or maybe I just like watching you crawl."

My jaw tightened, but I didn't look away.

Blood boiled under my skin. Cedar always did this. He knew how to needle at me, to act like nothing I said could matter. It reminded me of that time in sixth grade when he cornered me outside the greenhouses—laughed while I dropped an entire stack of herbology notes into the mud. He hadn't let me live it down for weeks. I had had the sudden urge to scoop up that mud and smear it right through his perfectly polished, too-white hair. This year though, as if fate had blessed me, he'd disappeared—weeks of detentions, or maybe suspension, who knows. I'd almost started to enjoy the silence.

"Funny. I thought detention was supposed to fix bad habits, not sharpen them," I said evenly, pushing myself fully to my feet despite the ache in my skull. I straightened my robes, refusing to let him see me rattled.

People were slowing now, watching. Some lingered at the edges of the corridor, their footsteps pausing, whispers blooming like wildfire. I locked eyes with Cedar, refusing to drop my gaze, even as my mind spun with a dozen different ways this could spiral out of control.

Cedar's grin sharpened, his voice loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. "What's the matter, Velkan? Not in a hurry to get home for dinner with the parents? Oh—right." His smirk widened, cruel and satisfied. "Forgot you don't have any real ones."

My jaw locked so tight it felt like stone. Heat crawled up my neck, the sting of his words slicing deeper than I'd ever let him see. My wand slid into my palm before I even realized it, fingers coiling with the promise of fire. To hell with detentions. To hell with the professors. I didn't care—I would hex him until he choked on his own laughter.

But then—

The crack of fist against bone echoed like a thunderclap.

Cedar's head snapped to the side, his body stumbling hard into the stone wall. He groaned, clutching his jaw as he reeled, disoriented, eyes darting wildly to find his attacker. Gasps rippled through the corridor—sharp intakes of breath, a few startled squeaks. Even his little pack of sycophants froze for a beat, blinking.

"What the hell—?" Cedar managed, voice slurred, blood gathering at the corner of his mouth. Then he saw him. His eyes went wide. "Sebastian?"

It was like all the air shifted.

The smirk drained from Cedar's face, his bravado collapsing in on itself. His friends exchanged nervous glances, all that bravado snuffed out in an instant. They muttered excuses and tugged him away, their steps quick, like dogs slinking back to their master's heels. Cedar didn't even look back.

Sebastian stood there like a statue, shoulders squared, eyes locked on Cedar until he vanished around the corner. His gaze was a weapon in itself—sharp, unyielding, carved from steel. He hadn't said a word. He hadn't needed to.

Then his hand twitched. He shook it out once, flexing his knuckles. Red, scraped, bloodied. The motion was quick, irritated, like he was more bothered by the sting than satisfied with the hit. His scowl cut through me, carved sharp as the lines of his jaw.

And still—Merlin help me—I couldn't tear my eyes off his hand. The ridges of his knuckles, raw from impact. The way his fingers curled and uncurled, restless, as if they ached for something to grip. Is it... weird that I found that hot? Because it was. It was unbearably hot. Oh gods, what was wrong with me?

I stood there rooted, wand limp at my side, chest so tight I could barely breathe. A thousand questions whirled in my head, a thousand protests—and yet, none of them made it past my lips. Just that one reckless thought repeating over and over.

When his eyes flicked to me, I swore the world stopped. They were unreadable, sharp enough to slice through the air between us. My breath hitched. My throat was dry as parchment. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, only stand there burning from the inside out.

And then, without a word, he bent. Scooped up my book from where it had fallen. He held it out to me, his scarred fingers brushing the leather, brushing mine, and I nearly dropped it from how violently my hands shook. I wanted to say something—thanks, a joke, anything—but the words wouldn't come. They stuck heavy in my throat, traitorous.

He didn't wait for me to find them. He didn't explain, didn't justify, didn't even soften the silence that pressed so thick between us. He just turned on his heel, shoulders tense, stride sharp, walking away like the very act of caring irritated him.

And me? I just stood there, clutching the book he'd put back in my hands, staring at his back as he disappeared. My pulse wouldn't slow. My palms itched where his had brushed mine. And Merlin help me... all I could think about were those bloodied knuckles

It felt strange. Strange and not him at all—yet somehow so very him. Every day I learned something new about Sebastian Sallow, and every day it left me more confused than the last. He hadn't needed to step in. He knew I could handle myself. So why? Why risk it? Why defend me?

The warmth in my cheeks deepened, and I swallowed hard, unable to answer my own questions.

All I knew was that I'd never forget the look in his eyes when Cedar realized exactly who had hit him.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

The following days were nothing short of torturous. As if concentrating on classes hadn't already been a battle, now it was an utter impossibility. How could anyone expect me to listen to dry lectures when, just a few desks away, sat the very figure who had somehow invaded both my waking hours and—more disturbingly—my dreams?

Dreams had always been peculiar things for me—odd, knotted little tapestries of shadow and fear, stitched together by night terrors that clung like old companions. I was used to them. I'd even made a sort of wary peace with them. But lately... something had shifted.

Ever since that moment in the corridor—Sebastian's fist colliding with Cedar's smug grin, the sharp crack echoing in my chest like thunder—he'd begun showing up in those dreams. Not the usual sort, either. And Merlin forbid I try to explain what he was doing in them. The memory alone was enough to make my face burn.

Heat crawled up my throat, traitorous and impossible to shake. What was it with him? With his stupid, infuriating hands? Scarred knuckles and restless fingers, always flexing like they had a will of their own. And why in the name of all things holy did I like them so much?

It was ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. And yet there it was—the thought that followed me even into sleep.

Now, in the dim sunlight filtering through the tall classroom windows, I caught myself staring again. He leaned back in his chair as if gravity itself bent around him, pen twirling lazily between his fingers. Shit. His gaze was set on the window, unreadable, as though the world outside held secrets he was too tired to share. Not a flicker of attention for the lesson—or so it seemed. Did he ever really listen?

Stop focusing on his hands. My eyes traced the strands of his dark, slightly tousled hair as they fell across his brow, shadowing eyes that always looked like storms about to break. I followed the faint scar on his bottom lip as though it were a path that might lead me somewhere—though I had no idea where.

Strong arms. Hands. On my body—

I clenched my thighs under the desk, warmth pooling low in my stomach. I swallowed, hard.

"Ry?"

The name pulled me back to reality, sharp as a pinprick. My gaze snapped from Sebastian's profile to Ruby's curious face beside me.

"Hm?" My voice cracked. I tried to disguise it as nonchalance, but the act was thin, paper-thin.

Ruby's eyes narrowed, confusion first. Then I watched them flick sideways—toward Sebastian—and back to me. Something in her expression shifted, her lips parting, brows arching higher, and then the grin bloomed. Wide. Wicked.

"Ria," she whispered, almost giddy, "don't tell me you were staring at—ouch!"

My foot found her shin before she could finish. Her wince turned quickly back to that infuriating grin. Ruby might look soft, sweet, innocent, but when it came to me she seemed to delight in playing the cat to my cornered mouse.

And perhaps she had a right to grin. I'd never stared at a boy before. Not like this. Not until him.

"Miss Velkan. Miss Kadowai. Anything you'd like to share with the class?"

Professor Ronan's voice cut through the air like a whip. My heart lurched as my gaze darted up—and immediately, instinctively, straight back to Sebastian.

He was looking. Not at Ronan. At me.

For a breath, my pulse stopped.

Ruby recovered faster, offering an airy, "Sorry, professor." I nodded mutely, cheeks burning, hoping the ground might just swallow me whole.

Ronan gave us one of his sharp, knowing looks before returning to the board, resuming his lecture. The tension in my chest loosened, just a little.

I stared down at my parchment, ink blurring into nonsense before my eyes. But it was no use. My gaze betrayed me once more, flicking sideways.

Sebastian wasn't watching anymore. His attention had drifted again, out the window, to things I couldn't name.

I released a shaky breath, wishing I could do the same.

Then—

"Miss Velkan?"

I snapped my head up so fast my hair nearly whipped Ruby in the face. Professor Ronen was staring directly at me, one brow arched, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips.

"Hm?" My voice cracked like I'd been caught napping. A ripple of chuckles spread through the classroom.

"I was wondering," Ronen continued, "if you could kindly explain to us all why precise pronunciation matters when casting the Engorgio charm."

Oh no. All eyes turned to me. I scrambled up from my seat, clutching my wand like it might save me from spontaneous combustion. My heart thudded. Focus, Valeria. Just say the thing. You know this.

"Y-yes, professor." I cleared my throat. "Proper pronunciation ensures the magic flows correctly through the wand, and the spell remains controlled. Otherwise the results can be unstable and—" My tongue slipped. My brain betrayed me. "—it really comes down to the hands."

The silence was deafening. Then confusion spread like wildfire, students twisting in their seats to gawk at me.

"I—what I meant was—your voice! Not hands. Definitely not hands." My cheeks burned so hot I was certain smoke was coming out of my ears.

Professor Ronen's moustache twitched, fighting back laughter. "An... interesting answer, Miss Velkan. Hands do have much to do with wand movement, though not quite in the sense you imply. But your second explanation was indeed correct."

Ruby jabbed her quill into my side with a smirk as I sank back into my chair, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me. My insides screamed.

Shit.

Don't look at him. Don't. Look.

I risked a glance anyway—Sebastian hadn't laughed, hadn't even cracked a smirk. He wasn't looking at me at all. Thank Merlin.

And yet... why did that sting worse?

The lesson ended before I even realized it had begun. My quill slipped from my fingers, parchment half-empty, mind far too full. Chairs scraped backwards all at once, voices rose, the room a rush of footsteps and laughter. I wanted nothing more than to slip into the tide and out the door, to be left alone with the storm in my chest.

But before I could escape—

"Hey!"

A hand seized my wrist. Ruby's hand. Of course. I stumbled a step, nearly colliding with her small frame as she tugged me along, her grip deceptively firm. She didn't stop until we reached a shadowed corner, hidden away from the chatter of students. Then she spun on me, pressed me against the stone wall, eyes gleaming.

"Spill."

I blinked. "Spill what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Ria." Her tone was accusatory, though her grin betrayed her excitement. She planted her fists on her hips, chin lifted in mock authority. "You better tell me what's going on with Sebastian Sallow this instant, or I'm going to explode into tiny pieces of unfulfilled curiosity."

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. My stomach dropped, my cheeks burned. "There's nothing going on with Sebastian," I whispered quickly, glancing down the corridor as though the very walls might overhear.

Ruby just arched a brow, eyes sparking like a cat who's cornered her prey. She tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear and leaned in. "Ria," she said slowly, "I saw you staring at him. The entire class. And don't even try to tell me you were thinking about homework."

I exhaled hard, knowing resistance was useless. Perhaps—perhaps it wouldn't be terrible to say it aloud. To untangle the knot with Ruby's help. Maybe then my thoughts wouldn't feel so... devouring.

"Fine."

Her entire face lit up. She bounced forward on her toes, eyes locked on mine like a hawk spotting movement in the grass.

"I—" My throat clenched. The words felt like stones lodged there. Why was it so impossible? I could argue with professors, hex Cedar without blinking, but this? My heart thumped wildly.

"I think," I managed, fingers twisting together, "I might have the tiniest, itty bittiest crush on... Sebastian."

Ruby's jaw dropped. A gasp burst out of her like she'd been holding her breath all day. Then came the grin. Wide. Relentless. Victorious.

"Ria!" she squealed.

"Shh!" I slapped my hand over her mouth before her voice could echo down the corridor. "You cannot tell anyone, Ruby. Not a soul. I don't even know what this is yet—I just know that I can't stop thinking about him and..." I faltered, pressing the back of my head to the cool stone behind me. "And I don't know. I haven't figured it out. So please."

Her eyes softened, sparkling above my palm. When I finally pulled my hand back, she mimed zipping her lips and tossing away the key. "Sworn to secrecy," she promised. And then, her voice pitched high with delight: "But Ria, this is the first time I've ever seen you like this about a boy! You're blushing! It's adorable."

I groaned. "Don't make it sound like I'm some lovesick girl in a novel. I just—" My voice softened, honesty slipping out like water through cupped hands. "I just want to know him. Really know him. Crack him open like a locked chest and see what's hidden. I want to hear him speak, even if it's sharp. And I want to be near him, even when he infuriates me."

Ruby clutched her hands together, bouncing in place like she could hardly contain herself. "This is so exciting! Oh my goodness, Ria. You and Sebastian Sallow." She giggled. "You realize you've just given me enough material to survive the next week?"

I covered my face with both hands, groaning again, though secretly, I was almost relieved. Speaking the truth—even in fragments—made it feel less terrifying.

Less terrifying. But infinitely more real.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

The Slytherin common room had been quiet when I passed through, lanterns throwing ripples of green light across the stone walls. I had prayed—prayed, as one prays for sun after weeks of rain—that the dormitory would be hushed, the curtains drawn, my bed waiting with the silent promise of sleep. I was tired. My thoughts had clawed at me all day, a swarm of butterflies and hornets mingled together, and I longed only to silence them.

But the moment I turned the knob and pushed open the door, I knew peace had abandoned me.

Three pairs of eyes—three different fires—pinned me where I stood. Ruby's were wide, guilty, almost shimmering with regret. Lola's sharp as a captain's whistle, arms still crossed in her half-undone quidditch robes. And Bia... oh Bia's eyes were alight with something like triumph, a cat catching the bird, rollers perched absurdly in her blonde hair like crowns of mischief.

"Hi... girls," I whispered, my voice a trembling leaf on the wind.

"Sebastian Sallow?!" Bia burst. My chest constricted as though the walls themselves had leaned in to hear.

My gaze flew to Ruby—traitor, dearest traitor—her cheeks burning redder than a Gryffindor banner. "I'm sorry!" she squeaked, clutching her blanket like a shield. "They— they forced it out of me!"

"Val," Lola's voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm, controlled, lethal. "Are you out of your mind?"

And then Bia again, with a dramatic gasp: "Out of her mind and yet—this is the juiciest thing I've heard all year." She perched on the edge of her bed, rollers bouncing as though applauding her own words.

I exhaled a long, thin sigh and crossed the room, dragging my weary body to my mattress. If I sat, perhaps the floor wouldn't split open and swallow me whole. But no—of course the girls followed, circling like hawks, or perhaps like sisters at a fire, demanding the story from the one who'd stumbled home late.

"You'd better explain yourself this minute!" Lola commanded, dropping onto the bed with enough force to rattle the frame.

I hugged a pillow to my chest as though it might shield me from the barrage. My voice came out small, almost pathetic: "I... I don't know what to say, okay?"

"So it's true?" Bia leaned in, eyes wide, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder in dramatic flourish. "You're in love with Sebastian?"

The word love lodged in my throat like a stone. "I don't know!" I blurted. "All I know is I can't stop thinking about him."

"Val, he's a criminal!" Lola shot back instantly.

"You asked him to join Quidditch practice two weeks ago!" I countered, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"That's different," Lola snapped, brows furrowed. "Playing is one thing. Loving him?"

And then Ruby, soft as petals: "Are you quite sure it's love?"

"I said I don't know!" My voice cracked on the last word, and silence fell, heavy as snowfall.

Until Bia broke it with a gasp so loud it was almost theatrical. "Okay. Everyone breathe. Frankly? I think this is excellent news. I mean—let's admit it, Sebastian is hot. Like... really hot."

"Bianca!" Lola groaned, smacking her shoulder.

"What? He is! Tall, strong, brooding, the scar on his lip? Please. He looks like he was carved by a sculptor who was in a very good mood that day." One of her rollers slipped sideways as if nodding in agreement. "I see the appeal."

Ruby giggled despite herself, then covered her mouth.

"But Ria," Bia continued, eyes sparkling with mischief, "you, of all people! Not to be a bitch but honestly—I always thought you'd end up marrying one of your beloved beasts, or worse, some cardboard knight straight out of those sappy novels you drown yourself in. And him? Sebastian Sallow? He's the opposite of a gallant prince. He's a murderer, Valeria! A murderer. I mean, I get it if it's me—we both know I've got a weakness for dangerous types—but you?" Her lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. "You're the last girl I'd expect to fall for someone who could burn the whole world down just to watch it crumble."

I stared at the pillow in my arms, afraid my face had turned the color of ripe berries. "He's not as bad as you all think," I murmured.

Lola arched an eyebrow. "Convince us."

The words tumbled from me before I could stop them: "He's... misunderstood. I just want to see the real him. And sometimes, I do. Like when he helped me reach the ashwinder eggs from the top shelf. Or—" my throat went dry, but I forced it out— "a few days ago, he punched Cedar Steel for making fun of me."

Gasps ricocheted around the room.

"He what?" Ruby squealed.

"Cedar was picking on you again?" Lola's eyes darkened. "I swear—"

"Don't," I interrupted quickly. "Cedar's not worth it. The point is... Sebastian isn't who they say he is. He's... kind. In his own way."

The quiet this time was softer. Thoughtful.

Ruby reached out, resting her hand lightly on my arm. "I think Ria should be allowed to love whomever she wants," she said firmly. She shot the other two a look that surprised me. "And it's not our business."

She bit her lip, guilt flickering across her face. "I'm sorry I told them, Ria. Truly. We won't meddle again. Will we, girls?" Her eyes cut sharply toward the others.

Lola and Bia exchanged a look, the kind that carried both reluctance and resignation, before nodding in unison—a fragile truce sealed in silence.

"No," Lola said finally, her voice softer than expected. "We're sorry. We were only... worried."

"And intrigued," Bia added, of course, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "But fine. I'll be quiet. You'll just... have to keep me updated."

Despite everything, a laugh—small and cracked—escaped me. "Can you at least promise not to tell anyone else this time?" I said, narrowing my eyes at Ruby, then sweeping my gaze over all three.

They nodded solemnly.

And just like that, the storm was quieted. For now.

But I knew—oh, I knew—that secrets between girls are spun from glass threads. One crack, one careless slip, and they splinter beyond repair. I only prayed this one would never reach Sebastian.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Oh to be a girl in a little gossip circle at Hogwarts in the 1890s... / S

Chapter Text

The Lion's Den

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Every step that I take is another mistake to you."

- Linkin Park

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Not that I usually slept much, but last night I hadn't slept at all. The weight of it pressed on me like a stone on my chest — the decision, the promise, the whole bloody mess.

"I need you both. I need you. Yeah? You in, then?"

"I always keep my promises, Valeria."

I'd said it without thinking. And now I was paying for it. I had no idea why I was suddenly playing hero, pretending I could save the world. Maybe it was because she always looked so damned alone, and something in me wanted to take that weight off her shoulders. Foolish. But here I was anyway.

When I closed my eyes, her face came unbidden. The Room. The beasts she doted on like family. And before I knew it, the door appeared. My hand hovered for a fraction too long before I pushed it open. I'd been here before, sure, but it never looked the same twice. It shifted with her moods, her needs. Like the whole place was alive.

I stepped inside. The smell of something sharp and bitter hit me immediately. At the center of the room, Valeria and Ominis were hunched over a simmering cauldron, the potion bubbling in sickly shades of green and brown.

"Sebastian? That you?" Ominis's voice floated over, flat but expectant.

Valeria's head snapped up at the same moment, her eyes locking on mine. For a second, just a second, it felt like she was reading everything in me — before she turned back to her stirring.

"We were wondering when you'd bother to show up," she said, brisk, her hand moving the spoon in steady circles.

"I'm not late," I muttered. Midnight sharp, that was the deal.

"On time is late," Ominis quipped, tilting his head toward me. "We've got work to do."

I lowered myself onto the floor beside them, the wood cool under my palms.

"It's nearly ready. I managed to get most of it sorted today." Valeria announced.

"So it's done?" Ominis asked, listening intently to the faint slosh of the brew.

She gave a short nod. "All we need now are the hairs."

My hand strayed to my pocket. I could practically feel the single strand of Garreth Weasley's hair burning through the fabric, as if reminding me of how far we'd gone already.

"No time to waste," Valeria said, producing three chipped cups and carefully ladling the vile potion into each. The smell alone made my stomach turn. She handed one to Ominis, one to me, and kept one for herself.

"Here's the plan," she began, tone clipped. "Add the hairs, drink. Then we head to the common room, give the password, and go in."

"You actually figured out the password?" Ominis asked, skeptical.

Valeria's eyes lifted, sharp. "Yes. I tailed Natty one evening and overheard it. 'Grata domum.' Passwords change often, I know — but I think it will do."

"You spied on Natty?" Ominis asked, incredulous.

"Yes, and I felt guilty about it. But asking outright would've been worse for her. At least this way she's not implicated."

She shifted her gaze back to the cauldron. "Once we're inside, we head straight for the old grandfather clock."

"I thought we'd agreed on the fireplace," Ominis interrupted again.

Valeria's sigh was audible. "No, we didn't. Garreth swore there was a hidden passage near the clock. It makes more sense than sticking a trial entrance next to the hearth where anyone could stumble on it."

"Well, the Slytherin trial was—"

I'd had enough. "Ominis, shut it and let her finish."

Valeria's eyes flicked to me, unreadable. "Thanks, Sebastian." Her voice was level, but I caught the faintest edge of relief.

"As I was saying," she continued, "the hope is we'll find a doorway like the one outside the Scriptorium."

"I still don't see why—"

"Ominis." Her single word was sharp enough to cut glass.

He huffed, folding his arms. "Fine. But don't blame me when we're wrong."

"Hairs," Valeria prompted, ending the matter.

She reached into her pocket. I fished Garreth's hair from my own pocket, twirling it once before dropping it into the murky brew. It sank and curled like something drowning.

"Well," she said flatly, "here goes nothing."

We lifted our cups. Valeria didn't hesitate — she never did. The liquid hit my tongue and I nearly gagged. It was bitter, thick, foul enough to make my eyes water. My stomach roiled, but I forced it down. We all did.

Before I knew it, my whole body started shifting. Bones stretching, skin twisting, hair changing—it wasn't painful, exactly, but it was far from pleasant. My face felt like it was being tugged and rearranged by invisible strings. I could hear Valeria and Ominis groaning through the transformation, and a low, guttural sound escaped me before I caught it.

When it finally stilled, I looked up. And they weren't themselves anymore.

Valeria's long blonde hair was gone, replaced by a curtain of dark black. Her bright green eyes—always too sharp, too knowing—were now dull brown. It didn't take long to figure out whose hair she'd used: Jade Avery, Gryffindor, sixth year. I didn't know how she'd got it, and I didn't ask.

Ominis, on the other hand, had transformed into Vincent Gray. Smug, brown-haired, far too pleased with himself for someone who barely scraped by in his classes. I knew because I was the one who'd nicked the hair for him. I didn't trust Ominis to manage it on his own—he'd probably end up plucking fur off a passing cat.

"Merlin," Ominis breathed, running his hands over his new jawline. "I can't believe it worked."

"Don't tell me you doubted my potions skills, Gaunt?" Valeria shot back, her new face not fitting her voice. It was unsettling, hearing her sound the same when everything else was wrong.

"Goodness, Sebastian," she added, turning her brown eyes on me. "Did you really have to pick Garreth? Now I've got to look at his face all night."

I met her stare, flat. "What's wrong with Garreth?"

"Nothing, exactly. He's just... Garreth."

I don't know why it got to me, but a chuckle slipped out. Too quick, too honest. Valeria's head snapped up, surprise flickering across her borrowed features as if she'd just seen a unicorn in the middle of the great hall. I wished she'd stop doing that—stop looking at me like I was some puzzle worth solving.

"Let's get going. The potion will only last an hour." She pushed herself up from the floor. Ominis followed suit, brushing dust off his sleeves.

I shook my head, dragging myself to my feet. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I muttered, gesturing to the Slytherin green and silver still knotted around our necks.

Valeria glanced down, then let out a short breath. "Oh. Right."

She drew her wand, gave it a sharp flick toward me. "Colovaria."

In an instant, my tie bled red, then gold. Ominis' followed, and finally hers. All traces of Slytherin gone, replaced with Gryffindor's gaudy colors.

"There," she said, with a curt nod. "Now, let's get moving."

The castle was asleep. Every corridor seemed to breathe dust and silence, only broken by the sharp scrape of Ominis's shoe when he clipped the edge of another step or doorway.

"I swear—why can't I use my wand again?" he muttered, his frustration tightening with every stumble.

"Because Vincent doesn't need his wand to walk these halls," Valeria said coolly. Her voice was still jarring to hear spilling out of that arrogant sixth-year's face—soft as honey, but sharp as glass. "And if anyone catches us, it'll look suspicious."

"Just hold onto my shoulder," I sighed. I slowed just enough for him to reach forward and hook his hand onto me. His grip tightened the moment he nearly collided with another archway.

"Don't you think we look suspicious already? Students aren't supposed to be roaming about at this hour. If a prefect finds us—"

"They won't." Valeria cut him off before his voice could climb any higher. "I told Leander that Sebastian was planning to set the greenhouses on fire tonight. They'll all be busy sniffing around there."

I stopped mid-step, twisting to stare at her. "You told him what?"

"It worked, didn't it?" she shrugged. "Besides, it's not like they're going to find you."

I couldn't help it—a laugh tried to claw its way up my throat. Trust her to weaponize my name like that.

"And if we do bump into Garreth or... whoever it is I'm supposed to be?" Ominis asked, pressing harder onto my shoulder as though I could steer him like a broom.

"Watch your step—we're at the stairs," I warned, ignoring his question. Together we crept down the winding staircase, shadows pooling around us, the torches hissing low as though they were in on the secret.

Finally, we reached the portrait. The Fat Lady loomed in her frame, arms folded, her painted eyes narrowing as we approached.

"And what are you doing out of bed at this hour?" she asked, voice thick with disapproval.

Valeria answered before either of us could blink. "Professor Sharp kept us in detention, but he fell asleep and forgot about us. Hours ago."

I almost smiled. She seemed to surprise me a lot lately—apparantly I could add "good liar" to the list.

The Fat Lady huffed, unimpressed. "Password?"

"Grata domum," Valeria said smoothly.

A long pause. The painted woman tapped her chin, eyes flicking between us. Then, with a sniff, she swung open, revealing a narrow tunnel.

We slipped inside, and as the portrait swung shut behind us, all three of us exhaled.

"I can't believe that actually worked," Ominis whispered.

"You're always so surprised," Valeria muttered back.

My eyes adjusted slowly to the room that greeted us. Nothing like Slytherin's stone and shadow. The Gryffindor common room was all warmth and firelight, the walls crowded with tapestries and bookshelves, colors bleeding together in shades of scarlet and gold. Overstuffed armchairs huddled close to the hearth, and the flicker of embers painted the rug in restless light. It felt suffocatingly alive—as though the walls themselves were proud to belong to Gryffindor.

"Now..." Valeria whispered, scanning the room, "where is that damned grandfather clock? Garreth said it shouldn't be far from the entrance..." Her voice trailed off.

"What's wrong?" I asked, before I realized I'd spoken.

Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. "I... I can hear it."

"Hear what?" Ominis asked.

"The sound. The... noise."

We fell into silence. I strained to listen, but the room gave us nothing—just the crackle of fire, the shift of floorboards beneath our shoes.

Then Valeria moved. No hesitation. Just one step, then another, as though she were following something only she could hear.

I grabbed Ominis's arm, pulling him along as we trailed after her.

She stopped suddenly in front of an ancient clock, its pendulum swaying with a hollow, lifeless rhythm that scraped against my nerves. Figures. But then her head tilted, just slightly, as if she heard something I couldn't. She moved toward the wall beside it, hand lifting, fingers hovering with deliberate hesitation.

"It's here," she whispered.

Neither Ominis nor I spoke. We just watched her—watched the way her hand trembled, the way her voice held that dangerous certainty. I didn't understand how she knew. Didn't particularly want to. Because if she was wrong, then what? And if she was right... well, that might be worse.

Her fingertips brushed over the stone, and the wall shuddered. The air crackled, a symbol pulsing faintly before us, lines etched deep into the brickwork. A lion. A dragon. My jaw clenched. Another door. Another chamber. Another risk.

How had no one else found these? Maybe they had. Maybe they just never made it back out.

The thought coiled in my chest as Valeria stepped closer. Our eyes met for the briefest moment—hers too bright, mine guarded—and then she pressed her palm flat to the stone. The wall peeled apart with a groan, revealing the chamber beyond.

This time, none of us were eager to step inside.

Still, we went. Because there wasn't another choice.

The dark pressed close the instant we crossed the threshold. The door sealed shut behind us with a sound that felt final, like stone slamming down on a coffin.

"Lumos," I muttered. My wand flared, thin light spilling out into nothingness. Ominis and Valeria followed, three slivers of light in an endless dark.

"Let me guess. Small room. No way out," Ominis said flatly.

"Yeah," Valeria breathed.

"Brilliant. What now?"

She didn't answer. Her face was pale, but her brow furrowed with focus. "Last time..." she murmured, raising her wand again. "Verum Ostende."

The air shimmered. A shape appeared in the center of the room—a basin, its surface like molten silver, another vial hovering above it.

Of course. Another bloody pensive.

Valeria's hand closed around the vial, pouring its contents into the basin. My throat tightened as she bent over it. I hated this part—watching her disappear while we were left behind, useless. I hated it more than I wanted to admit.

Her body stilled. Minutes passed. Ominis and I didn't move, didn't breathe too loud. I forced my arms across my chest, grounding myself in the silence, though every muscle in me wanted to drag her back out of it.

When she finally stumbled backward, gasping, I nearly broke. Nearly. My feet shifted forward before I caught myself. She doesn't need rescuing. She can handle herself.

"What did you see?" My voice came out rougher than intended, but I didn't care. I wanted answers. I wanted this over.

Her eyes—brown now—locked with mine. "It was... similar to last time."

"The Lion's Den," she whispered, like naming it alone gave it power. "Courage. Chivalry. Determination."

Ominis scowled. "And what in Salazar's name is that supposed to mean?"

"It means... as long as we're brave and determined, we'll be fine." She glanced at each of us, defiance flickering in her voice. "We can do that, right?"

I wasn't a Gryffindor. Never would be. But cowardice wasn't in my blood either. My nod was sharp.

Then—because of course—the floor trembled beneath our feet.

"What now?" Ominis asked, his voice tight with unease.

"I—I don't know," Valeria said, her voice cracking as she staggered to the side.

The ground began to split beneath us with a deafening roar. My hand slammed to the wall for balance, but stone crumbled under my grip.

And then the world vanished beneath me.

And I fell.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

I'd use polyjuice potion all the time to sneak into places if I could... / S

Chapter Text

Beyond Fear

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I'll stand by you."

- Pretenders

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"Sebastian!"

The scream ripped from my throat before my mind had the sense to catch it. He had vanished — swallowed whole by the gaping hole in the floor like the castle itself had claimed him. For half a heartbeat I stood there, frozen, and then the world seemed to tilt. My blood thundered in my ears, hot and loud, drowning thought.

If the chamber wanted him, it would have to take me too.

I jumped.

The fall was a blur — stone scraping my back, my sleeve tearing as I slammed against the wall of a narrow chute. The tunnel spat me down like I was nothing but dust in its lungs. My breath tore ragged in my chest, my fingers clawing at air I couldn't catch. Somewhere above, Ominis shouted — my name, curses, fear all tangled in his voice — and then his sound was gone, swallowed by the dark.

Then—impact.

But it wasn't stone. Not cold marble, not the ground. It was softer, warmer—alive. The air punched out of my lungs as I landed squarely against a chest that heaved beneath me.

"Bloody—" Sebastian's voice groaned under me, the sound muffled by my tumble.

My head jerked up, hair falling in disarray, and for a fraction of a second the world stilled. It wasn't Garreth's face staring back. Not the Polyjuiced mask. Him. Just him. Sebastian Sallow.

The cut at his brow leaked a thin line of crimson, his cheek smeared with dust and sweat. And yet—all I saw was the scar at his lip. The shape of his mouth. Closer than I'd ever dared imagine. I could feel the heat of him, the rise and fall of his chest beneath mine, his breath catching in sync with mine.

My mind screamed a hundred things at once. Get off him. Gods, you're on top of him. Your face is burning. Stop staring. Why are you staring? But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His eyes caught mine, sharp and unreadable, and then—Merlin help me—his gaze flicked down. To my lips.

My pulse thundered so violently I thought it would echo off the chamber walls. I couldn't think. Couldn't blink. Just frozen in place, my palms braced against him, feeling every heartbeat that wasn't mine.

And then—his lips curved. That rare, reckless ghost of a smile I hadn't seen since fifth year.

"Comfortable?" he asked, voice low, almost amused.

The spell shattered.

Heat rushed so violently to my face I thought I might combust. "Oh—Merlin's—!" I scrambled off him, nearly tripping over my own robes, my hair whipping around like it could shield me from the mortification. My palms tingled where they'd touched him, traitorous things. He rose to his feet a beat later, far steadier than I.

I turned, desperate to breathe air not thick with him, and that was when I saw it—the chamber in full at last. Vast. Ancient. Dust clung to my robes, the copper sting of stone scraping my skin still raw on my arms. Torchlight flared high on the walls, shivering shadows across carved stone, casting everything in molten gold. The air was thick — like no one had breathed here in centuries.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my temple as the Polyjuice tore its way out of me. Heat flared in my scalp, the false hair retracting, my own tumbling free in a rush — pale strands brushing my cheek, familiar and grounding. I touched it absently, like reaching for armor.

That was when I saw it.

Not rock. Not wall.

A statue.

A lion.

It lay coiled in the center of the chamber, muscles carved in eternal tension, mane frozen mid-roar. Massive. As big as a mansion. Majestic. Waiting.

My stomach tightened. This was no ordinary monument. Magic clung to it, humming under my skin like static.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Both Sebastian and I snapped toward the sound.

Ominis came crashing down the chute, a tangle of limbs and dust, cursing the whole way. He sprawled onto the stone floor with an unceremonious thud. No trace of Polyjuice lingered on him now.

"Ominis!" Relief rushed through me as I scrambled to help him upright, brushing grit from his shoulder.

"Merlin's tits, you two," he groaned, staggering, his face pale beneath the dirt. "Don't ever— ever —jump into a hole and leave the blind man behind again. I was sure that was the end of me!" His robes were a mess, hair sticking up like he'd wrestled the tunnel walls themselves.

"Sorry," I mouthed, half a laugh breaking out despite everything. My ribs ached with it. For just a second, with the three of us standing there in the dust and torchlight, it almost felt calm.

But the quiet didn't last. A roar ripped through the chamber, deep and raspy, vibrating in my chest until I cupped my ears, instinctive, desperate. My eyes darted toward the sound, and there it was: the lion. Or rather, what had been a statue until this moment. Its eyes flared—red, gold, molten light—and then, impossibly, it began to move.

Stone shuddered where its massive paw broke free from some invisible binding. Then the other. Its face twisted as if awakening, still gray and rocky, but alive with a magic that made it almost breathe.

"What's going on?" Ominis' voice wavered.

"It's... a statue," I said, though my mind spun faster than my words. "Of a lion. It's... moving." I swallowed, feeling the weight of what that meant.

Another sound cracked the chamber—closer this time—and my head snapped toward the wall. Cracks spidered across the stone until, in seconds, a hole tore open, spilling a fragment of the castle halls into the den. My pulse skipped.

"What now?!" Ominis demanded.

"There's... an opening," I said, forcing calm into my voice while my thoughts raced. Of course there's an escape.

"Well, then what are we waiting for!" Ominis' eyes flicked to the hole. "Let's get out of here!" He stepped forward, eager for the easy solution, but I caught his arm.

"Wait," I said firmly, the words sharper than I intended. "We haven't found the key yet. This—this is a test." My gaze snapped back to the lion. Its tail scraped free now, stone grinding against stone with a sound that made my stomach twist.

I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, "Courage. Chivalry. Determination."

I glanced at the hole again. The familiar pull of escape tugged at me, insidious, comforting. And then I looked at them—Ominis and Sebastian. Their faces mirrored hesitation, fear, uncertainty.

"It's a test," I said aloud, turning fully toward them. My voice was steadier than I felt. "We stay. We face it. We are brave—and we get the key. Or we run—and gain nothing."

"Oh, come on!" Ominis groaned, backing a step.

I drew my wand, fingers tightening around the polished wood. My heart hammered, but determination thrummed louder beneath it. There's no going around this. There's no clever trick. Just courage. Bravery. Chivalry. And the hope that I can make it through with my heart intact.

And then I stepped forward.

The statue lunged. Its paws crashed down onto the chamber floor, sending tremors through the stone that nearly knocked me off balance. I stumbled backward, wand up before I even thought, and murmured a nonverbal Protego Maxima!—the shield flaring around me just as the second paw slammed down inches from where I had stood.

"Valeria!" Sebastian's calm, low voice cut through the roar. He was already moving, wand drawn, eyes sharp, calculating. "Left! Now!"

I didn't hesitate. With a flick, I sent a Confringo streaking toward the lion's tail as it lashed at the air. Sparks burst, but the statue barely flinched. The magical stone resisted—hard, relentless, unmoving except where it chose to. Of course it would. This is Gryffindor courage made physical. I need to be sharper, faster.

I vaulted onto the jagged rocks lining the chamber wall, landing with a muted grunt. The tremors made my balance tenuous, each paw strike shook the ground like an earthquake. My wand swept in tight arcs, each spell faster than the last: Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Levicorpus!—casting nonverbally whenever I could, letting instinct take over. Sparks and flares lit the chamber, bouncing off the gray stone of the lion.

Sebastian moved like a shadow beside me, precise and silent. I caught glimpses of him as we weaved around each other, a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus froze a paw mid-air, a quick Conjunctivus! forcing a brief distraction in the lion's glowing eyes. He didn't speak, but his eyes met mine for the briefest second—a flash of understanding, and maybe something else I couldn't name.

The lion charged. I leapt aside, wand swinging, muttering a Reducto! that hit its shoulder, sending stone fragments clattering to the ground. My arms burned, my heart pounded, but I didn't stop. Each spell had to count. Each movement had to be perfect.

"Ominis! Cover—" I started, turning to check on him, but he was already ducking behind a fallen rock, wand half-raised, muttering something frantic. I shook my head, smiling grimly, and refocused.

The ground quaked again. The lion stomped, eyes glowing brighter, and the tremors sent me sliding across the jagged stone. I barely managed a nonverbal Wingardium Leviosa underfoot to steady myself, feeling the magic anchor me just long enough to launch a Bombarda straight at the creature's chest. Dust and sparks flew, and the lion faltered slightly, but not enough.

Sebastian was shouting now, though his words were clipped, efficient. "Valeria, right side! Don't get cornered!"

I twisted, barely avoiding the stone paw crashing down toward me, and shouted back, "I see it! Cover your left!" My wand flashed, sending a nonverbal Arresto Momentum under the lion's next strike. It slowed just enough for me to scramble up another rock, landing atop a ledge where I could see the chamber in its chaotic entirety.

The tremors made the ledges precarious. Dust rained down from the ceiling with each stomp, and the walls reverberated. I could hear Sebastian moving across the chamber floor below, spells zipping like silver streaks through the dust-filled air.

"Valeria! Watch its tail!" he shouted suddenly. I glanced just in time as the lion's tail lashed toward the ledge. Quick as thought, I shot a Diffindo! through the air, slicing the tip mid-strike. A small victory, but it was enough to buy Sebastian and me breathing room.

We circled the creature like dancers in a deadly ballet, spells flashing, stone grinding against stone, dust and debris swirling. Every time it stomped, the chamber shook violently, and I had to readjust my footing, casting Levioso on loose stones to keep them from sliding underfoot.

"Ominis, now!" I yelled, seeing him peek from behind a jagged stone. His wand shook in his hand, eyes wide, and for a split second, I thought he might actually faint. "Send a Bombarda! Now! I'll distract him!"

"I—I can't!" His voice trembled, barely audible over the lion's roar.

"Yes, you can!" I shouted, lunging forward, wand blazing. Sparks erupted from my spells—Stupefy, Impedimenta, Expulso!—each one aimed to draw the statue's attention. "Be brave! You have to try!"

He swallowed hard, trembling, and slowly pushed himself upright. His wand moved hesitantly, but I could see the effort—the bravery, tiny and fragile but there.

And then the lion pivoted, massive stone shoulders grinding, eyes glowing with molten fire, and lunged toward him.

"Ominis! Watch out!" Sebastian's voice cut through the chaos, sharp, urgent.

"I... I can't do this! I'm sorry!" Ominis shouted, panic breaking free. He spun on his heel, raising his wand blindly to guide his path—and bolted for the hole in the wall leading to the corridor. His footsteps pounded across the chamber, echoing as he disappeared into the opening.

"Shit!" I hissed, heart thundering in my chest. I whirled, sending a flurry of spells at the lion to buy us time—Reducto! Confringo! Expelliarmus! The stone fragments exploded outward, sparks scattering across the chamber, but the lion didn't falter long.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, a shadow of annoyance flashing across his face. "He just ran," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than me.

I inhaled sharply, forcing my panic down, forcing my limbs to move faster than fear. The tremors from the lion's stomps made the jagged rocks beneath me shift, each leap, each spell had to be precise. My wand flicked in a blur, casting nonverbal Impedimenta and Arresto Momentum to slow the statue's strikes.

Sebastian moved like a ghost across the floor, silent, methodical, cutting off the lion's charge with well-placed Petrificus Totalus and Expulso. Together, we danced a lethal rhythm, sparks flying, stone grinding, dust raining down.

But Ominis' absence left a hollow spot in our formation. My heart pounded—not just from the fight, but from worry. We couldn't stop, couldn't falter. The key was still here. The test was still ahead. And the lion... it didn't give mercy.

"You are stone, not flesh," I whispered under my breath as I leapt atop another ledge. "I will not harm you, but I will not be cowed either."

The lion roared again, tail thrashing, paws slamming. The chamber shook violently. Sparks of magic and fragments of stone flew through the air.

This was hopeless. We'd fought it long enough; we'd shown courage in every spell cast, every leap, every calculated dodge—and yet it didn't relent. The stone lion, still alive with magic, relentless, unmoving, unyielding, seemed almost to mock our efforts. I could see it in Sebastian's eyes too, that flicker of doubt creeping in, why wasn't it working? Why didn't it give up? Why couldn't we defeat it?

And then—something heavy, jagged, hurtling through the air. A massive rock, thrown by the lion's violent swing, hurtling straight at Sebastian.

"Sebastian! Watch out!" I screamed.

He jerked, eyes widening at the rock, and dodged. But his momentum carried him over the ledge he'd been standing on, and he tumbled down to the stone floor below with a sickening crack.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I bolted toward him, heart hammering, every breath jagged as adrenaline overtook thought. He struggled to his feet, clutching his head, blood streaking down his temple, and I felt the stomach-churning terror claw at me.

Then I saw it. The lion's paw lifted, massive, impossible, aimed directly at him. It moved slowly, deliberately, like the inevitability of a falling mountain. My stomach lurched. My instincts screamed.

"Sebastian!" I yelled, and my voice seemed to shatter against the roar of stone and magic. Before my mind could even register what I was doing, my legs carried me forward, pounding against the uneven floor, my wand clutched so tightly my knuckles burned. Instinct had taken the wheel.

I barreled past fallen shards of stone, dust and sparks choking the air, and skidded to a stop just between him and the descending paw. My chest heaved, every inhale stabbing like fire in my lungs. I raised my hands instinctively, wand pressed tight against my palm, every muscle trembling.

Time slowed. The roar of the lion became a distant thrum in my ears. My vision narrowed, the edges of the chamber blurring until all I could see was the paw, impossibly massive, a mountain of stone, poised to crush. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, loud enough to drown everything else. I felt my own pulse in my throat, my temples, every nerve screaming in primal warning.

I closed my eyes, swallowing the scream lodged in my chest. A heartbeat passed. My teeth ground together. Another heartbeat. My legs quivered under me. I could feel the energy of the chamber vibrating through the floor, rattling the stones under my knees, shaking the jagged walls, rattling my very bones. Every fiber of me wanted to flee. Every instinct screamed to duck, to roll, to vanish. But I didn't.

And then, as if the world itself had held its breath, I dared to open my eyes.

The paw hung suspended, impossibly frozen mid-descent, mere inches from where I stood. The air seemed to crackle with the tension of halted motion, charged with magic so potent I could almost taste it on my tongue. The lion's eyes, molten fire just a moment before, softened—like embers cooling after a long burn. Its body, colossal and jagged, trembled slightly, then slowly, inexorably, it stepped back. Each movement deliberate, careful, as if testing whether I truly meant what I had done.

My chest felt like it might burst, lungs quivering as I struggled to draw breath. My legs shook beneath me as the statue retreated to the center of the chamber, each step sending tiny tremors through the floor. And then, with a final, almost reverent settling, it sank to the ground. Immobile. Silent. Solid. Like ice thickening over the surface of a frozen lake.

I sank to my knees, hands trembling, lungs burning, chest heaving, trying to anchor myself to reality. Glancing behind me, I saw Sebastian still sprawled on the floor, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Blood streaked his face, but he was alive.

And then—another sound. A deep rumble, like stone grinding under the weight of magic. I looked back at the lion, and its mouth opened. A brilliant light erupted, blinding, almost painfully radiant. I squinted, shielding my eyes, and my mind slowly caught up. 

The key.

It hovered forward, golden and glowing, suspended in the air before us. Two small, intertwined creatures carved into its handle—a lion and a dragon. I reached out, letting my fingers hover just above it. Nothing happened. I grasped it. Still nothing. The lion returned to its frozen, stone stillness, harmless now.

I finally exhaled, a ragged, half-gasp, half-sigh of relief, and looked at Sebastian. His face mirrored disbelief, confusion, awe. I didn't speak. We didn't need to. The weight of what had just happened—what we had just endured—was enough.

Two keys. Two more to go.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the wild thrum of my heartbeat, the rapid drum of fear and adrenaline still echoing through me, mingling with something fragile and fierce—something like triumph. And then it hit me, the realization unfurling like a quiet dawn. The lion had stopped because of me. Because I had stepped in front of Sebastian.

The true test—no, the real lesson—had never been about skill, or speed, or even the spells we'd cast. It had been this, the willingness to put another before yourself. To stand between danger and someone you care for, even when it meant facing the impossible. That... that was bravery.

I let myself linger in that understanding for a heartbeat longer, breathing ragged but grounding myself in the rhythm of life, in the certainty that we had passed the test. Slowly, carefully, I rose to my feet. Sebastian mirrored me, his gaze catching mine in a silent acknowledgment, and together, wordless but united, we walked from the chamber, leaving the stillness of the lion—and the weight of what had happened—behind us.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I love writing action filled scenes... / S

Chapter Text

Lost in the Light

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Maybe it's a blessing in disguise, I see my reflection in your eyes."

- The Neighbourhood

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The rag stung worse than the wound itself. "Ouch. Do you have to be so aggressive about it?" I flinched, pulling my head back.

"Sorry," Valeria muttered, though her tone was anything but apologetic. "But I told you I could've just used magic." She dabbed at the cut again, and I swear I could feel her rolling her eyes.

"I told you I've had enough magic for one day." The words came out sharper than I intended. But nearly being mauled by a bloody lion statue will do that to you. Besides, conversation wasn't what I signed up for tonight, and somehow Valeria always seemed to drag it out of me anyway.

She let go of my chin long enough to summon another clean cloth. The old one, soaked in blood and firewhiskey, floated away. The smell burned my nose.

"Is he going to be alright?" Ominis asked from the couch, his voice cautious.

"He'll be fine—if he stops whining." Valeria's reply was crisp, her lips twitching like she was trying not to smirk.

She held up a plaster like it was some sort of ultimatum. "I can slap this on and you'll walk around looking ridiculous for weeks... or I can fix you in seconds. Your choice."

I sighed, leaning back against the cushions. "Remind me why I can't just walk into the hospital wing?"

Her head snapped up, green eyes pinning me. "Because storming in there in the middle of the night, bloodied and bruised, tends to raise questions you can't answer unless you plan on telling them we were wrestling a lion statue in a hidden Gryffindor chamber."

Right. I scowled. "Fine. Use the bloody magic."

She wasted no time. Wand raised, steady as always. "Episkey."

The wound sealed with a sharp sting that made me flinch anyway. I raised a hand, brushing the spot. Smooth skin. No trace left.

"You're welcome." She sounded exhausted, irritation wrapped in every syllable. Truth was, we all were. Good thing the common room was empty—if anyone had seen us limping back in, bruised and singed, there'd have been more questions than we could ever answer.

Valeria collapsed into a chair opposite us, rubbing at her temples. Strands of blonde hair had fallen loose from her braid, sticking to her sweat-damp cheek. She looked like hell. Beautiful, stubborn hell.

Ominis sat rigid beside me, wand slack in his hands. He'd waited outside the chamber. Cowardly, maybe. But if I was honest, I'd wanted to bolt too. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. "For running. I just—I don't think I can do this anymore."

My eyes snapped to him. Valeria straightened in her chair. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully.

"This is insane. Dangerous. First the unforgivable curses in the Serpent's Coil, and now a bloody lion statue nearly killing us. I'm not cut out for this—I'll only put you in more danger." His voice cracked.

The words hung like smoke in the air.

"So what are you saying?" I asked, though I already knew.

"I'm saying I can't do it anymore. You'll have to continue without me."

Valeria leaned forward, desperation slipping through her exhaustion. "Without you? No, Ominis—we need you."

"No, Ria. You don't. I haven't helped. Not really. And I won't say a word about any of it. But it's better if you two go on without me."

The silence pressed down until it hurt. I hated to admit it, but he was right—we couldn't force him into this. And Valeria... she looked gutted. Defeated in a way I'd never seen before.

I shoved down the strange weight in my chest. Someone had to keep going with her. If she'd been alone in the Serpent's Coil, she'd have had no one to curse. And in the Lion's Den...

"Alright," she said finally, voice quiet. "If that's your choice."

The room felt colder after that. Morning would be here soon, but none of us moved. None of us dared to sleep.

The fire in the common room had burned down to embers, throwing faint orange light over the stones. The kind of light that made shadows longer, deeper—like the room itself was conspiring to remind me of everything I didn't want to think about.

I sat slouched into the couch, nursing the dull ache in my shoulder, when the thought slipped out before I could stop it. "Where'd you put the keys?"

Valeria's head snapped up. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt—a nervous tic I'd clocked a hundred times already but pretended not to notice. "In an enchanted bag under my bed. Why?"

"Just making sure you hadn't lost them," I muttered, "playing with them or something."

Her brows shot up, scandalized. "I beg your pardon? I would never—"

The laugh escaped before I could cage it. Low, short. And I hated myself for it. Because her face—the outrage turning into realization—was worth it. She knew I wasn't serious. She dropped the matter, but those eyes stayed fixed on me, unrelenting.

"Sebastian Sallow making a joke," she said softly, tilting her head. "Never thought I'd see the day."

There was the faintest curve to her lips. Irritatingly beautiful. I should've looked away. I didn't. "Suppose I'm full of surprises."

"I suppose," she echoed, still watching me.

And I just... sat there, staring back. My body didn't get the message my brain screamed: look away. But there was something about being hurled into chambers and curses and near-death that pulled people close, whether you wanted it or not. Not that I wanted it. She was danger enough without me dragging her down further. But I told myself it was fine—she was the one dragging me into trouble lately. It made the guilt easier to swallow.

Her teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. She didn't blink. Didn't move. Just looked at me—straight through me—with those sharp sage green eyes that spoke louder than all her beloved words ever could. And in them, Merlin help me, I saw something far too sentimental for my liking. My own reflection, twisted back at me. A thousand things she wanted to say, trapped in silence.

And my chest twisted—tight, sharp—when my eyes betrayed me and slid lower, to her mouth. Lush. Soft. A shade I wondered, fleetingly, what it would taste like.

Then—salvation. A snore rattled through the air.

We both turned. Ominis had tipped his head back, mouth slack, a thin line of drool on his chin. Out cold. Normally I'd have rolled my eyes, maybe teased him for looking like a corpse, but right now it felt like a warning. A sign. Stop this train of thought before it kills you.

Valeria's gaze lingered on Ominis. "Look at him. How I wish I could fall asleep like that."

I should've let it pass. But something reckless tugged at me. "What makes you think you can't?"

She didn't answer at once. Just stared at Ominis, her voice quieter when it came. "I didn't get lucky in the sleep department."

It was an understatement. I felt it. The way her voice thinned, the way her shoulders sank. Something twisted in me again—something I hated. I didn't push. I knew what it was like to not want to say more.

Silence stretched. Just Ominis's graceless snoring and the fire crackling low, the sound of it settling into the stone. For once, I let the quiet breathe. But my mind wouldn't obey. It wandered—restless, reckless—and that unsettled me more than any curse ever had. My thoughts didn't usually wander. They stayed locked, caged where I put them.

And yet, before I realized I was even speaking, my mouth betrayed me. "Why did you throw yourself in front of me earlier?"

Her head whipped back to me. Shock flickered across her face, followed by hesitation. Then she braced herself and said, "Figured it was my turn."

The words hit harder than I expected. My turn. Memories slammed into me—catching her on the roof when she nearly missed the jump, dragging her back in the Serpent's Coil, blood boiling when I broke Steel's nose for mocking her. It was instinct. Always instinct with her. And I'd told myself I didn't care, but the truth was staring me down, her wide eyes steady on mine. She'd done it too. For me. 

And it nearly killed her.

I forced my throat to work. "Chaton..." The word scraped out. Her eyes widened, breath caught. "Don't ever try to save me again."

A beat of silence stretched, taut. Then her lips twitched—first the hint of a smile, then fuller, sharper, as if she couldn't stop herself. "If you don't want saving, Sallow, maybe stop needing it."

The words hit like a blade slipping past armor, sharp and warm all at once. Something cracked in my chest. My own mouth betrayed me with the faintest curve before I killed it—too late.

She went on, stubborn as ever. "You're not the only one who gets to play the hero, you know."

My jaw clenched. "I'm no hero."

"Yeah," she said softly, like it was the oldest truth in the world, "you keep saying that."

Silence fell again, but it wasn't empty. It pulsed. Heavy. Alive. I hated it. I needed it.

Valeria Velkan. Bright. Stubborn. Kind all the way through, like her bones had been carved out of something softer than the rest of us ever got. She didn't fit these dungeons, this school, least of all my orbit. To this day I still couldn't figure out how the Sorting Hat shoved her into Slytherin—pureness like hers didn't belong here. She was sunlight in stone corridors, open skies trapped under ceilings, laughter that shouldn't have survived in a place like this. And yet here she was—staring straight at me with those unflinching eyes. Eyes that should've looked away long ago.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

I feel like Ominis can fall asleep anywhere at anytime. / S

Chapter Text

Ink and Ashes

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"You got me nervous to speak, so I just won't say anything at all." 

- The Neighborhood

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

October 22nd

Dear Diary,

Only a handful of days have passed since we found the second key, but it feels like whole years have stretched between then and now. Time seems to have grown stubborn, dragging its heels with every sleepless night. Tuesday was the last time I truly slept—if you can call waking from a nightmare with a scream in your throat "sleep." I'd sworn there were shadows in my room, cloaked figures bending over me... but when I lit my wand, they were nothing but figments. Still, my heart thrashed like a trapped bird for an hour after, and the girls tried to comfort me. I hate when they worry, even though it isn't their fault.

So yes, much has changed. But the truth, the thing that keeps circling back in my head no matter how I try to herd my thoughts elsewhere, is Sebastian. Our conversation after... well, after. The way he told me never to save him again, as if his life had no value. What he doesn't understand is that to me, it does. More than I'd like to admit.

I'm in Potions now, pretending to take careful notes while my cauldron already simmers with the Draught of Living Death—finished well before the rest. It's morbidly tempting to take just a sip, to sink into silence and dreams. But no, of course not. Instead, I find myself watching him across the room. There's something different about him lately. The way he says "Chaton", like it means something only the two of us know. The way his eyes hold mine a fraction too long—burning, unflinching. And don't even get me started on his "comfortable" comment when I fell squarely on his chest in the chamber. Comfortable! My face burned hotter than a dragon's breath. And still it replays in my mind like a scene I can't put away.

"Miss Velkan, I do hope I'm not seeing you scribbling again?" Professor Sharp's clipped tone yanked me out of my thoughts.

I snapped my diary shut, nearly trapping my quill inside. "Sorry, professor, but I wasn't scribbling, I was—"

"This is the third time this week you've done everything but listen."

"But I've already finished—"

"Detention, Miss Velkan." His eyes were sharp as his name.

My mouth fell open. "But that's hardly fair!"

His silence was answer enough. My shoulders slumped. "Yes, professor."

He moved on, pacing the rows like a hawk over field mice. I sighed and slumped further. Detention. I hadn't had one of those since fifth year. Perhaps it wouldn't be dreadful... Still, when I glanced back, Natty caught my eye with a sympathetic little frown. My lips pressed into a smile that didn't quite reach my heart.

And then, of course, my traitorous eyes wandered again. To him. And this time—he was already looking at me. My pulse tripped over itself. Just one heartbeat. Just one glance. Then he looked away. I could breathe again, though perhaps not properly. Brilliant, Valeria. Embarrass yourself and get detention. Well done.

"Psst." A whisper tugged at me from behind.

I turned slightly. Garreth Weasley, of course. His hair looked like it had recently survived an explosion (probably his own doing). He slid a newspaper toward me with a grin.

"Have a look at this," he whispered, eyes twinkling.

I took it quickly, keeping one ear trained on Sharp, who was in the midst of chastising poor Leander. I spread the paper across my lap.

And nearly stopped breathing.

SHE-WHO-ROSE SPOTTED IN UPPER HOGSFIELD

On October 21st, witnesses claim She-Who-Rose stormed the village, searching through homes. No thefts were reported. Sources suggest she was seeking something specific... and left empty-handed.

My throat dried. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Poppy.

"That's not far from here," she whispered, her eyes wide. "You don't think she'll come here, do you?"

I forced a calm I didn't feel. "No. No one can get into Hogwarts—not with the protections they've put up since she returned."

Poppy nodded, though the frown between her brows stayed stubbornly in place. I smiled for her sake, but it didn't reach me. Not really. Beneath the surface, something colder coiled in my chest.

She was searching.

And I had the sickening sense I already knew what for.

A new voice cut across my thoughts, soft but edged with worry.

"My mother says I'm not allowed outside the school grounds anymore. The grown-ups are... concerned."

My head snapped toward the sound. Natty sat a few tables away, her expression caught between irritation and unease. I swallowed hard and managed a faint smile.

"We'll figure it out," I said, hoping the steadiness in my voice would hide the dread whispering otherwise.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

The day dragged on like molasses, every tick of the clock louder than the last. I counted them, foolishly, as though the minutes might feel quicker if I named them. They didn't. And then, far too soon, it was time.

Detention.

My boots echoed down the stone corridor like tiny betrayals, each step a reminder that I was trudging straight toward doom—or, at the very least, tedium. I told myself it wouldn't be too dreadful. A stack of parchment to copy, or perhaps scrubbing cauldrons until my knuckles were raw. I could manage that. I would finish quickly, with dignity, and leave.

I reached for the handle of the Potions classroom door. Cold brass under my fingers. I pulled it open—

And froze.

There, in the farthest corner, leaning back in his chair with all the bored elegance of someone who owned the shadows themselves—Sebastian. His eyes weren't on me. They were fixed on the window, amber catching what little evening light remained. He hadn't noticed me yet.

My pulse shot up, quick as wings. He's here? He's here too? Why hadn't he said anything? Not that we spoke much these days—not unless Ominis was hovering nearby to soften the silence—but still. My legs refused to move. I stood rooted like a startled statue in the doorway, heart hammering as though I'd been caught doing something illicit.

Then—his head turned. His gaze landed on me.

Move, Valeria, for Merlin's sake, move. Say something. Anything.

"Hi."

Brilliant. Wonderful. Absolutely sparkling conversation, Velkan.

My throat tightened. "Wh–what are you doing here?"

He blinked at me once. "Detention."

Right. Of course. What an idiotic question. No kidding, Valeria. He's sitting in a detention classroom. Use your brain.

"Me too," I said, as if that weren't already mortifyingly obvious.

I slipped inside, shutting the heavy door behind me, and crossed the room with forced nonchalance. My chair of choice? The farthest one I could possibly find, as though space itself could shield me from my own racing thoughts. I sat down, smoothing my skirt, forcing air into my lungs. Relax. He's just a boy. Just a boy. A boy who has caught me from rooftops and chambers and... no. Stop. Enough.

The silence stretched, and then his voice cut through it. Low, amused.

"Chaton?"

My heart stuttered. I must have looked like a startled owl. "Hm?" I managed, glancing at him like I hadn't heard him properly, though I had. Perfectly.

One corner of his mouth curved—just faintly. He knew exactly what he was doing. "I don't bite."

"Oh, no, I just—uh—I just like this chair is all." My hand landed on the armrest like it was some cherished pet, and before I could stop myself, I actually stroked the wood once. Merlin help me. Maybe if I kept petting furniture, he wouldn't notice the way my face was heating.

And then—he chuckled.

It was low, almost swallowed, but I heard it. Felt it. A soft, dark sound that slid through the room like it had no business being there, curling straight into my stomach. My heart climbed into my throat.

So naturally, I panicked. "And stop calling me Chaton," I blurted, no reason in the world other than the fact I felt completely out of power and wanted to claw some of it back.

He didn't even blink. "Why?"

"Because we're not really friends, and we're not close, and nicknames are for, like—best friends. Or couples." Oh, god. Stop talking.

A beat. His mouth twitched. "This is a free country. I can call you whatever I like."

I opened my mouth, ready to snap something clever back, but... nothing came. Just air. And his eyes still on me, patient, amused, like he already knew he'd won.

I stared down at my desk to avoid combusting on the spot. He knew. He had to know I was nervous. But what could he know? He couldn't know everything. Not the way my skin prickled under his gaze, not the way my breath tangled itself whenever he spoke. No, of course he didn't.

Before my thoughts spiraled any further—salvation arrived. The door swung open, and Professor Sharp strode in, robes trailing like a thundercloud.

"Alright," he said briskly, eyes narrowing as they scanned the two of us. "Since the both of you have so much free time you feel compelled to squander it in my class, you'll be useful. Shelves of ingredients along the north wall need reordering—every last vial and jar cleaned, labeled, and catalogued. And unless you'd like to spend tomorrow evening here as well, I expect perfection. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," I murmured, almost sighing with relief at having something—anything—to do with my hands.

We got to work immediately. Sharp sat at his desk with a newspaper, occasionally grunting disapproval at the world, leaving Sebastian and me to the shelves.

We didn't speak. Not a single word. The silence stretched taut between us, humming with all the things I didn't dare think about. I tried to focus on the task, but how does one ignore someone when you're inches from their arm? Every brush of his sleeve against mine made my skin prickle, every shift of his weight too loud in the quiet.

Focus, Valeria. Alphabetical order. That was logical. That was safe.

"Veritaserum..." I muttered under my breath, sliding the vial into place. My brain sparked at the neatness of it, the rows falling into sense and order. It felt good—like solving a riddle only I could hear. I was halfway through rearranging the B's when he reached over me, arm brushing my shoulder, and placed a vial labeled Grindylow Extract right in the middle of the B's.

My hand froze. I picked it back up, set it firmly where the G's belonged.

"Am I doing it wrong?" His voice broke the silence. Rough, low, too casual.

I swallowed, still staring at the vials. "I just thought... alphabetically made sense."

He didn't answer, not at first. I could feel his gaze on me—too steady, too knowing. Then, finally, he turned back to the shelf and began rearranging, this time in perfect alphabetical order. No protest. No mockery. Just compliance. And that, somehow, made my chest flutter. Sweet. That was... sweet.

I breathed easier, let myself sink into the rhythm. Until—

I reached up for a vial of ashwinder eggs at the exact same moment he did.

Our hands collided. His palm pressed against the back of mine, warm, solid, unexpected. And I squealed. Actually squealed. Like some startled kneazle. I yanked my hand back too fast and—crash. Glass exploded across the stone floor.

"Shit," I whispered.

"Miss Velkan!" Sharp barked from his desk, not even looking up from his paper. "That is hardly language befitting a young witch. Clean it. At once."

"Yes, professor," I croaked, cheeks burning. Perhaps I could move to China. Live with pandas. Hide forever.

I crouched down quickly to gather the shards—and thud.

"Ouch!" I hissed, clutching my forehead. He'd crouched at the exact same time, and our skulls collided with an awful crack.

"Sorry," I blurted, rubbing at the sting.

He was rubbing his own forehead too, but—Merlin help me—there was a small smile tugging at his mouth. Enjoying my mortification, no doubt. Of course he was.

I forced my hands back to the floor, carefully avoiding him this time, when—

"Professor!"

The voice snapped through the room. We all whipped around. Professor Weasley stood in the doorway, her chest rising sharply as though she'd been running.

"The school—" she started, but before she could finish, another voice thundered through the walls themselves.

"All professors to the Headmaster's office immediately. All students..." Headmaster Black's voice cracked like a whip. "Hide." And then silence.

A silence thick enough to choke on.

Professor Weasley's face was pale, her usual warmth stripped away. "It's She-Who-Rose," she said, her tone clipped and urgent. "She's been spotted—inside the castle."

Sharp was on his feet in an instant, newspaper forgotten. My stomach dropped like lead. Inside. Here. The halls we walked every day.

I glanced at Sebastian. His eyes met mine, sharp with the same panic twisting in my chest. We both started for the door instinctively—

"No. You stay here."

Professor Weasley's voice cracked like a whip. She grabbed us both by the arms before we could protest and pulled us toward a cupboard at the side of the room. She flung the door open, turned to face us, her voice trembling with urgency.

"There's no time, Valeria. You and Sebastian hide here. Who knows what she'll do if she finds you. Stay put. Do not come out—do you hear me?—not unless one of the professors comes to fetch you."

Before I could argue, before I could even form words, she practically pushed us inside. My back hit the shelf with a dull thud. The door slammed shut. 

Darkness swallowed us whole.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I do so love a good cupboard scene as you may be able to tell from my earlier fics... / S

Chapter Text

Inches Apart

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I was scared to take a breath, didn't want you to move your head."

- sombr

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I grimaced, rubbing the sore spot at the back of my head, my pulse still hammering as though I'd sprinted the length of the castle. My brain hadn't caught up with what just happened, or why I was now sealed in a broom cupboard of all places—with him.

I lifted my wand, whispering, "Lumos Maxima."

A globe of light unfurled, floating to the low ceiling and casting the cramped space in a pale, flickering glow. Dust glimmered in the air like tiny falling stars. And there he was—Sebastian—just a few feet away, his shadow sprawled sharp against the shelves. The only sound was our mingled breathing, far too loud in the hush.

Neither of us moved for a long moment. I stood frozen, the wooden shelf pressing into my back, while he leaned in the opposite corner, jaw set like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Then, with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving soon, he slid down the wall and settled on the floor. The scrape of his boots against stone sent a little shock up my spine. He reached into his boot, and metal caught the light. A knife. My breath hitched.

I remembered the first time I saw him toy with one—idly, like it was nothing—while sitting in the library. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

"We should do something," I finally managed. "Call for help. Go out. Look for her."

His eyes lifted lazily from the knife, dark and steady. "And you think that'll help?"

"Well—better than standing here." My words tumbled out quicker than I meant. "I don't understand how you can just accept it. Sitting still while she's out there."

"I figured if the Headmaster says hide, we hide." His tone was flat, almost bored. Like this was obvious. But I knew better—Sebastian Sallow had never followed rules a day in his life.

He must have seen my disbelief, because his voice hardened. "Lysandra's looking for you. For the keys. If we wander out there, we won't be brave—we'll be captured. And then she'll have everything she wants."

The longest I'd ever heard him string words together. It silenced me. And though I hated to admit it, he was right.

Still, my heart raced too violently to agree. I shifted, restless. Do something. Anything.

"Why do you cradle that knife like it's a toy, when it could so easily bite?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His hand stilled. Silence stretched taut.

Then, without looking up, he muttered, "To remind me."

A chill ran down my arms. "Remind you of what?"

His gaze snapped to mine, sharp and unflinching. "That every blade has two edges. And I've lived on the wrong one."

The air thinned. My stomach flipped. For a heartbeat, I swore I could see it—the weight he carried, bleeding into the way he held that blade, casual but reverent, as if it might bite him back. Though I wasn't used to Sebastian speaking like that. The words almost startled me—poetic, edged with something raw, even beautiful in their own jagged way. I've always liked words, loved how they can stretch wide enough to hold feelings too big for silence. But him? I don't think I'd ever heard him shape them like this before.

I didn't press further. Some truths were too raw to touch. Instead, I slid down the wall, settling beside him. As far as I could, but the cupboard was too small—mere inches separated us. His shoulder brushed mine when either of us breathed too deeply.

He broke the silence first. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" I blinked.

He nodded toward my hands. I glanced down—my fingers were tugging nervously at a loose thread in my shirt. I hadn't even realized.

"I don't know," I said quickly, cheeks warming. "Suppose my hands are restless."

He nodded once, turning the knife over in his palm again. The quiet pressed in, thick and unbearable.

"I hope it's a false alarm," I blurted, voice too soft.

"It probably is," he said. "How else could she have gotten inside? Most likely some idiot playing a prank."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe so badly. But my chest still felt tight, like the cupboard walls were closing in.

Then his voice cut through again. "I have an idea about Hufflepuff."

That made me look at him.

"I overheard Isaac once," he said, eyes narrowing as if replaying the memory. "He said he almost drowned in vinegar when he tapped the wrong rhythm on the barrels."

"So there's a pattern?"

"There has to be. A rhythm to open the door. Simple enough to figure out." His voice was steady, certain. "We'll follow a Hufflepuff. Disillusionment charm. Watch. Repeat."

A huff of laughter escaped me, despite the panic still prickling my skin. "Of course your answer is Disillusionment. It always was."

His brows knit. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you used it for everything back in fifth year."

And then, impossibly, his mouth twitched. The faintest smirk. "Almost always worked, didn't it?"

I bit back another laugh. "Except that one time outside the prefects' bathroom. Remember Clara Andersson? You knocked over that vase and nearly got us both expelled."

He let out a low, reluctant chuckle. "Who puts a vase that close to the stairs?"

I laughed outright, too loudly for a cupboard. Then I caught myself—caught him. Talking. Actually talking. Not clipped commands or grunted retorts. A real conversation.

My smile faltered. My fingers found the thread of my shirt again.

"What's wrong?" His question was sudden, startling.

I froze. Did he care? Did he notice?

"Nothing," I said quickly. Then, after a beat, "It's only... you've been speaking more. Lately."

His eyes met mine, unreadable, the silence dragging heavy between us. Then, softly, like he was betraying himself, "because silence is easier. With everyone but you."

My breath caught.

The cupboard was suddenly too small, the air too heavy, the space between us burning.

I couldn't help myself. "What do you mean?"

Sebastian didn't look at me, just kept his gaze fixed somewhere past the shelves. "When I actually answer you, you don't pull that angry face. You know—the one you make when you look like a child denied her sweets."

My breath caught. ...Excuse me?

He went on, tone maddeningly calm. "It's easier keeping you in a good mood than dealing with your claws. So I figured... conversation won't kill me."

It felt like my chest was glowing. He'd listened. That night, after far too many butterbeers, when I rambled about what words meant to me—he'd actually remembered. And applied it. For Sebastian Sallow, that was practically a miracle.

We slipped into talking, real talking. Mostly me, of course, but him too. He asked questions. He answered mine. I laughed more than I should have, and he didn't tell me to stop. It was... almost normal.

We were in the middle of recalling that disaster in fifth year—the one where he got detention for something that had absolutely been my fault—when I leaned back against the shelf.

Something tumbled down.

It landed squarely in his lap, bursting with liquid that splashed all over his shirt and trousers.

Oh. No.

"Oh shit—I'm so sorry!" Heat climbed up my neck like fire as I grabbed the bottle. Pumpkin juice. Thank Merlin. At least it wasn't poisonous. Before I could think, I snatched a cloth and started scrubbing at his shirt. His chest. Oh gods, stop, stop, STOP—

"I—I'm sure it'll come off, I—" I babbled, hand still rubbing at him. Then I froze. He was staring at me. Really staring. My fingers went limp, and I jerked my hands back like he'd burned me. "Sorry!"

He didn't look angry. Quite the opposite. That insufferable little smirk tugged at his mouth as he murmured, "I'm alright, Chaton."

And then—Merlin save me—he tugged his shirt off in one smooth motion, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and began blotting at his chest with it.

My brain? Gone. Vanished. Evaporated like a spilled potion on hot stone.

Look away, Valeria. Look away right now. Don't you dare—

I didn't. I couldn't. My treacherous eyes drank him in like they had a will of their own, the sharp lines of muscle, the way the light traced over his skin, the flex of his arms like some cruel sculptor had spent years perfecting him just to torment me in this exact moment. Veins standing out, tendons flexing, muscles shifting beneath skin I had no business noticing. 

My thighs snapped together before I could stop them, heat climbing up my neck.

They're just arms. And hands. Normal hands. Nothing extraordinary. But gods, I'd never seen anything more unfairly attractive in my life. The way his fingers curled, the strength behind them, the absolute precision in every absentminded motion—like even to dry that damned pumpkin juice off him had to be done with focus.

My mouth went desert-dry. My brain sputtered, coughed, then promptly keeled over and died. Not a single coherent thought remained. Just static. Just the roaring drum of my pulse, loud enough to drown out reality.

Stop it, Valeria. Stop watching him like he's some storybook knight come to life.
But then his arm flexed again, water sliding over his collarbone, and I nearly groaned.

Hands weren't supposed to be hot. Hands! And yet here I was, staring at his like they were carved by the gods themselves.

I tried to swallow, failed, and nearly laughed at myself. If this was how I died, struck down not by curses or prophecies but by Sebastian Sallow drying his chest, then fine. Bury me now.

All I could suddenly picture was his hand circling my throat, his weight pressing me into the floor, his mouth at my ear as he whispered in that low, gravel-edged voice—

NO. No, absolutely not.

The thought slammed into me like a Bludger, and I scrambled to shove it away, horrified. Stop. Stop it right now. Do not imagine Sebastian Sallow pinning you down like some villain out of a tawdry novel. Do not imagine that. Oh gods, why am I imagining that?

I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug half-moons into my palms, as if pain might burn the vision out of me. But it lingered anyway, hot and suffocating, like my brain had decided now was the perfect time to turn traitor.

And then—because the universe delights in my humiliation—his voice cut through, low and amused. "Might want to close your mouth, unless you're inviting a fly to nest in there."

Oh. Bloody. Merlin.

My jaw snapped shut so fast I was sure I chipped a tooth. My cheeks burned so hot I could've been mistaken for a Weasley. Wonderful. Excellent. Brilliant. Sebastian Sallow: one. Valeria Velkan: negative infinity.

This is it. This is how I die. Not from a cursed statue or dark wizard—but from embarrassment. Someone carve it on my gravestone: Here lies Valeria, slain by her own inability to stop ogling a boy without a shirt.

I couldn't resist, I stole another glance at him from the corner of my eye. He'd tossed the ruined shirt aside, his shoulders shifting as he stretched forward—and that's when I saw them.

Scars.

Not little nicks, not faint lines like the one across his lip I'd spent far too long staring at in class. No, these were bigger, harsher. Faded claw-marks etched across his back, one slashed across his shoulder blade, another trailing lower like fire that had once kissed his skin. My chest squeezed, breath catching.

And because of course I did—because my mouth seemed intent on betraying me at every possible turn—the words slipped out. "How did you get those scars?"

Brilliant, Valeria. Just brilliant. Ask him about something that's probably traumatic.

To my shock, he turned to face me without so much as a flinch. His expression unreadable. "Shark attack," he deadpanned. Then the smallest, sharpest smile tugged at his lips.

I let out a startled laugh, swatting lightly at his arm before realizing what I'd done. His gaze didn't shift. That damned smirk stayed. "It's a tale for another time, Chaton," he murmured.

Poked the bear, then. Lovely. Still—I couldn't stop myself.

"Sebastian?"

His eyes cut to mine. Dark. Heavy.

"Hm?"

"Why do you call me Chaton?" It had been gnawing at me for weeks. I needed to hear it in his words.

He leaned back against the wall, thinking it over like it actually required thought. Then, simply, "I told you already. You're like a kitten. Small. Cute. And sometimes you hiss and show your claws."

My breath caught. Cute. My brain short-circuited, but he wasn't finished. "And also—when I was little, we had a kitten. Couldn't think of a name, so we just called her Chaton. When you bumped into me that day on the Quidditch field, chasing leaves—you reminded me of her. She loved leaves."

Her. A kitten. I wasn't sure if I wanted to melt into the floor or scream into the night. "I'm not small," I blurted, defensive. "I'm taller than most girls here."

His smirk deepened. "Compared to me, you're small."

I opened my mouth, ready to argue, when his voice dropped lower. His eyes on me, dark and unreadable. "Petit et mignon," he said. Then, softer, like he hadn't meant to speak aloud, "et si dangereusement belle que tu voles mon souffle... comme les feuilles qui tombent du ciel."

My heart stopped. I translated the words.

Small and cute. And so dangerously beautiful you steal my breath... like the leaves drifting from the sky.

The room tilted. My hands went clammy. No one had ever—Merlin, I'd only ever read words like that in books. Beautiful words that couldn't possibly be meant for me. And yet they were.

"Je ne t'ai pas pris pour un poète," I whispered before I could stop myself. I didn't take you for a poet.

His eyes snapped wide. Actually wide. And unless the flickering light was playing tricks, I swear the faintest flush rose in his cheeks. Then—he smirked. And laughed. A real laugh, warm and raw.

"Tu parles français ?" he asked, incredulous.

My face burned hotter than a cauldron fire. "Oui. Je parle plusieurs langues. J'ai lu beaucoup de livres quand j'étais enfant. Souvent dans différentes langues." Yes. I speak several languages. I read a lot of books as a child. Often in different languages.

He laughed again, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I laughed too, though my heart was still reeling, still glowing with the weight of his words.

"Well," he muttered, eyes still on me. "Turns out you too, Valeria Velkan, are full of surprises."

I laughed, shaking my head, when a stray lock of hair slipped loose, falling across my eye. I was about to brush it back when—

He moved first.

His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, and my breath stalled as his fingers brushed my forehead, then drifted lower, featherlight against my cheek. He tucked the strand behind my ear with an unbearable gentleness, his touch lingering longer than it had any right to. It was electric—I shivered head to toe, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end as if even my body didn't know what to do with him this close.

Too close. So close the warmth of his breath fanned across my skin, featherlight, sending my thoughts into chaos. The silence between us sharpened, stretched tight like a bowstring.

And then his hand didn't leave. It slid lower, hesitating, until his palm cupped the side of my neck. Careful. Testing. Like even he didn't know what he was doing.

My mind spun wildly. Say something. Do something. But my tongue was useless stone, and my traitorous eyes betrayed me instead—dragging lower, down to his mouth. The scar carved across his lips. The one I'd traced in my mind a hundred times when I thought no one was watching.

I dragged my gaze back up—only to find his eyes weren't on mine at all. They were fixed on my lips.

His hand was still at my neck.

Oh no. Oh gods, no. Too close—way, way too close. I could feel him. The warmth of his skin. The weight of his grip. The air thickened until every breath scorched down my throat like fire. My heart wasn't just beating; it was battering, slamming against my ribs so violently I was half certain he could feel it through his fingertips.

Move, Valeria. Move. Do something. But I didn't. I couldn't. My body betrayed me, rooted to the spot, swaying closer like a moth circling open flame. Just a fraction forward. Just a whisper closer. My lips parted before I could stop them—traitorous things, trembling, waiting, hoping.

Then he shifted. Just slightly. His hand tightened, grounding me in place, and his thumb... oh gods, his thumb. It moved—slow, deliberate—brushing across my lower lip.

I shattered.

My brain combusted in on itself. Thoughts collided, tangled, dissolved into nothing but static. My lungs forgot the concept of air. My heart stuttered, tripped, then sprinted so fast I thought it might tear itself out of my chest.

Was I trembling? Yes. Oh, Merlin, yes. My whole body trembled. His thumb lingered—lingered—tracing me like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. And my eyes—traitors, absolute traitors—slipped from his face, dragged downward. To his collarbone. To his bare chest, rising and falling with maddening calm while mine fought not to cave in on itself.

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

I couldn't stop.

I stared up at him, wide-eyed, locked in place. His gaze stayed fixed on my mouth—unmoving, unyielding.

He didn't pull away.

Merlin, why wasn't he pulling away?

His own lips parted, just slightly. His breath ghosted against my face, hot, featherlight, a promise of something impossible. His eyes flicked to mine, dark, uncertain, then fell back to my lips again—and stayed there.

It felt like the world was waiting. Like if he leaned forward even a breath, the space between us would collapse entirely, and there'd be no undoing it.

Oh gods, he's not stopping. He's not stopping.

I'd never been so close to anything I wanted more.

Every nerve in me braced for the moment, the impossible moment, when I would finally cross the line I could never uncross—

And then the door crashed open.

We flew apart like guilty children caught with stolen sweets. My heart nearly burst out of my chest as Professor Weasley's voice filled the air.

"Valeria. Sebastian. You may come out now. The castle's been searched top to bottom—no trace of She-Who-Rose."

Professor Weasley's eyes swept the room—then froze.

"For Merlin's sake, Mr. Sallow, why on earth is your shirt off?"

Sebastian blinked once, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Spilled pumpkin juice on it," he muttered.

Her brows arched dangerously high. "Then put it back on, and both of you—out. Now."

I sat frozen, breath shallow, pulse screaming through my veins. The spell had shattered, but the aftershock still clung to me, dizzying. I didn't dare glance at him. I couldn't. My whole body burned with the knowledge of what almost happened.

I scrambled to my feet, too fast, nearly knocking into the shelf. My legs carried me out of that cupboard like it was on fire, like we'd been doing something forbidden—illegal. My thoughts chased me, tripping over themselves. We would have. I would have had my first kiss. Right there. With him.

And I couldn't picture ever wanting anything more.

So why did it terrify me half to death?

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Sorry for the giant boner you have rn. / S

Chapter Text

Marble and Malice

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"When you feel my heat, look into my eyes. It's where my demons hide."

- Imagine Dragons

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

I stared down at my hands. Still trembling.

Breathe. Just fucking breathe.

It didn't help. My chest felt tight, my head light. Like I'd sprinted across the whole damned castle and back, when all I'd done was sit too close to her in a cupboard. A cupboard. Merlin's balls. Last time I ever step willingly into detention. Should've bolted the second I heard Sharp bark her name. But no—I had to play it smart. Sit there. Pretend nothing would happen.

And then it almost did.

I dragged my palms over my face, dropped onto the bed, and stared up at the canopy like it might offer answers. It didn't. My pulse was still hammering like a war drum, and my aching dick—well, let's just say nothing was calming that either.

All because of her.

Her eyes in the dark. Her lips—parted. Waiting.

Fuck.

I pressed my fist hard against my sternum, as if I could pound sense back into myself. She's dangerous. Not because of curses, not because she's the damned Veilborn. Because she's sunlight. And I... I'm nothing but shadow.

And yet, I'd leaned in. I'd let myself feel her breath ghost against mine. I'd touched her. My thumb had brushed her lip like I had a right. And if Weasley hadn't barged in—

No. I couldn't even finish the thought. Because I knew myself. I wouldn't have stopped. I'd have ruined her, swallowed her whole, dragged her into the dark pit I call a life and never let her crawl back out. I'd have kissed her until she couldn't breathe. Until she was gasping against my mouth, clawing at me like I was the only thing keeping her alive.

I'd have claimed her—made sure the only name she remembered when her head hit the floor was mine. The only voice she heard when she shut her eyes was mine. The only weight she ever wanted pressing her down again was mine.

I'd have memorized her—every damned curve, every sound she made, every shiver and arch until I owned them all. Until she couldn't think of anyone else but me.

And she'd hate me for it later.

She should.

Merlin, I'm a fucking idiot.

Across the dorm, Asher snored, oblivious. Hugo's bed was empty—out causing trouble again, no doubt. Once upon a time, I'd have gone with him. Now I just sat here, haunted by the sound of her laugh, the way her hands had trembled when they brushed mine on that bloody shelf. The way she'd looked at me—nervous, yes, but willing. Wanting.

And that's the part that gutted me most. That she'd wanted me. That she still might.

I held my hand up in the moonlight seeping through the window. My thumb. The same one that had traced her bottom lip. My chest tightened. I could still feel it. The softness. The goddamned fragility of her.

Stop. Stop thinking about it.

But my brain never listens. Never shuts up. Instead it dragged me back—back to that night at Flamel's, her voice shaking as she forced me to admit what I'd done. The truth I could barely choke out. The truth that had landed me in Azkaban.

My uncle's body had hit the stone with a sickening finality, his face twisted into something between rage and release. My wand was still hot in my grip, my pulse pounding louder than any curse I'd ever cast.

And her—Valeria. Pale as death, eyes wide, staring at me like she didn't know who I was anymore. I couldn't meet her gaze. Could barely force the words out—murdered him. My uncle. My own blood.

Then panic. I bolted. Left her standing in the ruin of it all with my crime still splattered across her robes. Ran while Anne apparated away with his body, desperate to cover for me.

So when the Aurors stormed in—wands raised, voices like knives—they found only Valeria. A trembling girl with no proof she hadn't raised her wand. And of course, they turned on her. They nearly took her then and there. Would've locked her away in a cell to rot if I hadn't later stepped forward, hadn't told them the truth I was really too much of a coward to claim but did anyways.

That's what happens when I let her too close. That's what happens when anyone touches me.

I destroy them.

So I'll destroy myself instead. That's easier. Cleaner.

I turned on my side, burying my face in the pillow, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. She deserves better. Someone whole. Someone who could give her poems and sunlight and futures worth dreaming about. Not a boy who toys with knives just to remember what blood feels like on his hands.

But the truth clawed at me, poisonous and undeniable: I want it to be me. I want her to be mine.

And that's exactly why I can't let it happen.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Ominis, ready to go?" His voice snapped me out of whatever daze I'd slipped into.

I gave a short nod and tugged the strap of my bag tighter across my chest. Christmas. Holidays. The Gaunts' estate. Better than rotting alone in the dorm while everyone else scattered home to their warm little lives, I supposed.

We started walking. The castle was smothered in tinsel and holly, candles flickering in every alcove. All that effort to pretend we weren't in the middle of a war. To act like Lysandra wasn't building her army, burning villages, making corpses where families used to be. But sure—let's put up wreaths. Let's sip cocoa and pretend we're safe.

"Ominis! Sebastian—wait up!"

Every hair on my body stood on end. That voice.

I froze, feet rooted to the stone. When I turned, I saw her—Valeria—hurrying toward us, hair flying, clutching something in both hands. My throat locked.

She stopped in front of us, chest heaving as she caught her breath. "I just wanted to catch you before you left," she managed. Then she thrust a small parcel toward Ominis. "Here—it's a Christmas gift."

Ominis blinked, surprised, but reached out and took it. "Thank you, but—"

"Don't worry about it," she cut him off, her smile faint, nervous. "It's just a little something."

And then she turned. To me.

Another parcel. Smaller. Wrapped neatly with a red bow. She held it out like it weighed more than her arm could bear.

"This one's for you."

I just... stared at it. Blank. My hands refused to move. My chest burned like someone had hexed me still. Seconds dragged, unbearably long, until my brain caught up with my body. I took it. Box. Bow. Gift. Mine.

She swallowed, throat bobbing, her gaze flicking between me and the floor. "Anyway. I just wanted to give you that. I'll... see you next year."

A faint smile. Fragile as spun glass.

"Thanks, Ria. I'll see you," Ominis said warmly, reaching out to hug her. I stood stiff beside them, staring at the floorboards, the box heavy in my hand like it was branded with fire.

When we finally walked away, Ominis let out a sigh. "You could've said thank you."

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

He knew. Of course he knew. I hadn't told him what happened between me and Valeria, hadn't spoken a word about that cursed cupboard, but Ominis noticed everything. He always did.

We joined the stream of students filing out of the castle toward the train. I shoved the parcel into my bag, but it burned there like it wanted to brand me.

On the train, I slumped into the seat beside Ominis and watched the trees whip past the window in a blur of white and black. The weight in my stomach sat heavy, unshakable. Wrong. That's what it felt like. Leaving now. Leaving her. Leaving when Lysandra was still out there.

But I didn't have a choice.

Sooner or later, we arrived.

Every step toward the Gaunt estate felt like walking into fire, only colder. The kind that burns from the inside out. Their mansion rose ahead like a shadow carved from stone — towering spires, windows so tall they looked like watchful eyes, and walls that seemed designed to intimidate rather than invite. Wealth and power seeped from every corner, but it wasn't the warm kind. This house didn't welcome. It loomed.

I'd been here enough times to know the drill. I did like parts of his family — his father, in particular. Strict, yes, but he carried himself with a kind of quiet strength I could understand, even respect. His mother was iron-willed, sharp-eyed, the kind of woman who could cut you down with a single sentence. Still, compared to what I'd grown up with, the Gaunts had a structure I almost envied.

Who I didn't envy was Marvolo. Ominis' elder brother, dark as they come, with eyes that burned like he'd already killed and liked the taste of it. His younger sister, Dementia, at least had some softness to her. A kindness she and Ominis shared, though hers seemed to hide behind caution.

The Gaunts may not have agreed with Ominis' choice to reject the Dark Arts, but they were a family. And wealthy ones at that. Appearances mattered. So, every holiday, they paraded him back through those doors like everything was fine. And I had a guess things would soon change — he'd just turned eighteen. The leash would only tighten.

We approached the massive front doors. Before either of us could brace, they opened — and there they were. His whole family, waiting like actors frozen before their cue.

"Welcome home, son," his mother said. Low, clipped. Like she was ticking off a box on a list. Then her gaze shifted. "Sebastian. It's good to see you."

I actually arched a brow at that. That was new. "Thank you, Mrs. Gaunt. It's nice to see you too." Yes, I knew when to show manners — even if I rarely bothered.

And then Marvolo stepped forward. His smile too sharp, his hand raised for a high five like we were long-lost mates. I stood still, frozen.

"My man," he said, grin stretching, his piercing eyes narrowing like knives. "Good to see you didn't rot away in that cell."

The words hit like a curse. My gut twisted. But before I could react, he slapped my raised hand hard, like sealing a pact. I glanced sideways, even Ominis looked startled.

Of course. I understood now.

"You have to tell us everything," Marvolo pressed, his voice thick with something between awe and hunger. His fingers drifted almost absently to the ring he always wore, twisting it around and around as though it fed him strength just to touch it. The black stone caught the light for an instant, glinting like something alive. "How you pulled it off. How you survived. Finally—" his mouth curved into a sharp smile, admiration curling through the edges of his words, "—a real man. Killing someone who deserved it, walking away alive. That's how it should be."

There it was. The reason for the warm welcome. They didn't like me. They liked what I'd done. The path I'd taken. The darkness. No family adored rot more than the Gaunts.

"Marvolo, let him be," came a lighter voice. Dementia stepped forward, blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, her pale eyes softer than the rest. She turned to me. "Hi, Sebastian. It's nice to see you."

Then she moved to Ominis, wrapping her arms around him. "You too."

He hugged her back, and I was grateful — at least one member of this family seemed to actually care he'd come home.

The others? I neither knew nor cared where they were.

"Well, don't just stand there, boys," came his father's voice, deep and commanding from the back of the hall. "Go and get your rooms sorted."

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt."

The words left us at the same time, Ominis clipped and obedient, mine sharp and practiced. Old habits—his deference, my distance.

We climbed the grand staircase, our footsteps echoing against the marble. The Gaunts had so many rooms they could've housed a small army. When I'd stayed here as a boy, Anne and I had each been given our own chambers — a luxury compared to our cramped little home, where we'd shared everything, even the silence.

Ominis' room was beside mine. I stepped inside my old quarters, dropped my bag on the floor, and collapsed into one of the armchairs. The room was just as I remembered — big bed centered beneath a tall window, furniture polished but cold, walls bare except for the family crest glaring down at me like it wanted me to kneel.

It was a house of money. Of legacy. But not of warmth. Never warmth. The cold settled into my bones like an old friend, and I let it. I had no reason to fight it—the silence, the chill—it all felt familiar, like this was where I belonged.

So I stayed in it. Let the days slip by in solitude, thinking of what waited when I returned to Hogwarts. Another key, maybe. Another trial. Maybe nothing at all.

And her. Always her. A picture burned into my mind I couldn't shake, no matter how many times I told myself I should.

I moved to the window, letting my thoughts choke me the way they always did. Snow was falling now. Of course it was. December always repeated itself—year after year, same cold routine.

And then I remembered the damned gift. The one Valeria had shoved into my hands like it was nothing. I stood there debating whether to ignore it, leave it unopened like it didn't exist, or wait until Christmas morning like some proper gentleman. But I'm neither patient nor polite, so in the end, I didn't care.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the box out of my bag, and stared at it for a beat too long before ripping it open.

My chest tightened at the sight. A knife. Small, neat. I unfolded the note.

For the boy who sharpens his silence with steel — here's one that won't bite back. - V

The words punched harder than they should've. My chest did something stupid—something I didn't want to name.

I lifted the blade, pressed it against my palm. Nothing. Not sharp. Not even close. A Zonko's trick knife. She'd gotten me a weapon that couldn't wound me. Like she cared whether I bled.

I drew in a breath that felt heavier than air should. Then shoved the knife back into the box and crammed it under my bed before it could cut deeper than steel ever had.

Stupid gift. Idiotic. Sentimental.

And yet—I knew it wasn't. It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever given me. And I hated that it mattered. Hated it enough to gag on the truth of it.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

The fact that Ominis's brother is literally named Marvolo? Yeah. I'll just leave that there. / S

Chapter Text

Stars Beyond the Glass

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I'm bigger than my body, I'm colder than this home, I'm meaner than my demons, I'm bigger than these bones"

- Halsey

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Breathe, Valeria. Just breathe. You're fine. Everything is fine. You're grown now. Of age. An adult witch. You have magic. You can defend yourself. No Trace. No Ministry owls flapping in at midnight.

You're fine.

I opened my eyes again and forced my spine straight, each step toward the crooked little house echoing like a drumbeat. The front door loomed up, small but heavy in my mind. I curled my hand around the cold knob, inhaled once more, then twisted it.

"Lord and Lady Whitmore," my voice wavered but I forced it steady, "I'm home."
Calm. I am calm.

Silence answered me. The same silence I remembered as a child, thick and stale, the sort that could smother laughter out of any room.

"Hello?" I tried again, stepping across the threshold. The floorboards groaned under my boots as if they too remembered me.

And then—her head. Poking out from the kitchen doorway, a hawk's beak of a face, those ice-chip eyes already dissecting me.

"Oh. It's you."

Typical.

"Yes, it's me," I said, because apparently my mouth wanted to sound as useless as possible.

"Well, don't just stand there. Be of some use. I'm making dinner—take over so I can rest."

"Yes, madam."

Old words, old grooves. I slipped back into them without thought, setting my bag down by the door as her gaze followed me like a nail pressed into my skin.

The smell hit before I saw him. Something acrid simmering on the stove—meat boiled too long, vegetables murdered beyond recognition. And then my eyes slid sideways, and there he was. In his chair. The same chair. Newspaper trembling between his thick fingers, glasses perched low on a nose that had never smiled, gray-streaked hair hanging limp.

My blood iced.

"Afternoon, sir," I managed, my voice smaller than I meant it to be.

The paper lowered. His eyes—cold, calculating—met mine.

"You're home," he said, like it was a fact he wished he could erase.

"Yes," I whispered.

A scoff, sharp as the snap of a twig. Then nothing. Just the sound of my own pulse thundering in my ears.

Breathe. In. Out. Don't shatter.

I forced myself toward the stove, letting the steam curl around me like smoke. I peered into the pot and nearly gagged—whatever poor creature was meant to be soup had been drowned instead. Basil. Salt. Anything to coax back life. Maybe just start over entirely. My hands moved on their own, muscle memory from years of salvaging her disasters. But the prickling heat at the back of my neck told me he was still watching. Always watching.

I didn't know why I'd come back. I could've gone anywhere—anywhere but here. I was free, wasn't I? I could rent a room in Hogsmeade, live off bread and jam, and still it would have been warmer than this house. But no. Here I was. Again.

It's only a few weeks. You can endure a few weeks.

Time moves differently here. Slow, heavy, dragging its heels through the dust. After only days my spark—the one that made me wake each morning hungry for something more—was already dimming. I could feel it. Like a candle flickering lower with each chore. Scrubbing floors until my hands cracked. Washing windows that only ever looked out onto the same gray field. Cooking meals I wasn't allowed to eat until they were cold. Lady Whitmore liked to put me to work. She always had. And I always obliged. Because that's what you did in this house.

That night, I walked down the narrow hall, every shadow too familiar. I opened the door to my small room, the one I'd once tried to fill with color, with dreams, with scraps of joy to hide the truth. It was the same. Always the same.

A house of cold walls. Of duty. Of silence that burned louder than words.

I whispered to myself as I sank into the bed, clutching the blanket tight. "Breathe, Valeria. Just breathe. The stars still exist above these walls. The world is bigger than this place. And one day, you'll be free of it for good."

The mattress was stiff, unforgiving, as though the wood beneath it wanted me to feel every inch of my weight. It was the same bed they'd found for me when I grew too large for a crib—never replaced, never softened, just another thing I was meant to endure.

I let my muscles relax, or tried to, before slipping my diary from under the mattress. My hands trembled a little as I opened to a clean page.

December 19th

Dear diary,

I can do this. I know I can. There are people who have it worse—much worse. I remind myself of that often. After all, I have food, a roof, and animals who choose me. Gina visited me yesterday, fluttering through my window like she always does. She told me she'd hatched three little baby birds only days ago. Tomorrow I'll sneak out to see them—if Lord and Lady Whitmore don't notice. The thought of their soft feathers makes my chest loosen just a little.

What I'll never understand is why they adopted me at all. People who never wanted a child—why take one? For what? My hands, my chores, my silence? Maybe. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. I've decided not to dwell. One day I'll move out, with or without their approval. Husband or no husband, I'll leave. I have my fate to carry, after all. Veilborn. Sometimes I almost forget what that means, but the keys remind me. They wait, they call, they burn inside my thoughts.

Sebastian and I were supposed to start searching Hufflepuff as soon as term begins again. But that was before... the cupboard. Since then, he's barely spoken to me. Still, he lingers in my head. His eyes. His smirk. That laugh that slips out even when he tries to strangle it back. And our almost kiss. I replay it again and again, like a record stuck. He wanted it too—I know he did. And maybe he just needs a push. Maybe I'll be the one to give it. One day, I'll crack him open.

I think of his words often, the ones he whispered when he thought I couldn't understand: "Petit et mignon. Et si dangereusement belle que tu voles mon souffle... comme les feuilles qui tombent du ciel." Small and cute. And so dangerously beautiful you steal my breath... like the leaves drifting from the sky. No one has ever spoken words like that to me, and I don't think anyone ever will again. People say Sebastian Sallow is dangerous, broken beyond repair. But words like that don't come from monsters. They come from something precious, hidden under rock, waiting to be unearthed. And I'll be the one to dig him out.

Daily Rosebuds:

Rose: Gina's little ones hatched — three tiny birds with feathers like whispers. They make me remember that new life keeps happening, no matter the walls I'm stuck behind.

Bud: I'm stronger than I was as a child. I can breathe through the fear now, even when Lady Whitmore slams the door like thunder. One day, I'll breathe freely all the time.

Thorn: The silence in this house still feels sharp, like it's waiting to cut me if I let my guard down. I hate how qu

"Child!"

The voice cracked the air like a whip. My hand jolted, ink splattered across the page. Heart pounding, I slammed the diary shut and shoved it under the mattress just as her footsteps drew closer.

I scrambled to my feet, hands folded tight behind my back to hide their trembling.

The door flew open. Lady Whitmore filled the frame, her frown etched deep like it had been carved there decades ago.

"Yes, Madam," I said, standing stiff as a soldier.

Her eyes raked across the room, sharp, merciless. "Did you finish scrubbing the floor?"

"Yes, Madam."

"The windows?"

"Yes, Madam."

Her gaze snapped to the far corner. My stomach dropped. The window—open, as always.

"And close that damned window! The draft makes us all freeze. Is that what you want? For Edward and I to freeze to death?"

"No, Madam," I said quickly, pulse roaring in my ears. "I'll close it immediately."

"That you will." She yanked the door shut, the slam rattling the glass in its frame.

I closed my eyes, breathing through the thunder in my chest. One, two. Breathe. Then I crossed the room and pulled the window shut, sealing out the night air. The stars were still out there, though—I whispered it to myself as I latched the frame, "They're still there. And one day, I'll be among them."

I was about to crawl back into bed when the door creaked open again.

"Here. I can't have you looking indecent under my roof—people will talk." Something heavy thudded against the floorboards. "And put your hair up."

The door slammed once more, leaving the words to echo after her.

I stood frozen, pulse hammering, then glanced down. On the floor lay a corset. Old, worn, beige. One of hers, no doubt, discarded from use. I bent to pick it up, running my fingers along the laces.

For a moment I just stared. Why? Why give this to me? She'd never once marked my birthday, never once acknowledged it. Yet now—now that I'd turned eighteen, come of age—suddenly she remembered? A corset, to make me presentable. To make me acceptable.

I couldn't decide if it was a gift or a chain. Perhaps both.

It had been years since I'd received anything from them—unless you counted castoffs, clothes too small for neighboring children or garments gone out of style. Lord and Lady Whitmore could play the part of gracious hosts with all their friends. Charming, warm, admired. But with me? Nothing. Sometimes I thought they'd decided, from the very first day, that I wasn't worth their love.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

Time never moved inside this house. Days crawled, even when my hands were raw from scrubbing floors, when my back ached from cleaning, when every hour was filled with some task Lady Whitmore barked at me. And nights—they were the worst.

I lay awake in bed, moonlight spilling over the floorboards, tracing pale patterns across my face. For a fleeting moment, I pretended the light was something else—silver threads spun by kind goddesses, weaving me away into some other place. A freer place.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

My pulse spiked, my body stiffening all at once. My eyes darted to the window. Could I leap? Could I summon some spell to carry me away? Or maybe mother nature could turn me into a bird—anything small, winged, invisible. My brain scrambled for an escape. But before I could act, the door creaked open.

He filled the frame. Tall. Heavy. His shadow stretched long into my room. His eyes pinned me like a moth on a collector's board.

"So. You're all grown up now, aren't you?"

I swallowed hard. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Numb fingers curled tight against my blanket.

"Answer me when I speak to you!" His voice cracked like a whip.

"Yes, sir," I managed. Barely a whisper.

He stepped inside, shutting the door with a deliberate click. The sound sank into my stomach like a stone.

"Get over here. Let me look at you."

I closed my eyes. Breathe, Valeria. Just breathe. He won't—no, don't think that. Just move.

My legs carried me, weak as water, across the cold floorboards. I stopped as far from him as I could, but he bridged the gap in a single stride. His hand lifted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My skin burned beneath the touch, though every part of me screamed to recoil.

"Planning to wear it up now?" His voice was low, almost musing, as his fingers lingered against my cheek.

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

The stench of alcohol clung to him. He always smelled of it, as though the bottle itself had claimed him long ago. Maybe that's where he'd hidden whatever soul he once had.

I told my body to move, to reach for my wand, to fight. But I already knew the truth. I wouldn't. I'd tried once, long ago. And learned. He knew it too. That was the worst part.

So I did the only thing I could: I let my mind slip.

His hand trailed lower, and my body stiffened—but my imagination ran away. I thought of flowers, fields bursting with marigolds, of book pages fluttering like bird wings. I thought of laughter I hadn't heard in years. I made myself anywhere but here.

I didn't hear his words anymore, but I felt the weight of his presence, the press of every unwelcome touch. My chest hollowed out. My hands shook where they hung at my sides. My throat squeezed shut.

Then the bed caught me, hard, when he shoved me back.

The shock snapped my mind for a second, dragging me out of my safe place. The ceiling loomed above, and my body trembled. My eyelids pressed closed again. Breathe. Breathe. Don't feel this. Don't think. Don't be here.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

If I told myself enough times, maybe it would become true.

The bed dipped under his weight. My stomach plummeted as if I were falling, even though I was flat on my back. The mattress groaned and so did I, flinching the instant his hands began their slow crawl over my body. Heavy, invasive, claiming what was never his to claim.

"Sir—" The word cracked out of me, raw, desperate.

But his palm clamped over my mouth, cutting it off. The rough press of his skin smothered my voice. "Shh," he hissed, breath thick with liquor.

My pulse roared. I could hear it pounding in my ears like a drum of war, drowning out thought, drowning out breath. The room blurred, shrinking until there was nothing but his hand pinning me down, the sickening glide of his touch across my ribs, my waist. My throat squeezed shut, useless. My eyes stung with tears I couldn't stop.

Then—something else. A faint breeze kissed my arm.

The window. Open.

My gaze shot to it, wide and frantic. The cold night air swept in, brushing against my skin like a reminder.

Something in me snapped awake. My body jolted, instincts screaming louder than fear. I bucked, trying to sit up, but his arm shoved me down again, iron-strong. His lips scraped against my ear as he growled, "Don't make it harder than it needs to be."

No.

Not again.

Not anymore.

I am of age now. I can fight. I've fought worse than him. I've fought monsters carved of stone, shadows wielding curses that would break lesser souls. And yet here I was, pinned by him. No more.

I swallowed hard, tears cutting hot trails down my face—and then pushed with everything in me.

"Get off me!"

The words tore out of me, jagged and feral. My arm shot forward, shoving his chest. Shock widened his face for a heartbeat as he stumbled back, unsteady.

I scrambled upright, hand flying to cover my own mouth, horrified at my own defiance—but it was too late. His eyes narrowed, fury twisting his features into something monstrous.

"You little—" he spat, lunging for me.

But I was ready this time. Instinct surged. I rolled off the bed, feet hitting the floor with a stumble, and my hand snatched the wand from my nightstand.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell cracked through the air, light blazing. His wand ripped from his grip, clattering across the floor as his body slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. For one breathless second, victory lit my chest—until his laugh followed. Low. Cold.

"So this is how you want to play?"

My grip on my wand trembled, slick with sweat, but I raised it higher. Pointed it straight at his chest. My knees shook, my heart banged like a hammer, but I stood.

His hand shot out. "Incarcerous!"

Ropes exploded through the air, but I dodged, the cords slapping uselessly against the mattress where I'd been a second before. My breath tore ragged from my lungs, but there was no stopping now.

"Stupefy!"

The red bolt struck clean. He jerked back, smacking his head against the wall before crumpling in a heap, motionless.

The silence afterward was deafening. My own ragged breaths filled it, each one like a knife in my lungs.

I didn't think—I moved. My body on instinct, my soul in flight. I lunged for my bag, yanking it from under the bed. My diary—snatched from the mattress. The window gaped wider as I shoved it open, night air rushing in like salvation.

And then I jumped.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I don't really wanna comment on this one... / S

Chapter Text

When Winter Yielded

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Oh, won't you stay with me? 'Cause you're all I need."

- Sam Smith

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clock sneered at me from across the room. 3:23. That was the time. And still, sleep refused me. Not that I'd expected otherwise.

You'd think freedom would taste sweeter. That being here—away from that cell, away from the screams—would feel like something. It didn't. The days dragged like chains, the nights even worse.

I sighed, swung my legs off the bed, tugged on my trousers. The corridor outside yawned wide and empty, echoing each careful step like the house was mocking me. Gaunt corridors were endless—grand enough to hold a whole ball, and yet they were tombs.

Down the stairs, through shadows that clung to every corner. Another clock. Another tick. Another sneer.

The storm outside beat against the house like it wanted in. By the time I reached the window at the end of the corridor, I stopped, hands braced on the frame, watching snow whip through the night. It wasn't snowing—it was devouring. Sheets of white, wind clawing at the trees, the whole world blurred into nothing but storm.

And then—

Movement.

I stilled. My eyes narrowed, focusing past the storm's chaos. At first I thought it was nothing, just the wind dragging shadows across the lawn. But no. There it was again—something shifting beyond the gates. A shape.

My hand closed around my wand before I even realized. My pulse quickened.

I leaned closer, forehead nearly against the glass. The distance and the storm fought me, snow flurrying in every direction. Still—the shape staggered forward. Not fluid like an animal. Jerky. Human.

My chest tightened. An intruder? Here?

The figure faltered, swayed, and pressed against the gate. My breath caught when the iron bars groaned open, as if welcoming it.

Closer now. The storm ripped at it, but I caught flashes—white fabric snapping in the wind, something long flowing behind. Not a cloak. Not dark, threatening robes. Pale.

Confusion gnawed at me. I didn't lower my wand, but I didn't strike either. Whoever it was, they didn't move like a threat.

Step by staggering step, they pushed through the snow, closing the distance to the house.

Closer.

And then the wind shifted, parting the curtain of snow just long enough for me to see—

Hair. Long, pale hair, clinging wet to a face. Not a beast. Not a shadow. A woman.

My mouth went dry.

No. No, it couldn't—

But it was.

Had the lack of sleep finally snapped me in half? Was I conjuring ghosts now?

The gates slammed behind her. She stumbled forward, arms limp at her sides, snow burying her like it wanted to claim her whole.

And my body finally moved.

I bolted. Through the hall, wrenching the front door open so violently it rattled the hinges. The storm slammed into me, slicing my skin raw. And there—just a few feet away—she stood.

Or tried to.

Because the second her eyes met mine, she collapsed against me, all ice and shivers and silence.

And I knew.

It was real.

She was here.

Valeria.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Valeria—Fucking—" My arms closed around her automatically. She was ice. Skin like marble, lips pale, lashes frosted white. Snow clung to her hair, her nightgown soaked and plastered to her skin. Her hands and feet—blue.

My chest clenched so hard it stole my breath. "What the fuck—" Words died in my throat. She shivered against me like some half-dead bird, and all I could do was clutch her tighter, desperate, her body leeching the heat from mine.

Think, Sallow. Think.

The fire. Get her to the fire.

I hauled her against me, the thin cotton of her nightgown sticking to my bare chest, making me shiver. Her eyelids fluttered. Too still. Too quiet. My panic surged sharp enough to cut.

"Valeria. Wake up." My voice cracked. I shook her gently, then harder, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Don't you fucking dare—wake up!"

Nothing. Just the faint tremor of her breath, shallow, too shallow.

"Fuck!"

I scooped her up, carrying her like she weighed nothing. My strides ate the floor as I barreled toward the lounge, every breath ragged, frantic. She couldn't die. 

The fire still crackled in the hearth. I dropped to the couch, pulling her into my lap, wrapping myself around her as if I could will my heat into her frozen skin. My hands shook as I rubbed at her arms, her back, whispering her name like a prayer.

"Stay with me, Valeria. Just—stay. Please."

Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her lips parted, but no sound came. My chest was a war drum. My throat burned. I pulled her closer, closer, until it felt like I'd merge with her if that's what it took to keep her breathing.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be in my arms, freezing to death. And yet she was.

And gods help me—I'd never been so terrified in my life.

Shit.

"Valeria—wake up." My voice cracked as I shook her, my hand cradling her face. Her skin was ice, lips pale, lashes crusted with frost.

Nothing. Just a shiver, the faintest twitch. My thumb brushed over her cheek, frantic, trying to coax warmth into her. I bent closer, my breath fogging in the cold that clung to her.

I tore my gaze up, panic clawing at my throat. "Ominis!" The shout ricocheted off the stone walls, too loud. I didn't care.

"Ominis!"

My pulse thundered in my ears. I shook her again, gentler, thumb brushing against her temple. "Valeria, look at me. It's me—Sebastian. Just... look at me."

Her eyelids fluttered. Slowly. So slowly. And then—finally—her eyes cracked open, unfocused but searching.

"Sebastian?" she whispered.

My name, fragile on her lips, split something inside me wide open. "Yeah. It's me. I've got you. Just stay awake, alright? What the hell happened?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. She didn't answer. Her gaze drifted, heavy, slipping away again.

"Sebastian?"

Not her voice this time. Another. Groggy, irritated. Ominis, shuffling into the lounge, yawning, rubbing at his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Over here!" I barked. "It's Valeria—she's frozen solid!"

And then—her voice again, weak but clear.

"Ominis?"

He stopped dead in his tracks, like a statue carved in place. His head snapped toward us, face going pale. "Ria?" His voice cracked on her name.

He crossed the room in a rush, dropping beside us. His hand stretched out, trembling, until it landed on her shoulder. He recoiled instantly. "Merlin—she's ice."

I tightened my hold around her, rocking slightly without meaning to, trying to keep her pressed against the heat of my chest. Her hair was soaked, plastered to her skin, snow melting into the fabric of her nightgown. Her hands twitched, blue at the fingertips.

"Valeria." I pressed my forehead to hers, desperate. "Talk to me. Please."

She blinked slowly, her lips parting. "I... I'm sorry." Her voice broke, hoarse and shaking. "I didn't know where else to go."

"That's okay. It's fine." The words came fast, clumsy. Frankly I was just relieved she was actually conscious. "You did right. You're safe now."

Ominis's hand found her arm again, gentler this time. "Ria—tell us what happened." His tone was urgent, terrified.

Her chest hitched with a ragged breath. "I... couldn't stay there." Her voice faltered, then cracked into a sob that rattled through her frail body.

Every nerve in me went sharp. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Stay where? Valeria—who?"

Her throat worked, her gaze flitting helplessly between us before dropping. "I couldn't let him... touch me again."

The words splintered through me like a blade.

I froze. The air turned to ash in my lungs. I heard my own voice, low, shaking, unrecognizable. "Who."

Her lips trembled. Then—so quiet I almost didn't hear it—"My father."

My stomach turned to ice. My heart thundered so violently it rattled my ribs.

"You mean... your adoptive father?" Ominis whispered.

She nodded weakly.

And I thought I might be sick. Fury and horror slammed into me at once.

I didn't push her for more. Couldn't. She sagged against me, utterly spent, and I clutched her tighter, one hand splayed over her damp hair, the other steadying her trembling frame.

"Shh." The word came out rough, foreign on my tongue. "Just rest."

Because she was safe here. With me. And whoever had done this—whoever had laid a hand on her—wouldn't be safe for long.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

I woke to the sound of Ominis hissing through his teeth in his sleep. For a moment, I didn't know where I was—only the faint crackle of a fire, the ache in my neck, and the unfamiliar weight against me.

Then memory crashed back.

My eyes fell to her. Valeria. Curled in my arms, her head tucked against my bare chest, her nightgown clinging damply to her frame. Fragile. Breathing. Alive.

Merlin.

For one fleeting second, I almost convinced myself I'd dreamt the whole thing. But no dream had ever burned so sharply in my muscles or lodged itself so deep in my chest. I'd kept her warm. I'd saved her life. I should've cursed myself for the foolishness of it all, but I couldn't. Not when I felt her heartbeat now, faint against my ribs.

Her lashes flickered. She stirred, nestling closer for the briefest moment before she blinked awake. Her gaze fell to my chest, then crept upward until it met mine. Her eyes widened, and she bolted upright, stumbling out of my hold.

"S–Sebastian," she breathed, her cheeks flaring scarlet.

"Good morning," I said—because apparently, I'd forgotten how to speak like a sane man.

Her flush deepened, but at least there was color in her face again. Last night she'd been so pale I'd thought the snow itself had claimed her.

She fumbled back onto the couch, wrapping her arms around herself just as Ominis shifted awake. He yawned, rubbed at his eyes, and then his hand brushed mine. He flinched, memory dawning, his face tightening.

None of us spoke. The silence stretched, brittle, until I broke it. "Feeling better?" I asked her.

She nodded, eyes downcast. Embarrassed, yes—but alive. That was enough.

Then—footsteps.

"What, precisely, is going on here?" Mr. Gaunt's voice cut like a lash.

All three of us snapped our heads toward the doorway. He stood there, looming, his wife just behind him, her face pinched into something sharp between outrage and disbelief.

"For Merlin's sake, child," Mrs. Gaunt exclaimed, her eyes darting to Valeria's nightgown. She seized a blanket from a chair and threw it over her. "Cover yourself!"

Valeria clutched it gratefully, her face near glowing with humiliation. "I—I'm ever so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt, I—"

"This is our friend," I interrupted, rising slightly from my seat. My voice came out firmer than intended. "Valeria. She arrived last night in the storm. Near frozen solid. We brought her here to keep her alive."

Mrs. Gaunt's lips thinned. She looked ready to scold us all to dust, but even she could not deny the girl before her. "And what were you doing stumbling half-naked through the snow at such an hour?" she demanded.

Valeria's hands tightened on the blanket. Her eyes flicked to me before she answered. "I... had nowhere else to go."

"You ran away from home?" Mrs. Gaunt's tone sharpened.

"Yes," Valeria whispered.

"Whatever for?"

Valeria's gaze lingered on me again, pleading, fragile. I met it steadily. "Never mind the reason," I said, my voice edged. "What matters is she's here. And she's not frozen to death."

Mrs. Gaunt's nostrils flared. She looked ready to unleash a tirade, but at length she drew herself up, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Very well. Margaret!" she barked.

A maid appeared in the doorway within seconds. "Yes, ma'am."

"Take this girl upstairs. Get her dressed."

"Yes, ma'am." Margaret's tone softened as she stepped forward, offering Valeria her arm. "Come now, dear. Up you get."

Valeria rose shakily, clutching the blanket tight. Instinct had me half-rising too, ready to steady her, but she managed on her own. Margaret led her away down the corridor, the blanket trailing against the floor.

The moment the door closed behind them, Mrs. Gaunt turned on us. "And you two—do you understand how wholly inappropriate it is to harbor a young woman in such a state beneath this roof?"

Ominis stood, his jaw firm. "Mother, I will not apologize for refusing to turn her out to die in the snow."

"With all due respect, ma'am," I added, my stare cutting into hers, "I'm not the sort to let a woman freeze because propriety wrings its hands."

Her eyes narrowed at me, but she knew she was cornered.

"Very well," she clipped. "Natalie!"

Another maid appeared. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Prepare the south wing for a guest."

"Yes, ma'am." Natalie curtsied and hurried off.

Mrs. Gaunt lingered only long enough to spear us both with her disapproval before sweeping away, her husband silent at her side.

Only when the echo of her heels faded did I let myself exhale, my chest tight.

Valeria was safe, for now. That was all that mattered.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

And this man has the audacity to keep claiming he's no hero. / S

Chapter Text

A Seat at the Table

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."

- Radiohead

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Breakfast was... awkward. No, worse than awkward — suffocating. The long oak table stretched on like a sentence I didn't want to finish, every scrape of cutlery against porcelain loud enough to rattle in my skull. I kept my head bowed, pretending the eggs on my plate were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Margaret had dressed me that morning. A corset laced tight, a pale gown that smelled faintly of lavender soap, my hair twisted up into a bun so neat it didn't feel like mine. I had never looked so... proper. Sophisticated, even. And yet under the weight of every pair of Gaunt eyes, I felt like a child who had wandered somewhere she didn't belong.

Across from me sat Sebastian. He didn't look at me outright, but I caught it — the flick of his gaze, sharp and stolen, before it fell back to his plate. Each time my stomach fluttered and my cheeks burned, and I scolded myself for it. Pathetic, wasn't I? Stumbling to their door in the dead of night like some lost specter.

But what choice had I? I hadn't even meant to come here. At first, I'd only wanted to clear my head, just to walk. One step became another, then another, until the cold bit too deep. I tried magic, but my spells fizzled at the tip of my wand, sparks swallowed by the storm. Apparition was out of the question — I'd never been granted access, though I've taken the training required in sixth year. So I walked. Hours through the snow, half-dreaming, half-frozen, until instinct carried me toward the only place I thought I might be safe.

By the time the gates loomed, I wasn't even thinking. Just moving. One foot, then the other, until everything blurred, until the storm itself seemed to carry me forward. And then — the doorframe. Him. Sebastian. And my body gave out before I could even whisper his name.

I don't remember much after that. Only fragments, flashes stitched together like a fever dream. His arms holding me. His voice, low and desperate, urging me to stay awake. The heat of his chest against my frozen skin. The way he clutched me tighter, as though sheer will could tether me here.

He'd been afraid. Not of some enemy, not of losing a battle — but of losing me. And that meant something. It meant everything.

And now, here I sat, dressed like a stranger, cheeks flushing at the memory, pretending breakfast was just breakfast while the truth of it all burned inside me like a secret flame.

"What did you say your name was?" Mrs. Gaunt's voice cut through the stillness, sharp as a knife.

I swallowed my mouthful, dabbed at my lips with the folded napkin as though I'd rehearsed it, and answered as politely as I could manage. "Valeria, ma'am. Valeria Velkan."

The weight of her gaze stayed on me. So did everyone else's. Everyone except Sebastian, who kept his eyes fixed on his plate—though I saw the quick flicker of them to me every so often. And every time, my heart gave a foolish little jump.

"That is a sensible name," Mrs. Gaunt said at last, and I bobbed my head with a faint smile, trying not to sigh in relief.

Then a small voice piped up from further down the table. "I like your eyes. Their green reminds me of a meadow." Ominis' little sister—Dementia, yes, that was her name. She looked so young, maybe thirteen, curious eyes peering at me from under neat blonde hair.

"Thank you, that's very kind." My answer earned a few raised brows.

The clinking of silver resumed, the silence returning like fog. I tried not to fidget. Tried not to think about how I must look—a girl who had stumbled half-dead through the snow, now perched among one of the most powerful families in England. I felt like a stain on their tablecloth.

"So, you are eighteen then?" Mrs. Gaunt asked, her eyes narrow, assessing.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't suppose you have a suitor?" Her tone was mild, but the words sliced the air like a spell. The room tensed.

A proper girl would have known how to answer. I, unfortunately, was not proper. "Not exactly," I said after a beat too long. "My—parents always had ideas of whom I ought to marry, but... well. Marriage has never felt very me."

I felt the air shift, like I'd stepped into the wrong corridor. Mrs. Gaunt's eyes sharpened, unimpressed.

"Not fit for marriage, you say?" she pressed.

Heat rose to my cheeks. "I—I only meant... I've never thought of myself as a wife. I'm disobedient, see, and restless, and—well, I can hardly imagine anyone would want to put up with me."

The words slipped out before I could catch them, dangling in the air like an embarrassing secret.

Mrs. Gaunt's lips thinned. "I see."

Silence again. Crushing silence. My pulse thundered as I dared to glance up from my plate—and found Sebastian watching me. Really watching me, as though trying to peel back the words and find the marrow of them. My chest tightened. Why did he look at me like that?

"Valeria is clever," Ominis said suddenly, his voice firm. "Top of our year. Even beats the boys."

Mrs. Gaunt shifted her gaze to him, then back to me. "Is that so?"

Before I could stammer some awkward deflection, Mr. Gaunt's voice rumbled from the far end. "Nevertheless, a beautiful young woman such as yourself ought not to struggle finding a man—one who would not mind a disobedient wife."

The table froze. My fork slipped in my fingers. Everyone stared at him.

But he only looked at me, his expression unreadable, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

I forced a polite smile back, though my insides fluttered like trapped birds.

I sat straight-backed, corset laced so tight I could feel each breath as a measured effort. Then Mr. Gaunt's voice broke the silence once more.

"Velkan," he said slowly, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing it. "I'm certain I've heard it before. What are your parents' names?"

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. I lowered it back to the plate with care, lacing my fingers in my lap so no one would see the slight tremor in them. My gaze slid to the bowl in the middle of the table. Potatoes. 

One, two, three, four. My lips pressed together. Five, six, seven. Almost done. Eight, nine. Nine potatoes.

"Oh. I don't know," I said at last, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.

The words landed like stones in water. Ripples of silence spread across the table. Every gaze sharpened, cutting into me. I rushed to fill the void.

"I'm adopted," I added quickly. "My adoptive parents are Lord and Lady Whitmore. We live on Wensworth Lane." I had the sudden, foolish thought that even the street name sounded richer than I ever felt. "They took me in when I was a child but... they kept my name."

Another hush. I could hear the clock ticking somewhere behind me, steady and merciless.

"That's... unusual," Mrs. Gaunt said at last, voice clipped, eyes cool as frost.

I nodded, forcing a polite smile.

"The Whitmores," Mr. Gaunt mused. "Yes, I know them. The Lord works with the Ministry's financial office, does he not?"

"That's right," I said softly.

He tilted his head. "Strange. I did not know they had a daughter."

My throat felt dry. "Oh—well, they usually don't bring me to social gatherings. I've spent most of my life at home."

"And why is that?" Mrs. Gaunt asked, sharp as a needle.

I tried not to wilt under her gaze. "I hardly know. I suppose... they aren't particularly fond of me." The admission tumbled out before I could catch it. I wanted the earth to open beneath me, to take me away from this table with its rules I didn't know how to follow.

Then Mr. Gaunt surprised me. He leaned back, lips curving in the faintest smile. "Never liked them," he said. "Seem the sort to flaunt new money without knowing where to spend it."

The words slipped out so casually, and yet they felt like an offering. I gave a nervous little chuckle, though across the table Mrs. Gaunt's glare could have frozen fire.

Her eyes flicked back to me. "Those are the ones you ran from last night?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "We... had a misunderstanding. And before I knew it, I'd wandered so far I couldn't find my way back."

She scoffed, unimpressed, as if the story were too simple for her liking. Or perhaps too true.

"Misunderstandings happen," Mr. Gaunt said, brushing her disdain aside. His voice softened, almost kind. "You are welcome to stay as long as you like."

I blinked. Relief and disbelief twisted together in my chest.

"Thank you, Mr. Gaunt," I murmured, barely above a whisper.

Across from me, Mrs. Gaunt's expression darkened, as though she and her husband were waging some silent battle over my fate. But for once, I had an ally at this table. And in this cold, vast house, that felt like the smallest ember of warmth.

The air shifted again, heavier, charged—like a storm gathering without thunder. Mrs. Gaunt leaned toward her husband, her lips barely parting, and a sound slipped between them. Not words. Hisses. Slithering syllables that seemed to coil through the air like smoke.

I stiffened. Parseltongue.

"Shharshas esshh hahh... Rashasse archas hashh."

My pulse jumped. I understood. Every hissed word pressed itself against my skull. I don't know why you feel the need to speak against me on this matter. It is hardly appropriate.

Mr. Gaunt's reply was slower, syllables drawn out, like he savored the weight of them. "Don't worry, dear. I am simply making her feel welcome."

I froze, fingers clutching the hem of my dress beneath the table. I should pretend I didn't understand. That would be safest. That would—

"Mother." Ominis's voice cut through like a blade. Calm, but sharp enough to draw blood. "Valeria understands you. She speaks Parseltongue."

The room erupted in silence. I felt every gaze snap to me, like arrows pinning me to my chair. Mrs. Gaunt's eyes sharpened, her pupils narrow, cutting through me as though she could strip me bare with a look.

"You—" Marvolo was the first to speak, his voice quick, greedy. "You speak Parseltongue?"

Heat burned my cheeks. "I—yes." The word trembled from my mouth. "I do."

Their stares pressed tighter, so I rushed on, desperate to make sense of myself. "I can speak to most beasts. They... find me. And I understand them. I have since I was a child."

The silence after my confession was suffocating. Even the silver cutlery seemed to still, no clink, no scrape. Just the weight of their eyes.

Mrs. Gaunt's lips pursed into a thin, cutting line. Finally, she spoke. "Most unusual." Her voice dripped with the kind of disdain reserved for things that should not exist.

"That's wicked," Marvolo breathed, leaning forward with a glint of hunger in his gaze, as though I were some relic unearthed, some tool he already imagined using.

"Marvolo." Mrs. Gaunt's tone cracked like a whip. He rolled his eyes and leaned back, folding his arms.

And then—light. A gentler voice breaking through the mire. Dementia. "I think it's wonderful," she said softly, her pale hair catching the light as she looked at me with something dangerously close to kindness.

I forced a small smile, fragile as glass, though inside my heart was a wild thing, thrashing against its cage.

We all kept eating in brittle silence until Mr. Gaunt finally rose, his chair scraping across the stone floor like a blade. He dabbed his mouth with a cloth and declared, "Well, this has been... pleasant, but I ought to retire to my study."

And just like that, breakfast was over. His voice carried the authority of a gavel; the rest of us moved almost instinctively, following the rhythm he set.

"Come, Ria," Ominis said softly, gesturing for me to follow him.

I rose, grateful for any excuse to leave that suffocating table. Sebastian trailed us, hands shoved in his pockets, as we climbed the winding stairs and slipped into the room that had been assigned to me. The moment the door closed behind us, the words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"They hate me."

The confession cracked in my throat, heavy as stone. I sat down hard on the bed, dragging my hand over my face as though I could rub the shame away.

"They do not," Ominis said calmly, though I could hear the effort in his tone. "That's simply how they are."

I gave a bitter little laugh. "Well, your mother surely despises me."

The corner of Sebastian's mouth tugged up as he leaned against the wall. "Definitely."

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. He didn't even flinch—only smirked, the bastard.

"Thank you, Sebastian. Very helpful," Ominis muttered, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to me. "She is... particular. She clings to rules and appearances, and finding a young woman half-frozen on her couch this morning has unsettled her. Can you blame her, truly?"

I exhaled slowly. "I suppose not."

"She'll thaw in time," Ominis said gently. "She'll have no choice now that Father has spoken."

My brows knitted. "What do you mean?"

"For once," Ominis said, almost in disbelief, "he actually defended someone. He never does that—not even for us. He is a quiet man, reserved to the point of indifference, and yet he stood up to Mother for you. That is... unprecedented."

I blinked at him, trying to process it. "Well, there's some comfort in that, at least."

But the thought was quickly crushed beneath another. "I cannot stay long. I don't want to impose. And besides—I'll have to return eventually."

"Why?" Sebastian's voice cut in, sharp and sudden.

I looked up at him, but his expression gave nothing away—stone-faced, unreadable. "Because they are my family," I said, though the words felt hollow even as they left me. "Whether I like it or not."

"You don't need to go back there unless you choose to," Sebastian said, his tone low but firm, like a warning.

The weight of his words pressed into me. For a moment, the room went still, the silence alive and crackling. I didn't know what to say.

"Never mind that." Ominis broke the tension with a soft smile. "This will be pleasant, I promise. I'll show you around later—we've a chessboard in the lounge where you might beat me again, and a porch swing in the garden where you'd love to read."

So very Ominis—always knowing the right words to soften the edges. I smiled faintly. "Thank you." A yawn escaped before I could stop it. "Though, perhaps for now, I might simply rest here a while."

"Of course," Ominis said, rising. "Sleep as long as you need."

A laugh slipped from me before I realized it.

"What's amusing?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Only that I'm terrible at sleeping."

"You'll do well enough here," he said. "That bed could make a baby sleep through thunder."

I brushed a hand over the covers, soft as cream beneath my fingertips. It felt far too luxurious for me. "If you say so."

"We'll leave you be," Ominis said, moving toward the door.

He paused, glancing back at Sebastian. "Sebastian?"

For a heartbeat, Sebastian lingered, leaning on the wall like he owned the place. Then, with a quiet exhale, he pushed himself off and followed Ominis out.

The silence that settled after they left was heavier than before, pressing down on me like the corset I still hadn't managed to take off. I lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling carved with delicate patterns I didn't feel worthy of. My chest ached with everything unspoken.

I closed my eyes, trying to summon rest, though I doubted it would come.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Valeria is so me here, not knowing what to say and just blurting words out. / S

Chapter Text

Reading Aloud

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"But I, I love it when you read to me. And you, you can read me anything."

- The Magnetic Fields

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

If I thought myself half-mad before, then surely by now I belonged in a ward. My head hadn't been quiet for days—not since she'd stumbled into this house, half-frozen, and made herself a permanent thought. I told myself it was only circumstance, that I was simply on edge from what had happened. That lie lasted all of an hour. Truth was, she lingered everywhere. At meals. In the hall. When she bent over books with Ominis. Even when she was nowhere near, she filled the air like smoke in the lungs.

And now—now she sat in the garden, and I was fool enough to watch.

From my window I saw her curled into that porch-swing like she belonged to it, legs drawn up, book balanced lightly in her hands. The sunlight broke through the bare branches and set her hair alight, loose strands slipping free from the bun Margaret had forced it into. Animals—actual animals—clustered around her. Birds on the armrest. A squirrel bold enough to perch on her knee. Even a rabbit crouched at her feet. And she—she didn't so much as notice. Or perhaps she did, and she was simply used to the world bending toward her like that. 

The storm from days past had slipped away as though it had never been, leaving only scattered patches of snow dissolving into the thawing earth. Sunlight pierced the clouds at last, gilding the ground in pale gold. Her scarf fluttered in the breeze, tugged and teased by the wind, yet she moved as if untouched by the cold gnawing at her skin.

I should've looked away. I didn't. She looked like something torn from a tale—pure, untouchable, yet I'd seen her wield spells most wouldn't dare whisper about. That contradiction gnawed at me. How the darkness only ever dragged me under, yet when she touched it, somehow she still came away glowing.

I'd sketched the plan in my head for dealing with her so-called father; the problem was finding a way to get to him without her finding out. Truth was, I suspected she wouldn't forgive me for what I had to do.

"She's quite peculiar, don't you think?"

The voice snapped my spine straight. I turned sharply. Mr. Gaunt stood in my doorway, blocking it with his frame.

I muttered something under my breath and tore myself from the window, slumping into a chair. He came inside uninvited—he always did—and seated himself opposite, though his gaze remained fixed on the garden.

"Animals seem drawn to her," he remarked. His tone was casual, but sharp, probing. "And, unless my eyes deceive me, so are you."

My pulse kicked. I stared at my hands, jaw tight. The bastard wasn't blind; he never missed an angle.

I forced my voice steady. "You seem to like her."

A soft chuckle. "I find her interesting." His eyes gleamed. "The moment I saw her, I knew. She's untouched by society's dull edges, yet she carries fire. It is rare, that kind of soul." He shifted his gaze toward me. "The same fire I once saw in you."

I scoffed, but something hot twisted in my chest.

"She's a talented witch," I said stiffly. Why I felt the need to defend her, I didn't know.

"I've no doubt." He leaned back, regarding me. "I can sense courage, Sebastian. Power unafraid of itself. Ominis—he shies from what's inside him. But you—you never did. That is why I've always respected you."

He turned his head again toward the garden. "And that girl... she does not fear her power either."

"You're waxing poetic," I muttered.

He chuckled, low. "You think I don't love poetry? Why else do you think I made you read to me all those nights?"

"To punish me," I bit out.

He laughed outright at that. "Perhaps. Or perhaps because you needed it."

Silence stretched, broken only by birdsong drifting faintly through the open window. Then he rose, straightening his coat.

"Don't be afraid of what draws you, Sebastian. There is always a reason. And I suspect that girl may yet be the best reason you'll ever have."

He paused in the doorway. "You'll come down tonight? To finish the reading?"

I gave a tight nod. He left.

I sat there, staring at the floorboards, his words rattling around my skull like loose bolts. He wasn't my father. Not blood, not anything more than a man who tolerated me under his roof. Yet he spoke like he knew me, like he'd read my thoughts clean through.

Before I could think better of it, I was on my feet, pushing out into the hall. As though moving might silence the echo of his words. As though distance could put out the fire already catching in my chest.

The gardens of the Gaunt estate sprawled like a labyrinth — manicured hedges twisting into corridors, blossoms set with frost on them, a display of wealth rather than warmth. I wandered through it without thinking, boots crunching against the gravel paths, more instinct than intention carrying me forward.

Valeria sat upon the low porch, a book open in her lap, one boot brushing the snow as she rocked gently back and forth. Her head was bent, hair sliding loose from its pins, lips moving faintly as though she were reciting to herself. A small bowl of cherries rested beside her.

I should have turned around. Instead I stood there longer than I'd ever admit, watching. Her gaze was so intent upon the page, her lashes casting shadows against her cheek.

"What are you reading?"

My voice startled her. She flinched, and so did the birds, scattering like shards of glass into the air. She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Sebastian! I—didn't see you there." A lock of hair slipped forward, and she tucked it quickly behind her ear.

I ignored the apology, stepping up onto the porch, lowering myself beside her. The wood groaned under my weight. I nodded toward the book in her hands. "I asked what you were reading."

She hesitated, as though embarrassed. "It's... one of my favourites." She turned it so I could see the cover — gilt lettering curling in ornate script. Beneath the Moonlight.

"What's it about?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly. She fiddled with the corner of the page. "A knight. And a princess—though she doesn't yet know she's a princess. She's kept captive by a monster, forced to toil and serve. And then..." She faltered, the words catching as though she could hear how childish it sounded. "Then a knight comes. To save her."

"Sounds cute."

She laughed softly, colouring further. "It's silly. But I love the author's language — it feels... alive. Like the words breathe."

I didn't answer. Of course her favourite book was about knights and monsters and salvation. Typical Valeria. Always dreaming. Always hoping.

She tried to change the subject. "Where's Ominis?"

"Likely being tormented by his brother."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't trust that one."

"You shouldn't," I replied flatly.

Her eyes lifted to mine then — too direct, too green. I had to look away. My gaze dropped back to her book. "Read some."

She blinked. "What?"

"From the book."

"I didn't think this was your sort of story."

"No book is my sort of story," I muttered.

She smiled despite herself. "Very well." She cleared her throat, and her voice softened into something measured, melodic, the sort of voice one would use in candlelight:

"And lo, the maiden Bertha pressed her brow against the lattice, her heart rent between hope and despair. Each night she had prayed — aye, with tears and trembling — that her champion might return. And behold, amidst the pallid moonlight, there rode her knight, his armour gleaming as argent fire. Swift as breath, she descended yon winding stair, treading with care lest the fell creature wake from his slumber. Her soul leapt within her as she espied her deliverer; and he, reaching forth a steadfast hand, drew her up to sit astride. 'I knew thou wouldst come,' quoth she. 'Always,' quoth he. And thus they rode unto the shadowed forest, where love was sanctuary, though but till the cruel dawn should summon her again unto bondage."

The cadence of her voice curled through me like smoke, more dangerous than the words themselves. She stopped, cheeks bright, eyes darting toward me as if braced for mockery.

"I know it's ridiculous," she said, lowering the book.

"Pretty ridiculous," I allowed, smirking.

Her mouth fell open in mock offence, and she swatted at my arm. "Then why did you ask me to read? You're free to leave if it pains you so."

I caught her wrist before she could pull it back. "I know," I murmured. "I was simply curious."

And there it was again — that silence that wasn't silence at all. Her pulse fluttering against my fingers, her hair trembling in the breeze, my own lungs refusing to fill properly.

I let go of her wrist, but the ghost of it burned against my palm. My eyes betrayed me—first her mouth, that small bite at the inside of her cheek, then her eyes, impossibly full, speaking more than words ever could. For a beat I forgot where I was, why I'd even approached her, why I'd cared enough to ask about the damned book. Perhaps this house was driving me mad. Because staring at her like this, every promise I'd made to myself slipped. All I wanted was to drag her closer, to claim, to ruin, to take. To make her mine in ways I shouldn't even let myself imagine.

And then—thank Merlin—Ominis's voice cut through the madness.

"Ria? Sebastian? Thought I heard you out here."

He came toward us, scarf tugged close, a small package clutched in his hands. His breath curled white in the cold air.

"What are you doing outside in this weather?" he asked.

"It's not that cold," I muttered.

"We were reading," Valeria chimed in quickly.

Ominis cocked his head. "Both of you?" Disbelief colored his tone.

"Well... no," she admitted, a hint of laughter in her voice. "I was reading. Sebastian was listening."

I arched a brow. "Listening's generous."

Ominis snorted. "Sebastian's attention span couldn't last a single sentence on a page."

"You know, Gaunt, you're digging your own grave," I warned, giving him a glare he couldn't see but could certainly feel.

He laughed it off. "Well, come inside. Mother says Christmas lunch is nearly ready."

Right. Christmas Eve. I'd almost forgotten.

"I have something for you, Ria," Ominis added, holding up the package.

Her face lit up instantly. "For me? Oh, what is it? A book? Please tell me it's a book!" She practically leapt up, hands snatching at the parcel like a child.

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow," he said firmly.

She pouted. "Oh, come on. I'm far too curious. I've never gotten a Christmas present before."

The words slipped out before she seemed to realize, and the brightness in her expression faltered.

"You haven't?" Ominis asked, quiet now.

"Not technically," she admitted with a shrug. "Unless you count the branches the squirrels bring me, or the hair tie Ruby gave me once."

The air shifted. For a moment, even I didn't know where to put my eyes.

Ominis broke it gently. "Well, you have one now. And rules are rules—you'll open it tomorrow. I haven't opened yours yet, after all."

Her face lit up again. "Oh! That's right. You haven't opened yours either, have you, Sebastian?" She turned toward me, hope flickering.

"Sorry to disappoint," I said flatly. No apology in it.

Her mouth fell open.

"Sebastian, honestly. Don't you know opening a gift early is bad luck?" Ominis scolded, half amused.

I pushed to my feet, brushing the frost from my trousers. "Let's go. I'm hungry."

They followed behind, their footsteps quick. I ignored the weight of Valeria's gaze on my neck, on my hands. No doubt she was wondering about the knife she'd given me. But I had no intention of bringing it up. Not now. Not ever, if I could help it.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

The corridors were tomb-quiet, shadows stretching like they wanted to trip me up on my way down. The Gaunt estate had that kind of silence that pressed into your ears until you swore you could hear your own pulse.

I hated it.

And maybe, in a sick way, I liked it too.

By the time I stepped into the lounge, the only light was from the fire gnawing at the logs. Mr. Gaunt sat where he always did, leaned back in his chair like some half-dead king keeping court with flames. He turned his head at the sound of my boots.

"I thought you'd bail on me," he said, voice like gravel.

"Like I have a choice," I muttered, and dropped into the chair opposite him.

The book was already waiting on the table between us — heavy, leather-bound, its spine cracked from years of the same hands turning the same pages. I'd known it since I was a boy. Back then, reading aloud for him had been... what? A chore. A strange kind of bond. A distraction. I still wasn't sure.

Maybe he thought he was doing me a kindness. Maybe he just liked the sound of someone else's voice filling the void. Either way, I wasn't about to spit on the request. He was Ominis's father, and for that alone, I'd grit my teeth and read.

I thumbed through the pages, the scent of old parchment rising up, grounding me. And then I began.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Fun fact, the first book I ever wrote was called Beneath The Moonlight. / S

Chapter Text

Poetry and Nightgowns

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"And his voice is a familiar sound."

- Taylor Swift

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I turned again onto my side, staring into the dark. Sleep was a stranger I never seemed able to befriend, though every night I kept trying, like perhaps tonight would be the night she might finally sit beside me and take pity. She never did. My eyelids burned, my mind refusing quiet.

It wasn't late—well, not terribly late—but the house had fallen silent hours ago. Christmas morning waited on the other side of dawn. For most, that meant joy. For me... I wasn't sure. I had never really celebrated it. Not properly. At the Whitmores' I strung garlands, polished silver, cooked roasts—but those things belonged to them. Not to me. Never gifts, never stockings. Still, something inside me fluttered with a childlike anticipation. I was curious—what Ominis had chosen for me. I smiled despite myself, imagining a book (hopefully). Perhaps a small one, the parcel hadn't been large.

I licked my lips, finding them dry. Water. That was excuse enough. I swung my legs over the bed, padding barefoot across a room too big for me, my nightgown whispering against the stone floor. The corridors yawned wide and dark, grand but cold, like they belonged to a painting rather than real people.

Then—I froze. A sound. Not the house's usual sigh, but a voice. Low. Measured. I tilted my head, straining to catch it. For one wild moment I thought: an intruder! But no... an intruder would not speak aloud.

Drawn like a moth, I followed. Step after step, closer, until I reached the lounge. I peeked inside.

And there—by the fire—sat Mr. Gaunt, his face in profile, lit in flickers of flame. And across from him—Merlin help me—Sebastian.

A book rested in his hands. His eyes followed the page as his voice filled the room, steady, deliberate.

"The frost paints crowns of silver on branches bent in reverence. The world bows under winter's silence, yet beneath the coffin-lid of ice, roots pulse with stubborn secrets..."

I forgot how to breathe. My heart slowed to match the rhythm of his words. Poetry. He was reading poetry. And not in the careless, stumbling way students sometimes recited in class, but with weight, as though each syllable mattered. His voice was low, like velvet dragged across stone.

He turned the page. His fingers brushed the paper like it might bruise.

"The sea does not cry to be heard, and yet each wave is a sermon—spilling its gospel over black stones slick with salt. So too does the heart confess, though it speaks no words..."

The words seeped into me like moonlight on water. I couldn't move. Couldn't tear myself away. He didn't even look up—his eyes devoured the lines as if they were meant for him alone.

And then—betrayal.

CREAK.

The floorboard under my foot sang out. My heart stopped. I pulled back instantly, pressing myself against the wall, praying they hadn't heard—

"Come on out."

Mr. Gaunt's voice, low and gravelly. He had heard.

I swallowed and stepped into the archway, hands knotted together in front of me. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I was only coming down for water."

"That's no trouble," Mr. Gaunt said, his tone unexpectedly soft. "Sorry if we woke you up. We were just finishing."

Sebastian's eyes found me, sharp and unblinking, and the sight rooted me to the floor. He said nothing. His silence was heavier than the fire's crackle.

"Well, don't be shy—come in," Mr. Gaunt said, his voice carrying that practiced warmth that still managed to chill me.

I swallowed and stepped farther into the room, each footfall soft against the grand carpet, though it felt far too loud in my ears. My gaze was drawn, not to their faces, but to the book in his hands. Leatherbound, edges worn from touch.

"What is it you're reading?" I asked, because my curiosity, as ever, had a way of slipping past my fear.

"One of my favorites," Mr. Gaunt replied smoothly.

I leaned just enough to glance over Sebastian's shoulder, catching the gilded letters pressed into the spine. My breath caught.

"Edward Green," I whispered, the name slipping out like a secret I hadn't meant to share.

Mr. Gaunt's brow lifted. "You know him?"

"Not by heart. I've read a few pieces," I admitted, though my voice came smaller than I intended, like it had shrunk in the weight of the room.

"I've made Sebastian read them to me for years," Mr. Gaunt said, smiling faintly into the fire.

My lips twitched, daring a tease. "I didn't know you could read."

The words were meant for Sebastian. He didn't smile. His face was stone. Mr. Gaunt, however, gave a low chuckle.

"I'll fetch that water," Mr. Gaunt said, standing.

"Oh, no, really—"

"It's no bother. I'm thirsty myself." He left, leaving me alone with Sebastian and the fire.

Silence pressed in, louder than any storm. My pulse rattled like loose glass in a windowpane. Say something, Valeria. Anything. Don't just stand there like a fool.

"You... you read beautifully," I managed, the words tumbling out with a wobble.

Nothing. Not even a twitch. My chest tightened. Was that wrong? Was it silly? I tried again, desperate to fill the void. "Very dignified. Proper, even."

This time his gaze lifted—sharp, cutting right through me. "That makes one of us," he said, voice cool as frost lacing the windowpanes.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

His mouth twitched—the barest ghost of a smirk. "I said what I said."

Of course. Of course. Just when I'd begun to see something softer in him, he had to bare his teeth again. Heat climbed my throat, blooming across my cheeks. My composure trembled. "I'll have you know, I'm very proper."

He leaned back, head tilting, eyes traveling deliberately—too deliberately—downward. My breath caught as his gaze landed where my nightgown brushed the floor. "If you were truly proper, Chaton, you wouldn't be standing before me in your nightgown."

The words struck like a slap. My cheeks blazed. My tongue fumbled. I looked down and instantly wished the earth would open and swallow me whole. "I—I didn't—"

But he was still watching me, lips curled in that infuriating half-smile, and I couldn't endure it. My heart thundered so loud I thought it might crack my ribs. Mortification clawed through me. Without another word, I turned sharply on my heel and fled before I made a greater fool of myself.

I practically bolted into my room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click, pressing my back against it as if to keep the whole house—and all its staring eyes—out. Gods above, I am a fool. An absolute fool. It was one thing for him to see me in my nightgown half-dead and snow-soaked in the storm, but that was different. I hadn't been conscious enough to care. Tonight? I had walked, of my own will, into a room with men—and stood there in nothing but a thin nightdress. Not very ladylike. Not very proper. Not very anything but mortifying.

I dragged myself to the bed and collapsed flat across it, arms flung out, legs dangling like I'd given up the ghost. The ceiling above me stared back blank and accusing. I'd never been taught how to be a "proper woman"—and I wasn't sure I wanted to learn—but it seemed this grand house measured every movement against a thousand invisible rules. I hated it. I hated them. And yet... I knew I couldn't stay away from him. Not when his eyes found me, not when his voice roughened on my name, not when his words—those cursed words—slipped under my skin and stitched themselves into the fabric of me.

A knock. Soft, careful. My heart stumbled.

I sat upright at once, yanking the blanket tight around my chest as though it were armour. I didn't answer. Couldn't. The door creaked anyway, slow, deliberate—and then he was there. Sebastian. Filling the doorway.

He stepped inside with a kind of hesitation that didn't suit him, set a glass of water on my bedside table, his voice low. "Here's your water."

I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the far wall, stubborn as a mule. He sighed, quiet.

"I was only joking, Chaton."

Something in his tone almost sounded like apology. Almost.

"Well," I said, the words clipped and small, "it wasn't very funny."

A beat—and then the softest chuckle, like he couldn't help himself. He shut the door behind him. My head snapped toward him, startled. He didn't advance. Didn't retreat either. Just stood there, watching me.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said.

I wanted to stay angry. Desperately. But his voice frayed the thread I was clinging to. I exhaled. "I know."

Silence pooled again, heavy. Then—hesitant, almost shy, "to be honest, I felt a bit... embarrassed. You catching me reading."

I blinked at him. "Why ever would you be embarrassed?"

He clasped his hands, eyes never leaving me. "I've never read aloud to anyone but Mr. Gaunt."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach ache in the strangest way. I tilted my chin, trying not to smile. "I read to you earlier. I suppose that makes us even."

That damned smirk ghosted across his mouth. My heart tripped.

"I suppose," he murmured.

And still he didn't move. Rooted to the spot like he belonged in the threshold of my room. I blurted before my brain could catch up: "Well, I take it back anyway."

His brow arched. "Take what back?"

"That you're so very proper."

A tilt of his head. A squint, amused. "And why is that?"

I narrowed my eyes, steady. "Because if you were so very proper, you wouldn't come barging into a lady's room in the middle of the night—while she's only in her nightgown."

The corner of his mouth betrayed him, tugging upward before he gave in with a quiet laugh. "You've got me there."

A laugh escaped me too—light, nervous, but real. Then the silence returned, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.

At last he shifted, as if breaking a spell. "Well. I best get to bed."

"Me too," I echoed, though I doubted sleep would come.

He lingered in the doorway, shadows curling around his shoulders. "Goodnight, Chaton."

My chest tightened, burning. "Goodnight."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. Only then did I let out the breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

For her, hearing him read poetry was basically literary porn. / S

Chapter Text

Laughter in the Drift

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"You know that I'm obsessed, with your body. But it's the way you smile, that does it for me."

- Cigarettes After sex

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

I hadn't realized morning had come until I heard the shuffle of doors opening and footsteps carrying through the mansion's long halls. The faint gray dawn pressed against my curtains, creeping in with a pale insistence that made me squint. My wandlight still hovered faintly in the air, so I whispered the charm away and closed my book, tucking it under my pillow as though hiding a secret.

My body hummed with that familiar ache that comes from sleepless nights—heavy, yes, but not unwelcome. I had spent the hours reading, letting the words blur together until they spun into their own kind of dream, softer and safer than the ones that visited me when I closed my eyes.

I turned toward the window. Snow. Not the merciless storm I had wandered through days ago, but gentle flakes, fat and slow, drifting down to cloak the garden in white. It looked like the world had exhaled, covering its sharp edges with softness. I couldn't help but smile.

A yawn tugged at me, arms stretching overhead, limbs stiff from the hours curled in strange shapes—when a knock sounded at the door, sharp enough to pull me upright, heart stumbling in my chest.

"Come in," I said, tugging the covers tighter over my shoulders.

I don't know why my heart leapt, why, for a second, I thought it might be Sebastian. Why I secretly hoped. But of course, it wasn't. It was Margaret, the ever-practical maid.

"Good morning, dear. Ready to be dressed?" she said kindly.

I nodded. I had gotten used to her morning visits—her brisk hands, her firm but oddly gentle manner. Perhaps I could lace a corset by myself, but Margaret seemed determined not to give me the chance. She bustled to the corner, where the dress for the day was waiting, and soon I was bracing myself against the vanity while she pulled the laces.

Corsets. Merlin's most dreadful invention. A cage for ribs and lungs disguised as fabric and ribbon.

"Didn't sleep well?" Margaret asked as I gave a long yawn.

"Not really," I admitted, rubbing at my eyes.

"Well, Christmas waits for no one," she said.

Christmas. Right.

After she was done with my hair and I had slipped my feet into the stiff shoes, I left my room and descended the grand staircase. My steps echoed in the cavernous hall. The air smelled faintly of polish and pine needles, though when I entered the dining room, it was empty, save for a few of the staff clearing dishes. Confused, I wandered further, until the soft sound of Dementia's laugh drew me onward, lilting through the corridor like bells.

I followed it.

And then—there they were. Gathered in the lounge around the Christmas tree.

The Gaunt family, and Sebastian too.

For a moment I stood at the threshold, almost afraid to breathe. The sight struck me—warm and sharp all at once. The tree stood tall and proud, dressed not with cheerful ribbons or sentimental baubles, but with enchanted candles floating among the branches, dripping golden light. A few ornaments shimmered faintly—glass and silver, severe in their beauty, but beautiful nonetheless. Stockings hung along the mantel in careful order, each one embroidered with precise lettering.

It wasn't cozy. Not in the way I'd once imagined Christmases to be. The air was still stiff with rules and silence. But to me—someone who had never truly had a Christmas at all—it felt like stepping into a fairy tale. A stern, chilly fairy tale, perhaps, but still... magic.

"Oh, Ria, I was wondering when you'd wake," Ominis's voice came, warm as he turned his blind eyes toward me.

"Good morning," I said quickly, forcing my voice not to wobble.

"You're just in time. We already started, but join us."

I slipped into a chair, folding my hands tightly in my lap, unsure of what one did at a Gaunt Christmas. Dementia was carefully unwrapping something dainty, Marvolo tore through his gift with far less grace, and Ominis sat content, smiling faintly. Sebastian... he sat quiet, dark eyes flicking between the others and me.

I flushed and looked at my lap.

Then Ominis spoke again, his mouth quirking. "Where's the present I gave you?"

My eyes widened. I had forgotten, entirely.

"Oh—oh right! It's in my room."

"Well, go and get it then," he said, grin tugging at his lips.

I didn't need telling twice. I nearly flew up the stairs, snatched the package from my bedside, and came back down, heart hammering like I was a child about to open her very first gift.

I tore at the wrapping, paper crackling, string snapping—and then my breath caught.

A book.

Of course it was a book. But not just any book. I read the title, heat flooding my cheeks. How to Play Chess: An Introduction.

I looked up at him, scandalized.

He only smirked.

I rolled my eyes, then promptly smacked him with it. "You're insufferable."

"And you've grown sloppy," he said, laughing.

I couldn't help it—I laughed too. My first real gift. My first Christmas.

The rest of the morning passed in soft bursts of paper tearing and polite thank-yous. The Gaunts weren't generous gift-givers; most things were practical, tied to studies or appearances. But I didn't mind. I sat and watched, wrapped in the glow of enchanted candles, and felt... something.

Not quite warmth. Not quite belonging. But something close enough that, for the first time ever, Christmas felt like it was mine.

The corridors still hummed faintly with the echoes of breakfast when I slipped away, my book calling to me like a faithful friend. I was halfway to my room when—

"Valeria?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin. My hand flew to my chest as I spun around. Dementia stood there, her posture flawless, her face softened by a small smile.

"You frightened me," I muttered, trying to steady the gallop of my heart.

"Oh, forgive me. I only wished to ask if you'd join us—we're going skiing."

Skiing. My mind tripped over the word. I had never so much as seen a pair of skis in my life, except in illustrations. I opened my mouth, closed it again.

"I—" The words fell flat, crumbling before they could escape.

"Oh, come now," she pressed, still smiling, though her tone had the sharp edge of a command. "It will be fun."

"I don't know how to ski," I confessed, wishing the ground would open beneath me.

"Not to worry, we'll teach you." She lifted her chin toward the shadows of the corridor. "Margaret!"

The maid appeared in an instant, as if she'd been waiting in the wings.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Find Valeria something suitable for the snow, and a spare pair of skis if we've got them."

Margaret dipped her head. "Of course, Miss. This way, dear."

I wanted to protest, to run back to my books, to the safety of words and imagined worlds, but all that escaped me was a small, strangled sound. So I followed.

Before I knew it, I was bundled into furs, stiff boots strapped to my feet, and two long wooden skis tucked beneath my arm. Margaret had pinned my hair tighter than any bun I'd worn before, as if even a strand escaping would be an embarrassment.

When I stepped outside, snowflakes stung my cheeks. Ominis, Marvolo, Dementia, and Sebastian were already waiting.

"There she is," Dementia announced. "Let's go."

I dared a glance at Sebastian. His face gave nothing away, though something in his eyes—fleeting, unreadable—made me look away too quickly.

We trudged through drifts of snow, boots crunching, cloaks billowing behind us. The storm had gentled, though the air still smelled sharp and cold, like iron. At last we reached a hill. Not a mountain, but tall enough to make my knees lock.

"You'll practice here," Dementia declared, pointing at the slope. "We'll go higher."

"Wait!" The word tumbled out before I could stop it. My hand shot up like a child begging reprieve. They all turned. My throat tightened. "I—I don't know where to begin."

"It's easy," she said briskly. "Strap them on and slide. Gravity does the rest."

She began walking again.

"No," I blurted. My cheeks flamed. "No, I... I'll just go back. You have fun."

I turned, ready to flee back to the mansion, but Dementia's voice cut sharp as a blade.

"Fine. One of us will stay and teach her. Not it."

"Me either, obviously," Marvolo sneered.

Silence fell. I wanted to sink into the snow, vanish completely. Then Ominis spoke, kind but helpless. "Sorry, Ria. I'd be no good to you. I can barely manage it myself."

The silence deepened, heavy as the sky.

"Well then it's decided," Dementia said, already striding away. "Sebastian, you stay with Valeria. We'll meet you later."

And just like that, Marvolo and Ominis followed her, leaving me standing in the snow with Sebastian. My breath curled white into the air. I forced a smile, small and fragile, my heart hammering with something I couldn't name.

He only looked at me. Silent. Expression unreadable. And suddenly the slope behind me looked less terrifying than the thought of learning anything beside him.

The cold nipped at my cheeks as if it had a personal grudge. My boots sank into the snow until Sebastian pointed his head toward my skis.

"Put them on."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like I wasn't about to strap planks of wood to my feet and surrender to gravity.

I bent down, fumbling with the straps. "Look, Sebastian, it's fine if you want to join the others. I'll figure it out eventually." My voice came out too light, too airy. Like I could charm the snow into pity.

He didn't answer. Just stood there, arms folded, watching.

"Bend your knees," he instructed.

I did. Feeling utterly ridiculous, knees trembling, posture anything but dignified.

"Arch forward a bit."

I obeyed again, suddenly conscious of how awkwardly my body must look. Not graceful. Not the way Dementia or Ominis probably did this. Certainly not like Sebastian, who looked as though he was born with snow underfoot.

"Now—feet outwards, then inwards. Outwards to move. Inwards to stop."

I nodded quickly, as if my head could memorize what my limbs never would.

And then—he moved. Sebastian actually moved. He reached out a hand, palm steady and expectant. Startled, I hesitated, then slid my hand into his. His fingers wrapped around mine, firm, warm against the freezing air, and before I could think better of it, he tugged me along, up the small hill.

My heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape a cage. Don't fall. Don't think about his hand. Don't trip—

I nearly tripped.

At the top, he let go. The absence of his grip made me wobble. I clumsily turned myself around, skis scraping against the snow, until I faced the slope.

He didn't need words. He simply pushed off. Effortless. Like the snow bent to his will. Arms folded, posture relaxed, he carved a neat path down the hill and stopped in a spray of snow that glittered gold in the sunlight. He looked up at me. Lifted a brow. Gestured.

"Go on."

I swallowed. My throat dry despite the snow-laden air.

Okay. Bend knees. Arch forward. Outwards, then inwards. This is fine. I can do this.

I pushed forward with my sticks. The skis slid, slow at first. Doable. Almost fun. The snow hissed softly under me, like it was rooting for me.

"Good," Sebastian called. "Now stop."

I tried. I really did. I pressed my feet inwards but nothing happened. The skis kept gliding. Faster.

"Stop!" His voice sharpened.

"I'm trying!" I cried, panic crackling in my chest.

The slope was steeper than I'd realized. My speed doubled, trebled. My stomach lurched. The ground blurred. And there he was at the bottom, looking up at me, bracing, shouting—

And then—impact.

I collided with him in a tangle of limbs and skis. We toppled, snow exploding around us. The world turned white and breathless until I found myself sprawled on top of him, my palms pressed against his chest.

He groaned. "I told you to stop."

"And I told you I was trying!" I snapped back, heat rushing to my face. My throat tightened, high and childish. "You could've moved out of the way!"

He didn't answer. He just looked at me. Really looked at me. Snow clung stubbornly to his lashes, melting into drops that streaked down his cheek like fragile glass beads. His freckles stood out, sharp and defiant against the flush the cold had painted across his skin. His breath fanned against me—warm, alive, far too close. My heart went wild.

And then my eyes betrayed me, slipping lower. His mouth. That scar I'd traced a thousand times in my imagination. How unfair it was, to be so close, close enough to see the tiny crack in his lip, the way it curved, the way it might feel beneath mine—

Oh, no. No, no, no.

A thought slammed into me so hard I wanted to bury my face in the snow until it froze clean away. What if I was naked right now? What if there was nothing between us—just his skin against mine, heat where the snow had left me cold, his chest solid beneath me, his arms braced around me like iron? My breath hitched, spiraling faster. What if he leaned in, what if he pressed me down, what if—Merlin, Valeria, stop. Stop.

But my brain wouldn't. It never did. It spun and spun like a wheel in the mud, flinging up more impossible, humiliating images I couldn't fight back. His hand at the nape of my neck. His lips brushing mine. His body pressing closer until—

I blinked, pulse roaring so loudly it drowned the storm. How long had I been staring at him? Seconds? Minutes? Long enough for him to notice, to tilt his head, dark eyes narrowing.

And then his voice, low and deliberate, broke through the chaos of my mind.

"Where did your head just go, Chaton?"

His low murmur cut through me like a spell.

My entire body jolted, cheeks burning crimson. I scrambled off him, tumbling into the snow at his side, words fumbling. "I—I don't know what you mean."

He smirked, the insufferable bastard, before rising to his feet with his usual ease. He extended a hand, steady, patient. I took it. He pulled me upright as if I weighed nothing.

"That's enough training," he said, brushing snow from his shoulders. "Let's find the others."

"But I was a disaster," I protested weakly, still breathless, still vibrating from the memory of his warmth.

"You'll figure it out." He pushed off on his skis, gliding ahead without a backward glance.

I stood there for a beat longer, trying to remember how to breathe, how to be a person. Then I jabbed my sticks into the snow and followed, my heart still pounding like I was careening down that hill.

The climb up the slope was a silent battle—boots crunching, lungs stinging, snow clinging to the edge of my lashes. I tried not to sound as though I were panting like an old hound, but each step betrayed me. The mountain stretched endless above, mocking me.

Marvolo blurred past us on his skis, a flash of speed and arrogance, carving the snow so sharply that a spray of frost nearly buried me alive. I flailed, barely dodging the avalanche of powder, dignity crumbling somewhere behind me.

By the time we reached Ominis and Dementia, they were waiting, laughing together like this was a stroll in the garden rather than a test of survival.

"There you two are. I thought we'd have to send a search party," Dementia teased, eyes sparkling. "Come on then—race you down!" And with that, she vanished over the edge, a streak of pale blue and blonde hair.

Ominis followed, steady and sure. That left Sebastian. He moved toward the brink, his skis sure, his posture annoyingly confident. He looked back at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"You'll manage," he said before he took off. Not comfort—just fact.

I gulped. Manage, indeed. I inched toward the ledge, staring at the yawning drop of white below. My stomach lurched. This is it, I thought. The mountain will devour me whole.

Unless—magic. Of course. I tugged my wand free, whispered the charm low enough that no one could hear, and the skis shivered under me, catching the spell like reins on a horse. They tugged me forward before I could change my mind.

Snow rushed beneath me. The wind slapped my cheeks, stung my eyes, tangled my hair. I bent my knees, arms out, clinging to balance as though it were a fragile thread. The mountain wasn't trying to kill me—it was carrying me. I flew past a ridge, heart leaping as I lifted for a breathless moment before landing again, light as a bird.

And then—impact. Cold. A snowball smacked square across my face, exploding frost into my eyes and mouth. I gasped, sputtering, half-blinded, whipping my head around, searching for the culprit.

There he was. Sebastian, gliding backwards down the hill like gravity itself was his servant, that smirk tugging his lips.

"Oh, you are so dead, Sallow!" I shouted, snatching up snow as I whizzed past. I hurled the ball with all my might—only for it to flop pathetically a few inches in front of me. Nearly colliding with my own attack, I choked on laughter and humiliation all at once.

His chuckle carried back to me, deep and shameless. Infuriating.

Fine. If subtlety failed, then magic it would be. I muttered the incantation, wand slicing the air, and snow churned itself into a massive globe beside me. With a flick, it soared forward, colliding squarely with his back.

He toppled. Arms and legs went flailing as he tumbled into the drift. My heart plummeted.

"Merlin's beard—Sebastian!" My skis screeched to a halt, and I nearly fell trying to dismount. I scrambled through the powder, knees sinking, panic rising. He lay face-down in the snow, still, too still. My throat closed.

"Sebastian?" I shook his shoulder, desperate. "Sebastian, please—"

Silence.

Then, without warning, he rolled over and slammed a fistful of snow directly into my face.

The cold shot up my nose, down my collar. I shrieked, flailing backward into the snowdrift.

"You—!" I sputtered, clawing ice from my lashes, words half-lost in sputters.

But he was already on his feet, laughter spilling out of him—real laughter, rich and maddening—as he darted down the slope again.

My cheeks burned, frozen and flushed all at once. I muttered my charm, my skis dragging me After him, but I couldn't stop the grin stretching across my face. Not even Marvolo's smug, "Slowpokes," waiting at the bottom of the run could scrub it away.

After a few more runs we trudged back toward the house—Dementia and Ominis ahead of us, laughing at some private joke, Marvolo striding like he owned the snow itself, and me and Sebastian side by side, our boots sinking into the frost-crusted path.

"You did quite well," he said at last.

I smiled into the collar of my scarf. "Thanks."

"For a cheater," he added.

I snapped my head toward him. "What do you mean?"

"Magic isn't allowed in skiing," he drawled, that insufferable smirk tugging at his mouth.

Heat surged up my neck. "I—I didn't use magic."

A lie. A terrible one. And how in Merlin's name had he noticed?

He didn't press it. Just smirked, eyes on the snow ahead. I should have been annoyed. I wanted to be annoyed. But I couldn't—not with the echo of his laughter still tangled in the storm of my thoughts.

That laugh. Merlin, that laugh. It was rough, low, edged with something dark and guttural, yet beneath it, a warmth that startled me every time, as if sunlight had spilled where it had no business being. Sweet, too, though I doubt he'd ever forgive me for thinking it. Sweet in a way that felt secret, private. As though it belonged to me alone.

And so rare. Rare as starlight breaking through a winter storm.

I decided then that if the world ever heard Sebastian Sallow laugh—really laugh—then I wouldn't stand a chance. No one would. Because who could resist the sound of a storm breaking into sunlight?

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I just wanna say it's a miracle I managed to write this chapter because I've gone skiing like twice in my life. / S

Chapter Text

Masks Without Masques

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"I see her kiss him with my eyes, and it makes me mad."

- Oscar Lang

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Coffee. My one ally in this mausoleum of a house. I nursed it like it could keep me alive, bitter warmth burning down my throat. Around me, the Gaunt table creaked with silence and expectation. Silverware tapped, porcelain chimed faintly, but no one spoke.

Mr. Gaunt's eyes were buried in his paper, muttering the occasional grunt as he turned a page. Marvolo and Dementia bickered under their breath, earning sharp glares from their mother, who sat as straight as a spear and twice as unyielding.

And then there was her.

Valeria, corseted into a life that didn't suit her. Hair pinned high, posture forced into obedience by laces. She looked elegant—sophisticated, even—but every now and then her fingers crept to her waist as if trying to claw the stays off her body. Valeria was never meant for cages. The sight of her in one made my chest tighten in ways I didn't appreciate.

I stabbed at the tomatoes on my plate, ignoring the neat strip of bacon beside them. Food was fuel. Nothing more. The quiet was familiar here, almost welcome. Until, inevitably, someone decided to ruin it.

Mrs. Gaunt cleared her throat. That sound alone could slice through bone. "I heard back from the Thornwells yesterday," she announced, chin high.

Her husband gave a noncommittal grunt, never looking up.

"They're attending."

He hummed, turned another page.

Ominis, poor bastard, chose that moment to raise his head. "Attending what?"

His mother's expression twisted between disbelief and disappointment, her usual look for him. "Our annual gathering, of course."

"Oh," Ominis murmured, stabbing at his eggs like they'd wronged him.

I saw Valeria glance between them, brow furrowed. Of course she wouldn't know. She leaned closer to Ominis, whispering, "What's the annual gathering?"

She should've known better than to ask quietly. Mr. Gaunt's ears missed nothing. "A gathering of old and new friends," he said smoothly. "We discuss business, politics. Matters that require a finer hand than the Ministry's."

Marvolo snorted, not bothering to hide it. "You mean parading us about, hoping Dementia lands a suitor."

"Marvolo." Mrs. Gaunt's tone cracked like a whip.

Dementia's cheeks flushed, and she looked ready to sink through the floor.

"If suitable matches are made, so much the better," Mrs. Gaunt declared primly.

Valeria straightened, trying to mask her nerves. "When are they arriving?"

"This evening." The woman's eyes swept the table like a hawk. "And I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. Even you, child—though heaven knows why we've taken you in against our better judgment."

Valeria's head dipped, her gaze sinking into her plate. Heat rose in my chest, the urge to snarl on her behalf biting at my tongue.

"Mother," Ominis snapped, sharper than usual.

Mr. Gaunt lowered his paper at last, his gaze softening—if only slightly. "You are welcome here, Miss Velkan."

Valeria looked up, startled. "Thank you, sir. Please—call me Valeria."

"Very well, Valeria," he said, almost kindly. "You'll do well enough. These are friends, nothing more. We mingle, we dine, we leave with stronger ties than before. That is all."

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. Nervous. Always giving herself away in the smallest ways. I wanted to lean across the table, tell her it wasn't half so terrifying as it seemed—but I didn't. That wasn't my place.

Mrs. Gaunt broke the silence again. "I've chosen a new gown for you, Dementia."

"Yes, Mother." The girl's voice was meek. Fourteen and already groomed for marriage.

Marvolo, grown, smirked like the thought of heirs and alliances bored him. Ominis, I knew, had long since been written off.

And me? I kept drinking my coffee, wishing it strong enough to burn the taste of this family's ambition out of my mouth.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

Cuff links. Bloody cuff links. They pinched at my wrists like shackles, gleaming little declarations that I was supposed to be some polished nobleman. Irony at its cruelest.

"Stand straight, for heaven's sake," Mrs. Gaunt half-whispered, half-barked, her sharp voice slicing into my ear.

I sighed—loud enough so she'd hear—but straightened all the same. No use fighting it. I would do my duty, a bow here, a greeting there, then vanish upstairs before anyone noticed I existed.

We stood in a line like soldiers waiting for review—Marvolo stiff and smug, Dementia with her hands folded neatly, Ominis at his mother's side, and me, the tolerated outsider. Valeria stood a little apart, fingers worrying at her thumbnail, shoulders tense beneath the borrowed dress Margaret had forced her into. Her bun was neat, her dress laced properly, but I knew she was choking on nerves. She didn't belong in this sort of parade. Then again, neither did I.

The great doors creaked open, the guards pulling them wide. A rush of night air swept into the hall, carrying snowflakes and the scent of winter. A family entered, a gentleman in a tall hat, his wife at his arm, and two children following like shadows.

"Welcome, please, come in," Mrs. Gaunt intoned.

The man removed his hat with a courteous bow. "Much obliged."

He shook Mr. Gaunt's hand firmly while the women exchanged polite nods—none of it warm, all of it rehearsed. Their children filed in, backs straight, every step practiced. The girl—dressed in pale pink with a bow in her hair—was about Dementia's age. They inclined their heads at one another.

"Good evening, Hilda," Dementia said with a small curtsey.

"Good evening, Dementia."

Introductions spilled on as the maids took their hats and coats, each word heavy with formality. "You've met Marvolo and Ominis," Mrs. Gaunt continued, her hand flicking toward us. "And here are Ominis' friends."

The gentleman turned to me, grasping my hand with a firm shake. "Charles Merton."

I bowed my head slightly, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, "Sebastian Sallow. How do you do." Merlin, I hated hearing my voice sound this polished.

Mr. Merton moved on to Valeria. She faltered, then bent into a stiff curtsey. "Miss... Valeria Velkan," she managed. He kissed her knuckles lightly, and I saw the flush rise in her cheeks. My jaw tightened.

The exchange repeated itself with the wife, the children—names and pleasantries circling the hall like stale air. If I had a sickle for every "Good evening" I muttered, I'd have been halfway to Norway by now.

Families came in waves. Some familiar, some I half-recognized from old Slytherin tales of pureblood circles. Coats were shrugged off, hats set aside, laughter rising as they fell into conversations about money, marriages, and politics. The Gaunts swelled among them like practiced hosts, though every gesture dripped with calculation.

I kept my eyes lowered, so fixed on the pattern of the carpet that I had nearly memorized the stitches. A safer occupation than watching the strained smiles circle the hallway.

Then the doors opened again. The air shifted, as if the entire hall leaned toward the sound. A man entered first, wife at his arm, both dressed in finery that spoke of wealth and practiced grace.

"William, so pleased you could attend," Mr. Gaunt announced.

"I must say I was surprised to find your invitation, but thrilled nonetheless," William replied, his words smooth as polished marble. The men clasped hands in greeting, their voices low with politics and pleasantries.

And then—behind them, a boy about our age. His coat was finer, his manner sharper, but none of that mattered. Not when his eyes caught Valeria.

"Valeria?" His voice split the air.

Her head snapped up, confusion flashing across her face. Then—relief, soft and startled. "Arthur?" she breathed. "Arthur Alcott?"

The boy stepped forward with an eager smile, grasped her hand, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "Goodness, I haven't seen you in ages."

Heat surged up my neck, curling into my fists before I forced them loose. What in Merlin's name was that?

"Miss Velkan, what a pleasant surprise," William declared from behind.

Mrs. Gaunt's voice cut through: "You know each other?"

"Arthur and Valeria have known each other since they were children," William said smoothly. "We're very fond of her family."

A coincidence. Right. My teeth clenched around the words I didn't speak: bad taste in friends. Very bad taste.

We drifted into the main hall like cattle funnelled through a pen. Long tables groaned under platters of food—roasted pheasant, cheese wheels, sugared fruits stacked like towers. Goblets poured themselves with amber and red, the clink of cutlery softened beneath the hum of a string quartet in the corner. Maids moved like ghosts, silent, efficient, carrying trays that hovered obediently in the air.

The room filled with laughter and idle chatter. But my eyes... my eyes betrayed me. They found her. Valeria.

She had slipped her hand through Arthur bloody Alcott's arm, letting him lead her as though he had every right. The two of them talking, leaning in close. She laughed—a full, unrestrained laugh—and something hot twisted in my gut.

"There's no way!" she said, shaking her head, hair catching the light as though the music itself had tangled in it.

Arthur smiled like he'd earned it. "Can I fetch you something to drink while we catch up?"

"Ugh, yes please," she replied, easy and familiar. Too familiar.

I tore my gaze away. My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it.

"Mr. Sallow!"

The voice carried across the hall—Mr. Merton, gesturing broadly with his goblet. A circle of men stood around him, all dark coats and polished boots, sipping from their glasses with the kind of ease that comes from knowing the world bends to you. Every one of their eyes was on me.

I nodded once, curt, and crossed the room. Before I joined them, I let myself look back—just once. Valeria, still smiling, waiting for Arthur to return with her drink. My chest tightened, then I killed the thought and slid into the circle of men.

A tray floated up with perfect timing, a cut crystal glass hovering before me. Scotch, by the colour. I plucked it from the air and took a swallow, not caring for the burn.

"Samuel tells us you're yet to have found a wife, young man. How come?" one of them asked, straight to the point.

I arched a brow. Subtlety clearly wasn't in fashion tonight. "Ah, Mr. Gaunt does enjoy telling tales," I said, voice dry. It earned me a ripple of polite chuckles.

Another leaned forward. "At your age, I almost already had two children tugging at my sleeves."

"Congratulations," I said flatly, taking another sip.

That earned me a louder laugh this time. They liked it, my bluntness, my refusal to simper. Men like this always respected a touch of insolence, provided you did it with enough charm.

"Mr. Sallow," another said, "I've heard the... story. Of your time in Azkaban."

The circle quieted. They weren't sneering—no, their eyes gleamed with something else entirely. Admiration. Curiosity.

"Most who go there don't leave alive," one murmured. "Or leave sane."

I rolled the glass between my palms. "Perhaps I'm neither."

That earned a knowing murmur, a few approving nods.

Then Mr. Frostmere waved over a figure from across the room. "My daughter, Elizabeth," he said.

A girl approached, no older than sixteen, all polished innocence—brown hair tied back with a ribbon, bow perched primly at her crown. She curtsied, shy smile flashing as she met my gaze.

"Elizabeth has been eager to meet fine young men," her father said, nudging her forward like she was another glass to be passed around.

I stood, bowed just slightly, and took her hand with formality I didn't feel. "Miss Frostmere," I said smoothly, "a pleasure."

Her cheeks coloured at the attention, and she bobbed another curtsy before her father dismissed her with a proud pat to the shoulder. She scurried off, ribbons bouncing.

I sat back down, tossing another swallow of scotch down my throat.

"Pretty, isn't she?" one of the men asked.

"Yes sir," I replied coolly. Then, more pointedly: "I do not dismiss the notion, but I cannot devote myself to such a search at present."

A hum of approval. A few nodded like they understood, or at least respected the refusal. But still I felt their eyes on me, weighing, measuring.

And through it all, my eyes slipped back, traitorous as ever, to the other side of the room. To Valeria. To her laugh that had stolen my attention long before the scotch did.

The men droned on. Business, inheritances, Ministry nonsense. I nursed my third glass of scotch, letting the burn do its work. Around us, the wives clustered in a corner, their laughter sharp and practiced. The younger ones gathered by the trays, speaking politely about schoolwork, Quidditch, anything that didn't matter.

But my eyes weren't on them.

They were across the room.

Valeria. And Arthur bloody Alcott.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Jealous jealous jealous boooy / S

Chapter Text

A Monster Like Me

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Just wave and say goodbye and let you live, without a monster like me."

- Mørland

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Could this night crawl any slower? And how long could two people talk without coming up for air? She stood off to the side with him, apart from the rest, her laugh spilling out—bright, unguarded, alive. It didn't belong here, not in this mausoleum of a house, least of all in his company. Instinct snarled through me, sharp and ugly: that laugh should be mine. Not that it ever was. Not that it ever could be. Reason whispered the truth, but my body refused to listen. My chest tightened with every sound she gave him.

I gripped the glass tighter. Too tight. Her hand swatted playfully at Arthur's sleeve. His hand landed on her shoulder, casual, almost intimate. My jaw clenched until my teeth ached. If anyone else in the room had been watching, it would've looked indecent. But no one cared. No one saw, except me.

I dragged my thoughts anywhere else, but they betrayed me. Back to the cupboard. Her breath brushing my lips. That night in the snow, her frozen body curled against my chest, fragile and trembling, and how my arms had refused to let her go. The way her eyes had lingered on me when she thought I wasn't looking. The way mine had lingered too.

A crack split through the fog of conversation.

"Sebastian," came Mr. Gaunt's voice, low and pointed. "Forgive me, but you might want to set that glass down before it shatters in your hand."

I looked down. My knuckles were bone-white, the glass trembling with strain. I set it down, carefully, before I truly shattered it.

"Well, those two seem to get along rather well," Mr. Peverell observed, inclining his head toward Valeria and Arthur.

"Indeed. One should hope so," replied Mr. Alcott, plucking a piece of cheese from the tray that floated at his elbow and popping it into his mouth. "We've even spoken of raising the matter with the Whitmores."

"The matter?" The words left me before I could stop them.

Mr. Alcott gave me a knowing smile. "Why, boy, Arthur and Valeria were quite close as children. It was always our intention that they should marry someday. We lost contact for a time, of course, but lately the connection has been renewed. And I daresay they would make a fine match."

I forced my expression still, though the crescent sting of my nails carving into my palms betrayed me.

"Valeria may not be the most... proper young lady I have encountered," he continued, lowering his voice as though confiding a minor flaw. "But her parents are wealthy, and Arthur has always held her in fond regard. We allow him a degree of freedom in his choices—modern thinking, some might call it—but Judith insists it is the way of the future." He nodded toward his wife seated across the room.

"That is most irregular," one gentleman muttered.

"Well, we each have our own ways," another countered, swirling his wine.

"We had already been considering prospects for him," Mr. Alcott went on, "but seeing the two of them together again, well—one might say the matter is decided."

"Cheers to that!" one man declared, raising his glass. The others followed suit.

I did not. My gaze was fixed, unblinking, on Valeria and Arthur.

And then—Mr. Gaunt leaned close, his breath sharp at my ear. "Jealousy ill becomes you, boy. Perhaps do something about it."

I ignored him, gaze fixed. Valeria tipped her glass back again, laughing, and then nearly slipped sideways in her chair. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes heavy-lidded. Too much. Far too much.

That was it.

Before the thought fully formed, I was moving. Three strides across the carpet and I loomed over them.

"Sebastian!" Valeria's voice caught, startled, as she pushed to her feet.

Arthur rose too, all puffed-up pride, extending his hand like some smug lord out of a cheap novel. I let my gaze drop to it, cold and deliberate, until his fingers twitched and fell back to his side.

My attention snapped back to her.

"Time for you to go to bed," I said. The words came rough, instinctual.

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"You're drunk."

"So?" She crossed her arms, chin tilting up like a challenge.

Arthur opened his mouth—"With respect, perhaps—"

My stare cut him off. He wilted.

I turned back to her. "I said it's time for bed."

"Or what?" Her voice was steady, sharper than the wine in her glass.

My lips curled. "Or you don't want to find out."

Her eyes flashed. For a second, she looked sober as stone. "You don't own me, Sebastian. I'll do as I please. And I am not afraid of you."

"You should be," I said, before I could stop myself.

"Well, I'm not." She turned back to Arthur, dismissing me like I was nothing. Like the storm inside me didn't exist.

And then instinct took over.

In one motion I bent, caught her around the waist, and hoisted her up onto my shoulder.

Her glass toppled, shattering across the rug. Her fists hammered against my back, her feet kicking wildly. "Sebastian Sallow! Put me down this instant!"

Arthur sputtered, "Sir, do you mind—?!"

I ignored him. Heat roared in my ears. My pulse thundered. I carried her straight out of the room, her curses raining down on me, her small fists striking my spine like a furious kitten.

"You absolute bastard!" she spat, writhing against me.

I held her tighter.

But even as I stalked down the corridor, every eye in the room burned into my back.

The door slammed shut behind us when we reached her room and I sat her down, the echo still rattling in my bones when her palm cracked across my cheek. The sound hung between us. Her eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth, but she didn't apologize.

Instinct won. My hands seized her wrists, and in one brutal motion I pinned her to the door, her back arching against the wood. Her breath hitched, but she didn't flinch.

"Do not hit me, Valeria," I murmured, my voice low, dangerous.

She writhed in my grip, the smallest struggle, her chest rising fast beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Then she stilled—those wide eyes locking on mine, clear, defiant.

"Scared now, are we?" I asked, leaning closer, close enough to breathe her in.

Her voice came steady, unbroken. "No."

A muscle in my jaw twitched. I tightened the grip on her wrists and bent my head, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Are you sure?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she didn't yield. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you, Sebastian. I don't care what kind of monster you think you are. You don't scare me. I know what you are."

"And what am I?" I spat.

She wrenched free of my grip, but didn't move away. She stayed pressed to the door, while I caged her in with my arms braced on either side of her head. Her hair had slipped loose from its bun, tumbling in golden strands that framed her face.

"You're kind," she said softly, firmly. "Even if you don't see it. Even if you bury it. You've always been kind. You make bad choices, but that doesn't make you bad."

I almost laughed—sharp, bitter. "Don't romanticize me, Chaton."

"I'm not romanticizing. I'm telling the truth."

Silence burned between us, hotter than fire. Her lips parted like she had more to say, and then she did—her words like arrows straight into me.

"You act like you thrive on fear," she said at last. Her voice was steadier than her hands, which trembled where she fisted them at her sides. I watched the pulse jump in her throat, the way she swallowed once, twice, as if each word cut on its way out.

"But you don't," she pressed on, louder now, though her breath betrayed her. "You hate it."

The words struck harder than any hex. My jaw tensed.

"I saw it that day you beat Cedar bloody—" Her voice cracked, but she lifted her chin, braver for it. "You didn't bask in the way everyone else looked at you. You despised it. The way they shrank back, the way they whispered."

Her eyes were on me, unflinching, while mine wanted to burn a hole through the floor. She didn't give me the chance.

"You wanted them to think twice before crossing you, yes—but you didn't want that look. That silent promise in their eyes that if they stepped too close, they'd be next. You pretended you wanted it." She drew in a sharp breath, her chest rising against mine as if daring me to shove her away. "But I saw it. I see you."

Every word stripped me bare.

"And you don't want that. You never did." Her voice trembled now, sweat glistening at her temple. Still she didn't stop. "You want..."

She faltered. Bit down hard on the word like it was poison.

I tilted my head, stepping into her space until the air itself seemed to vibrate. Her chest brushed mine with every uneven inhale. My eyes locked on hers, black and unyielding, though inside me something thrashed, clawing to get out.

"Want what?" I asked, my voice low.

She froze, lips parted, breath shallow. Her eyes darted to my mouth and back, as if the word itself might break us both. Then, with a sharp breath—

"Love."

It hit the room like lightning tearing through stone.

My stomach turned over. I nearly laughed, nearly roared, nearly broke in half. Instead, I scoffed, sharp and brittle.

But she wasn't finished. Of course she wasn't.

"You want it more than anyone I've ever met," she whispered, then louder, as if the admission itself gave her strength. Her voice wavered, but her eyes didn't. They burned through me, refused to look away.

"And you don't believe it's meant for you." A tear slipped, but she didn't wipe it. She let it fall, as though it proved her point. "You think love is for everyone else—for friends, for families, for people who didn't grow up clawing at the dark. But never for you."

Her hands shook, but her words didn't.

"So you reject it first. You rip it to shreds before it has the chance to reject you. And if you keep denying it, Sebastian, the world will nod along. Until even you forget it was ever a lie."

My face hovered just inches from hers, close enough to feel the tremor in her breath. My voice came out low, rough. "Is that what you think?"

She swallowed hard, pulse beating so loud I swore I could hear it.

"No," she whispered. "It's what I know."

A laugh slipped past my lips—short, humorless. I pressed closer, lips almost brushing the ghost of hers, like I could make her choke on her own conviction. "You're wrong," I whispered, dark and heavy. "I don't want love. I don't want anything but solitude."

"Then why," she breathed, the faintest tremor in her words, "did you drag me in here? Why are you so close I can feel your heartbeat?"

Her words landed like a strike. For a split second, I faltered. Then I found the excuse, sharp and bitter. "Because you're reckless," I snapped. "Because someone has to stop you from stumbling headfirst into your own grave."

She laughed then—soft, cutting, bitter. "I nearly fell off a chair, Sebastian, not into the abyss. Just admit it. Admit that you care about me and I'll drop it."

I didn't. I wouldn't. My silence said enough, but my eyes betrayed me. They slid down, against my will, catching the bead of sweat tracing her temple, gliding along the line of her neck, disappearing between her breasts. Heat pooled in me, ugly and undeniable.

She saw it.

"You can call yourself a monster all you like," she whispered, voice shaking but defiant, "but I don't see one. I see someone lost."

Her words rattled through me, unwelcome, impossible. I forced my face blank.

Then her lashes fluttered, heavy, her head tipping as though the weight of it all—the fight, the defiance, the truth she thought she saw in me—dragged her down. I caught her before she slumped fully, my hand cupping her cheek. Her skin burned against my palm.

"Let me tell you something about you," I bit out, my voice low, sharp, desperate. Her eyes flicked up, glassy but intent. Waiting. Always waiting.

"You think everyone can be saved. Every stray, every beast, every bleeding soul that crosses your path—you tuck them into cages and call it mercy. And me?" My throat ached as the words ripped free. "You look at me like I'm another poor creature, something broken you can heal if you just love hard enough. But here's the truth, Valeria—I'm not. I can't be healed. I am a monster. I always will be. And little girls who play with fire..." My jaw clenched, the last words shaking through my teeth. "They get burned."

In one motion, I pulled back, scooping her up before she could argue, before her wide, shimmering eyes undid me further. I laid her down on the bed, gentle despite the rage in my chest. She looked up at me, lips parted, breath shallow, like she wanted to say something—anything—but the fight had drained her.

"Sleep," I rasped, my voice frayed and uneven. "Sleep, and perhaps you'll forget these delusions."

Then, I spun on my heel, slipped through the doorway, and drew it closed behind me—retreating into the quiet of my own room.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

He says "monster", she hears "project". / S

Chapter Text

No Time to Think

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"Pleasures remain, so does the pain. Words are meaningless and forgettable."

- Depeche Mode

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"No, I'm fairly sure it's platform four and a half," Ominis muttered beside me.

I laughed, shaking my head, nearly tripping on my skirt as it caught under my boots. Honestly—me in this silly dress, as if I belonged in a painting instead of a crowded train station. "And this is precisely why you're not allowed to board the train on your own, Ominis."

"I could manage perfectly well," he said primly, taking an enormous bite of the apple in his hand. Then, through his chewing, he added, "But I do admit—I rather like the company."

"At least one of us is excited." I reached over and snatched the apple from his hand before he could protest. "And give me that. You said we'd share."

"You're insufferable," he laughed.

"Ditto." I bit into the apple with exaggerated relish, juice stinging sweet on my tongue.

For a moment I let myself enjoy the sight of it all—the glass ceiling throwing sunlight like spilled gold across the polished floor, the echo of boots and voices, the swirl of smoke already drifting from the waiting engines. It almost felt normal. Almost. As if we were just schoolchildren on a trip, not people returning to a castle heavy with secrets, with dark witches waiting outside its walls. For a breath, I let myself pretend.

"Sebastian, are you still with us?" Ominis asked, raising his voice just enough to carry.

I glanced back. There he was, a few paces behind. Dark. Silent. The weight of the world pressing into his shoulders, like it always did. He didn't look at me. He never did anymore.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "He's still there."

Ominis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper at my ear. "I wonder what's got his wand in a knot."

I swallowed. My lips twitched, but no words came right away. "Who knows," I muttered finally. But part of me felt I did know.

He hadn't been the same since... well, since us. Since that moment at the Gaunts. Since I'd said what I'd said, the truth, though truth is rarely gentle. He had folded back into himself, into the armor of silence he wore so well. And it hurt. Merlin, it hurt more than I wanted to admit.

I told him what was plain fact: that he wanted love as much as anyone else. That he was human. But instead of hearing me, he'd recoiled, as if I'd pressed my hand to a bruise. He'd stopped smirking, stopped laughing. Stopped slipping.

Infuriating bastard.

I clenched my teeth and turned back toward the platform ahead. Fine. Let him sulk, let him crawl back into the shadows he thought would protect him. It only proved my point. He was trying far too hard to play the monster, and I already knew better.

Because I'd seen him slip. I'd seen his hand cup my cheek, felt his thumb brush my lip, watched his eyes trace the line of sweat on my skin. I'd heard the poetry fall from his mouth—poetry, for Merlin's sake. And once you've seen a man like Sebastian Sallow like that, no amount of silence or brooding can make you forget.

He can pretend all he wants. He can guard himself behind stone and shadows. But he isn't fooling me. Not anymore.

We reached the brick wall with only a few minutes to spare. I tightened my hold on the little satchel strapped across my chest. It wasn't much, just the scraps I'd managed to keep from the Whitmores. The rest of me still waited at Hogwarts.

"Well then," I said, glancing between them. "Who's first?"

Silence. Both boys looked perfectly content to let me leap headlong into potential disaster. I sighed, lifting my chin. "Ladies first, I suppose."

I stepped forward, bracing myself for the familiar swoop in my stomach as I lunged through the wall. And then—there it was. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. A place that had somehow become a kind of home. The steam curling in the cold air, the cries of parents, the flurry of cloaks and trunks. My lips tugged into a smile despite myself.

I turned back, crossing my arms and tapping my boot against the floor as if impatient for an eternity—though only a moment passed before Ominis emerged, dragging his trunk with a soft grunt.

"Took you long enough," I said.

"I tried to convince Sebastian to go first," he muttered, brushing at his sleeve, "but you know how he is."

"Figures," I said under my breath.

The train whistle cut through the air, sharp and urgent. Families pressed their last kisses into hair, last words into ears, and children pressed faces against glass, waving as if their arms could stretch the distance.

"We'd better hurry," I said. Just then, Sebastian appeared, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking as though the whole affair bored him to death. I didn't wait. My fingers lifted the hem of my dress as I mounted the steps onto the train.

Compartment after compartment passed, all filled with laughter and chatter, until finally—an empty one. I slid the door open and slipped inside. Ominis followed first, and after a beat Sebastian sank down across from me beside him. The train shuddered, then lurched forward.

For a strange heartbeat, everything felt normal. We were just students again, trundling off to Hogwarts as countless had before us. Not fugitives of fate, not secret-keepers of ancient keys, not shadows circling Lysandra's return. Just students.

"Feels odd, doesn't it?" Ominis said after a while, his head tilted as though he were listening to something the rest of us couldn't hear.

"What does?" I asked.

"That no one's heard a word from Lysandra. Do you truly think she's been stringing holly and singing carols around a Christmas tree?" His mouth twisted at the thought.

I let out a long breath, my eyes on the frost gathering against the glass. "No. She's waiting. And when she comes back..." My fingers curled tighter around my satchel. "She won't let us slip away so easily again."

The train rocked gently, a low hum beneath us, when the doors slid open with a bang.

"Oh, my Merlin. Ria!"

I barely had time to turn before a blur of black hair and laughter flung itself at me. Ruby. Her dress—a deep plum trimmed with lace—swished dramatically as she all but launched into my arms. Her perfume, light and floral, filled my lungs, so achingly familiar it almost made me dizzy.

She squeezed me tight, then leaned back to look me over, her bright brown eyes sparkling. "You look like a woman!"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. My hand went self-consciously to the bun Margaret had twisted my hair into that morning, still tight and polished. "I... suppose," I said, fumbling. "So do you."

Ruby straightened at once, corset pulling her waist tighter than I'd ever seen. "Right? This dress fits me so well. But yours—oh, yours is gorgeous. Where did you get it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "It's... Ominis' family's. Borrowed."

Her brows knitted. "Borrowed?"

"It's a long story," I said quickly, smiling too wide.

"Well, wherever it came from, you'll have to lend it to me. That green—Ria, it makes your eyes glow."

"You can take it off my back, truly. I miss my old dresses—long sleeves, less flounce. Something I could actually breathe in."

"That's true," Ruby said with a mischievous grin. "You always had that whole forest-witch vibe, tending your little creatures."

I swatted her arm, laughing. She laughed too, tossing her head back, before leaning closer, lowering her voice like it was a grand confession. "Ugh, I can't believe I finally get to wear corsets! I've been so excited!"

"Excited?" I sputtered. "I loathe them. I can hardly breathe."

A quiet throat-clear cut through our giggles. Ominis, sitting straight as ever. Clearly, our talk of corsets wasn't meant for male ears.

Ruby turned with a bright smile. "Ominis! Sebastian. I didn't even notice you sitting there. It's good to see you both."

"You too, Ruby," Ominis said smoothly. "How were your holidays?"

"Lovely, thank you. Though I can't believe we're already on the train back. Can you? Our last ride to Hogwarts."

The words landed like a stone. Our last. After this, no more journeys in this carriage, no more wide-eyed first-years gawking at the countryside. Just... done.

"Yes," I said softly. "That is odd."

"We've done it for seven years!" Ruby cried. "Well, except you, Ria. But still."

I chuckled. "Yes, yes, I know. I cheated."

The conversation flowed on, Ruby and Ominis swapping nostalgic stories from first year. My gaze drifted out the window, watching the trees blur past in streaks of white and green. But my eyes betrayed me—they slid sideways. To him.

Sebastian sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. His eyes locked on the floorboards, unblinking, as if the whole world had been stripped to silence around him. He hadn't said a word since Ruby came in. The weight of it pressed against my ribs.

"Ria?" Ruby chirped.

I startled, blinking back to her. "Hm?"

"So—you're coming, right?"

My head tilted. "Coming to what?"

"To the Hog's Head, of course!" she laughed. "Haven't you been listening again? Bia and I are sneaking out tonight to celebrate the start of term with a few butterbeers."

I raised a brow. "Why the Hog's Head? Not the Three Broomsticks?"

"Because we're of age now, and it won't be so terrifying anymore," Ruby declared. Then softer: "I hope."

I chuckled, shaking my head at Ruby's earnestness. Ominis let out one of his chuckles too, the sound making the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

"I didn't know you were afraid of the Hog's Head, Ruby," he teased.

Ruby straightened, cheeks pink. "Well, I'm not afraid of the place per se. Just the moving head on the wall—it's scary, alright? And those grumpy men always sitting in the corner don't make it any easier."

The picture of her pouting at the thought made me smile. I rubbed her shoulder gently. "Don't worry, Rubes. It won't be scary now that you're officially a woman."

Her eyes narrowed at me in mock annoyance before softening again. "So you'll come?"

I opened my mouth, and for a moment the word tangled on my tongue. Then I forced it out, choosing to believe it. "Yes." I smiled. "It'll be fun. I could use some fun."

I turned to Ominis, raising a brow. "Ominis?"

He hesitated, as though weighing the possible humiliation of being spotted in a shabby pub against the crime of leaving Ruby and me to fend for ourselves. Finally, he gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. I'll come, strictly as your chaperone. Someone has to keep you safe from that swine's head on the wall."

Ruby and I doubled over, laughter spilling loud and unrestrained, echoing off the walls. "Yeah, we'll let you know in case," I managed through gasps, wiping a tear from my cheek.

As the laughter faded, I glanced across the compartment. Sebastian still sat the same way, silent, carved from stone. My lips parted, ready to invite him, but I stopped myself.

Ruby's voice danced around the compartment, lilting with excitement as she described her holidays. I smiled faintly, nodding where appropriate, but my mind wandered elsewhere—until the train jolted with a violence that nearly sent me tumbling straight into Sebastian's lap. My hands shot out, clutching the seatback just in time. My skull snapped backward at the impact, and the whole carriage rattled to a deafening stop.

"What in Merlin's—" Ominis hissed, his head snapping toward the noise.

Ruby twisted in her seat, wide-eyed. "What's going on?"

My lungs stuttered as I tried to steady my breath. I peered through the glass. "We've stopped."

"Why?" Ominis asked, his voice tense.

I turned—Sebastian had finally lifted his gaze from the floor. His whole body sharpened, shoulders straight, jaw clenched, his eyes flicking rapidly from door to window, like a predator catching a scent. My pulse spiked.

Something was wrong.

Without thinking, I rose and slid the compartment door open just enough to peek out. To the left—empty corridor. To the right—empty too. For a moment, I thought maybe it was a fluke, some mechanical fault. Then I saw them.

Two men.

Black cloaks brushing the floor. Moving slow, deliberate. Their eyes darted through the glass of every compartment they passed. Searching.

My stomach dropped.

Nightbinders.

I slammed the door quietly shut, my hand white-knuckled on my wand. Behind me, the others shifted—the scrape of Ruby rising to her feet, Ominis fumbling for his wand.

"What's happening?" Ruby whispered, her voice thin with panic.

"Nightbinders," I muttered, the words sticking in my throat. "They're searching the train. For something."

"Or someone."

My head snapped toward Sebastian so fast it hurt. He was already looking at me. Not past me. Not through me. At me. Worry etched sharp across his face, but there was something else too—determination, steady and immovable.

Our eyes locked, and I felt the air shift. I knew what he meant. I felt it too.

They weren't here for something.

They were here for me.

Ruby swallowed audibly, hugging her arms across her chest. "What do we do?"

I scanned the compartment. No cover, no illusions to hide us. A broad window at our backs—but it opened only to the blur of a bridge suspended high above a dark gorge. My heart lurched. Jumping would be suicide.

Sebastian crept to the door, his hand brushing the glass as he peered out. His breath fogged the pane. "They're getting closer," he muttered.

I could hear it too now—their boots, steady and inexorable. My pulse roared in my ears.

Ruby's voice cracked through the rising panic. "Wait—how do we even know they're dangerous?"

Her question hung in the air like an anchor in a storm, naïve and jarring against the chaos around us.

"Take my word for it," I snapped.

Ominis was already pressed flat against the wall, skin drained of color, his trembling fingers clenching his wand so tightly it looked ready to splinter.

My mind reeled. Shield charm? Too obvious. Disillusionment? Too slow. I had seconds. Seconds before they opened this door and saw me.

And then instinct seized me.

I spun, voice urgent but hushed. "Sebastian—hold Ruby. Tight."

"What?" His brows shot up.

"Now!"

I didn't wait for him to argue. My wand slashed through the air, heat racing up my arm as the glass behind us melted away into nothingness. Cold wind and snow screamed into the compartment, tearing at our clothes. Ruby shrieked, clutching Sebastian's arm.

I reached, grabbing Ominis with one hand, Sebastian with the other. His fingers latched onto Ruby, dragging her with us.

The footsteps were right outside now, a shadow falling across the glass of the door.

And then—

I jumped.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Boss as b'tch. / S

Chapter Text

From the Brink to the Bar

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Don't stop, get a drink, throw up in the kitchen sink. I don't wanna feel, I don't wanna feel anything."

- Nxdia

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

Ruby's scream ripped through my ear as she clawed onto my arm like a bloody vice. My pulse was hammering, breath ragged, the wind tearing at us as the ground below rushed closer. Too close. Rocks. Trees. Certain death.

"Whatever your brilliant plan is, it's time for it now!" I barked, snapping my head toward Valeria. She was hovering beside me, hair thrashing in the wind, Ominis clutching her like a drowning man.

"Just hold on!" she shouted back, voice raw against the storm.

I clenched my jaw, eyes darting to the ground growing bigger by the second. Cold stone waiting to split us open. My grip on my wand tightened, but no spell came to mind fast enough.

"Valeria!" I roared.

And then—

"Arresto Momentum!"

The world yanked itself to a halt. The freefall vanished. For half a second we floated weightless, like marionettes on their strings—before crashing down hard. My spine jarred, my palms scraped. Groans echoed around me as we all scrambled upright, stunned, choking on adrenaline.

Ruby was the first to speak, her voice high and broken. "Wh—what just happened? What—" She realized she was still gripping me and tore her hand away like I'd scorched her.

"I'm alive. I'm alive," Ominis muttered beside us, hands patting over his face, his chest, as if to make sure.

Valeria rose, dust streaking her dress, shoulders heaving.

"What was that?" Ruby shrieked, her voice splitting the air.

I pushed to my feet, heart still trying to crawl out of my throat. "I swear to Merlin, Valeria, you always come up with the most—"

"Shut up!" she snapped.

Silence slammed down instantly. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Her chest rose and fell. She looked us over with eyes that cut. "Pull yourselves together. We didn't have a choice. I did the only reasonable thing to keep us from getting killed!"

"Killed?!" Ruby spat back, her voice cracking.

Valeria's gaze flicked to me, then Ominis. And in that look, I knew exactly what she wasn't saying: odds were slim Lysandra's men would've cared about Ruby. But Valeria had chosen not to gamble with someone else's life.

She turned back to Ruby, gentler now, steadying her. Hands on her shoulders, firm but careful. "Rubes... listen to me. We're in the middle of a war. You know that."

Her words carried warmth, but beneath them was iron.

"Lysandra Vale gains followers by the day. Men like that don't just wander compartments to pass the time. Maybe they only meant to peek in, maybe not—but we couldn't risk it. The chances were too slim. We had to jump."

Ruby nodded, though she looked pale, her hands trembling against Valeria's.

"Now come on. Hogwarts isn't far. We'll go by foot." Valeria wrapped an arm around Ruby, guiding her forward. But I saw it—the faint tremor in her fingers. The mask she wore, the one we all leaned on. She acted unshakable, but her hands betrayed her.

And I hated it. I hated that we all leaned on her cleverness, her spells, her fire. I knew magic. Ominis knew magic. Hell, even Ruby wasn't helpless. But none of us carried the kind of brilliance Valeria did.

I fell into step behind them, Ominis at my side, both of us climbing the bank up from the ravine. Above us, the train rattled back to life, the engine's groan echoing through the night. The driver would have seen what happened. Maybe gotten Lysandra's men off. Maybe not.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms. Of all the places for her to search for Valeria—the train full of students—it was too easy. Too obvious. I should've seen it. Should've known.

Instead, I let her get close. Too close. And once again, Valeria had saved us from hitting the ground headfirst.

It felt as though we'd been trudging for half a lifetime, though in truth it had likely been no more than two hours. The cold gnawed at my boots, the frost biting through the leather until my toes had gone numb. Branches clawed at my cloak as we pushed through the forest, their limbs heavy with snow. Every so often, a clump of white would drop onto my shoulders, trickling cold down my neck. I swore under my breath and shoved another branch aside.

Behind me, Ruby's voice rang sharp with sudden panic. "Wait—what about my trunk?!" she blurted. "I left it with the girls—they're probably wondering where I am."

I rolled my eyes to the canopy.

Valeria's voice came soft but steady, always the one to soothe. "I'm sure the girls will bring it, Ruby. Anything left on the train will be taken to the castle anyway. They'll just assume you've been with us this whole time. We'll find them once we arrive."

Ruby blew out a breath, rubbing her arms against the cold. "Yeah... you're right."

The quiet settled again, broken only by the crunch of our boots in the snow. Ominis muttered every few minutes about how utterly frozen he was, his patience thinning with every step. Ruby hummed under her breath—some tune I couldn't place—and the sound was thin and reedy against the vast silence of the forest.

I kept my eyes forward, hands shoved deep into my pockets, trying not to notice the sting in my fingers or the way the cold sank into my bones.

Valeria's voice drifted again. "Look." She'd stopped near a patch of brush, her hand raised gently toward a bird perched low on a snowy branch. A robin, feathers puffed against the chill. Somehow, it hadn't fled. Instead, it tipped its head toward her, as though listening. She whispered something to it—nonsense words maybe, or maybe not. I couldn't hear. The bird hopped once, twice, then spread its wings and vanished into the sky.

I pushed forward.

The forest felt endless, each tree another twin of the last, the air growing heavier as the sun bled into the horizon. It set the snow aglow in faint shades of pink and violet, beautiful in a way that only made the cold more bitter. Ruby kept groaning about her feet. Ominis snapped at her to stop. Valeria walked in quiet, her gaze lifting every now and then toward the sky as though it gave her strength.

I thought about the warmth of the common room, about my bed, about how badly I wanted to be done with this damned journey.

By the time the forest broke, I almost didn't trust my eyes. But there it was—Hogwarts. The castle loomed in the distance, its spires etched against the fading light like jagged teeth. Golden windows glowed through the dusk, promising warmth, safety, the illusion of home.

"Finally!" Ruby cried, her voice echoing against the trees.

Valeria gave a faint laugh, relief softening her face. I said nothing. But my chest loosened the slightest bit as the path curved downward toward the gates.

Home. Or at least, the closest thing to it.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

Back in my dorm after what had to be the dullest lecture from the headmaster in history about "punctuality" and "decorum," I tried to pretend things were normal again. They weren't. Not even close. And the sight of Ominis, standing in front of the mirror tugging at his tie like it was strangling him, wasn't helping. He grunted under his breath, fingers fumbling like a toddler's.

I leaned back on my bed, arms crossed. "Didn't know you liked that color."

His head snapped toward me. "What do you mean? It's green, isn't it?"

"Mm. If you say so."

He froze, suspicious. "You're joking."

I let the corner of my mouth twitch up. "Perhaps."

He groaned, long and dramatic. "Merlin's sake, instead of tormenting me, why don't you try getting ready yourself?"

I raised a brow. "For what?"

"The Hog's Head? You know, the thing the girls wouldn't shut up about earlier?"

"You're actually going to that?"

"Yes, because unlike you, I know how to keep promises. Besides, it might be fun."

"Pass."

He sighed like he carried the weight of the world. "Of course. God forbid you actually do something resembling fun."

"I have fun," I said flatly. To prove it, I pulled the fake dagger from my pocket—the one Valeria had given me—and lunged it toward him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest.

He startled anyway, stumbling back a step. "I wouldn't have been surprised if that was real."

"See? Fun."

He smirked. "Suit yourself. But don't blame me when Ria gets too drunk and starts hanging off some random Ravenclaw."

My hands turned into fists before I even realised. Heat surged in my chest. 

He chuckled softly, smug.

"What's so bloody funny?" I snapped, heat crawling up my neck.

Ominis smirked. "Nothing. Just the way you go stiff every time I mention her name."

I let out a sharp breath, rolling my eyes hard enough to ache. "I don't."

"Sure you do," Asher drawled from the top bunk, voice lazy, eyes still on the book in his hands. He didn't even bother looking up, which somehow made it worse.

"Oh, so Sallow's got a girlfriend?" Hugo Fenwyck piped up from across the room, grinning like the slug he was.

I snapped my glare at him. "Shut it, Fenwyck. You too, Vexley," I added, cutting toward the other idiot already smirking.

Asher finally turned a page, calm as ever. "Whatever you say," he murmured, like he already knew I'd lost.

I muttered a curse under my breath, got up, and yanked the tie from his hands. In two quick motions, I fixed it perfectly around his collar.

"Fine—I'll come. But not because of Valeria. Because you owe me a firewhiskey."

He tilted his head. "Since when?"

"Since I attended your charming little Gaunt family gathering and didn't burn the place to the ground."

He scoffed. "Didn't? You threw Valeria over your shoulder and carried her upstairs. That was quite the spectacle."

"I did the polite thing. Kept my temper when I could've flattened that pompous heir for talking to her." My jaw clenched. "You owe me one for restraint."

Ominis gave me his signature, long-suffering sigh. "Language, Sebastian."

"Forgive me," I said dryly, swinging my robes over my shoulder as I headed for the door. "Let's go. Before I change my mind."

"Very well. But don't think I believe for a second this has nothing to do with Ria," Ominis muttered.

I didn't answer. I never did when he said things like that. With anyone else, I'd have cut the thought down in a heartbeat—made it clear I don't do crushes, I don't do love, I don't whisper sweet nothings under moonlight. And I'm not interested in Valeria. Couldn't be. Even if I was, it wouldn't matter.

But Ominis was Ominis. He knew me too well, and I couldn't lie to him even when I wanted to. He could read me when I could barely read myself. And maybe he was right—maybe something was happening. Some... strange pull I didn't have words for.

Still, I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what I told myself it was: instinct. The same instinct that makes you throw your hand on a flame before it burns someone else. If I let her wander too far, she'd get herself killed. And I couldn't live with more blood on my hands. That was all it was. It had to be.

Problem was, I think Valeria had started mistaking that protectiveness for something else as well. Something dangerous. And I couldn't have that. I couldn't let her look at me like that. Someone else could have her laughter, her wide-eyed wonder, her damned stubborn kindness. Someone better. Someone untouched. Not me.

And yet my body didn't listen to my head. It never did.

The cold bit at my cheeks as we snuck out of the castle. Ominis walked with his jaw clenched, silent as the wind howled around us. We both preferred quiet anyway. But his comment kept circling in my skull like a curse I couldn't shake.

About her. And if it was simply protectiveness.

And then—fucking hell. The second we stepped into the Hog's Head, I saw her.

There she was, hair loose where the other girls had theirs pinned prim and proper, sitting with them at a table tucked near the hearth. Laughing. Not polite chuckles, not a delicate smile—laughing. Loud and unashamed, almost doubled over at something Bianca had said.

And I felt it. Right in my chest. That tightening, like someone had clenched a fist around my ribs.

I hated it.

I hated that just looking at her did that to me.

I tore my eyes away, forcing myself to take in the room—the reek of stale ale, the low crackle of fire, the crowd pressed shoulder to shoulder inside the dingy little pub. Packed to the brim. Good. A distraction. Because if I kept looking at her, I might not remember why I was supposed to stay away.

The pub was louder than I'd expected. Too loud. A mess of bodies, laughter, clinking glasses, and music spilling from a corner where a group of students had set up enchanted instruments. I stepped inside, Ominis at my shoulder, and felt the weight of the storm outside replaced with the storm of voices in here.

"Sounds like a whole ruckus in here," Ominis muttered.

"What the hell are they all doing here?" I said, scowling at the crowd.

"Over here!" Ruby's voice cut across the din. She was waving like a madwoman.

Ominis made his way toward their table, and I followed—though my feet wanted to turn elsewhere. There was only one empty chair. He took it. Which meant I had to drag one from the next table, wedging myself between Bianca and Valeria. Not on purpose.

"I didn't know you were joining, Sebastian!" Ruby beamed.

"Neither did I," I said flatly. The girls giggled like I'd just told the best joke in the world.

The bartender came around—John, an old face I knew well from fifth-year escapades. Ominis ordered butterbeer and firewhiskey, and I downed my first sip as we sat in silence for a while, nursing our drinks, letting the noise of the pub swell around us. Students packed every corner, shouting, laughing, clinking glasses like this was the only night they'd ever get to live.

"Why are there so many students here?" Ominis asked, tilting his head.

Lola groaned and jabbed a finger at Bianca. "Ask her."

Bianca pressed a hand to her chest like some bloody actress. "Moi?"

Valeria rolled her eyes. Ruby snorted.

"Alright, fine. I invited them," Bianca admitted. "Well it wouldn't be much of a celebration with just us, would it? I thought the whole seventh year deserved to know."

Typical Bianca. Never met a private moment she couldn't turn into a stage play. Not that all of seventh year had shown up, but the pub was stuffed full enough it felt like they had. Heat, sweat, butterbeer fumes.

"Oh—is Alora coming?" Ruby asked, "and Rania," she added quickly.

Bianca shrugged. "Hard to say. You know Alora—she does whatever she wants." She tilted her head. "Why?"

"No reason," she muttered.

The girls fell into chatter about their holidays. Valeria was quieter than the rest, sipping at her drink, nodding along, fingers twisting at the edge of her glass. I watched the amber liquid catch the light instead of listening—until Poppy Sweeting stumbled by, cheeks pink, smile too wide.

"Ria! Oh, it is you! You look positively mature!" she said, nearly toppling onto Valeria's lap.

I nearly dropped my glass when Ominis suddenly choked on his butterbeer. Coughed, sputtered, sprayed it down his chin like an idiot drowning in air.

"Merlin—Ominis, are you alright?" Ruby asked, patting his back.

"I'm fine," he wheezed between coughs, his face redder than his scarf.

I bit back a laugh. Oh, this was priceless. And this bastard had the audacity to tease me about Valeria? Please. He'd just blown his cover harder than a first-year cheating on exams. I'd save it. File it away for later.

"Ominis! Are you sure you're alright?" Poppy leaned forward, eyes wide with genuine concern. He straightened in his chair so fast he nearly smacked his head on hers.

"Just fine, Poppy," he said with a cough-softened voice that tried for smooth. "It's... good to see you. How were your holidays?"

And just like that, they slipped into a smaller conversation, voices low enough I tuned them out. I wasn't here to play matchmaker. My attention drifted back to Valeria just in time to hear Poppy pivot, cooing about some new hairpiece she'd gotten for Christmas.

She turned to show it off—a silver pin gleaming against her hair. "Would you like to try it, Valeria?"

Valeria smiled politely. "Thank you, Poppy, though I'm not so sure I like my hair up. I like my hair as it is."

Her words were simple, but I caught the faintest flush on her cheeks as she said it. The table froze. Awkward glances.

"What?" Valeria asked, glancing around the table.

Lola cleared her throat. "It's a bit scandalous, Val. You're eighteen now. Women of age don't wear their hair down."

I rolled my eyes.

Valeria leaned forward, fire sparking in her eyes. "And who decided that, exactly? Because I'd very much like to tell them it's ridiculous."

"Ria..." Bianca half-whined.

"It's my hair. I'll wear it however I please," she went on, voice sure. "If one day I feel like pinning it up, I will. But I won't do it simply because society tells me to. That's not living—it's pretending."

The girls went silent. Ruby broke it first, smiling. "I think that's quite admirable, Ria."

"Thank you, Ruby."

I pressed my glass to my lips, hiding the twitch of a smile. Typical Valeria. Always charging headfirst into what was "proper" and burning the whole notion down. And Merlin help me, I admired it more than I should.

Valeria, Ruby, and Bianca leaned over the table after a beat, shoulders touching, their cheeks flushed and their laughter spilling out like sunlight in a room that didn't deserve it. Valeria's hand flew up as she mimicked someone—I think Leander—her voice pitching higher, dramatizing his smug tone until Ruby nearly snorted her butterbeer through her nose.

I caught myself watching. Again. The way Valeria tucked her hair back as she laughed, the faint ink smudge on her finger from the quill she must've been holding earlier, the way her eyes seemed brighter the more firewhiskey touched her lips. Always the little things with her. Always the ones I shouldn't notice. Like the way she smelled of sweet fruits and cotton. 

"...and then she actually said, 'oh, but Professor, I thought the mandrake was supposed to scream!'" Ruby squealed, doubling over.

Valeria grinned, shaking her head. "It was supposed to scream, Ruby. Just not when you poke it in the eye!"

I hid a smile behind my glass. Merlin, they were all hopeless.

The conversation was interrupted by Garreth Weasley. His hair was wild, his cheeks red enough to match it, and his grin stretched ear to ear. I didn't even need to smell the firewhiskey radiating off him to know he was smashed.

"There you lot are!" he slurred, weaving his way over like a ship about to sink. "Best night of the year, I tell you! Best party Hogwarts has ever seen!"

He thumped both hands down on our table hard enough to rattle the glasses. Ominis stiffened; I steadied Ruby's tankard before it toppled.

"You all look far too serious," Garreth declared, squinting around the table. His gaze landed on Valeria, and he pointed, swaying dangerously. "Especially you, Velkan. Pretty girls are meant to smile at parties!"

I glared at him before she had to answer. "She's been smiling all night, Weasley. You're just too drunk to notice."

Valeria's lips twitched—half amusement, half embarrassment—but she said nothing.

"Games!" Gareth suddenly bellowed, throwing his arms wide. "We need games! Who's in for Exploding Snap? Or—or we could start a drinking contest!"

"No," Ominis said flatly, without hesitation.

"Absolutely not," I muttered.

"Pass," Bianca chimed in, waving him off.

Only Ruby giggled. "Maybe later."

"Cowards!" Gareth crowed. He staggered away before any of us could stop him, clambering onto a chair, then onto the actual bar. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, wobbling so hard I half-expected him to split his skull open. "This—this is the best party of the year! Raise your glasses!"

The room erupted in cheers. Glasses clinked, voices roared, and Gareth nearly fell off the bar trying to bow before Rosmerta stormed over with her wand drawn and a face like thunder.

Our table dissolved into laughter again. Ruby and Bianca wiped tears from their eyes, and even Ominis shook his head, muttering about Weasleys being the end of him one day.

And Valeria...

She laughed softer than the others, her hand covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. I let myself watch, just for a heartbeat, before dragging my gaze away.

Dangerous. Always dangerous.

"Look who else is here," Ruby muttered.

All their heads turned at once. Mine followed.

Cedar Steel. Lurking in the corner like a rat, his eyes locked on Valeria until she caught him. Then he snapped his gaze away, cowardly as ever.

Valeria groaned and took a long swallow of her drink. "Ugh."

"He was looking at you, Val," Lola said, almost teasing.

"Don't make me vomit."

"Maybe he's in love with you," Bianca chimed in. "I heard boys tease the girls they like."

Valeria nearly spit her drink all over the table. My mouth twitched.

"Please," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Cedar Steel is the equivalent of a slug. I'd rather drink piss than spend a second with him."

Ruby snickered. "Has he been a pain lately?"

"Not really. Not since..." Valeria trailed off, eyes flicking to me before darting away again.

I finished it for her in my head. Not since I left him bloody on the flagstones.

"Not since Sebastian beat his ass, you mean?" Bianca said, smirking.

Valeria's cheeks flamed red. "Yeah... that."

Bianca leaned in, voice lilting. "Well, at least now you know if anyone tries to mess with you, you'll always have your boyf—"

Bianca jerked as Ruby elbowed her hard in the ribs. The other girls shot her the same sharp look, a silent warning.

"—your friend," Bianca corrected quickly, voice too high, too fast. "A friend who just so happens to be a boy, and... beats up other boys for you."

"Thanks for that, Bia," Valeria said flatly.

The air shifted. They all knew something they weren't saying. And Valeria—still flushed, still avoiding my eyes—was at the center of it.

I sat back, silent, watching. Taking it all in.

I tipped back my glass and drained the rest of it. If this was the "best night of the year," I'd be damned glad when it was over.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Way to be sneaky Bia... / S

Chapter Text

Rules Were Made to Break

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"If your love was a pill, I'd overdose. Wrap me in your arms, 'til my heartbeat slows."

- sombr

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Bia grabbed my arm with such force I nearly swallowed my drink whole. I sputtered, nearly spilling firewhisky down my front, but before I could protest she was dragging me toward the little square of floor that apparently qualified as a "dance floor."

"We're celebrating the right way!" she hollered over the noise.

And who was I to argue? The air in the Hog's Head was thick with the smell of ale and the sound of laughter, boots stomping against uneven wooden planks that had probably seen more fights than waltzes. I stumbled after her, almost tripping over a chair that I swear wasn't there a second ago. I glared down at it as if it had personally betrayed me, then burst into laughter as I finally caught my balance.

The music roared in my ears, not elegant violins or harpsichords like the kind you heard at "proper" wizarding gatherings, but some fiddle and tambourine combination that made my blood fizz. I let my body sway, the drinks warm in my veins, loosening everything that usually kept me tied in neat little knots. Bia spun me, nearly toppling me into Poppy's lap, which made us both squeal. Soon all the girls had joined, hands clutching each other, skirts swishing dangerously close to spilt drinks and uneven tables.

At some point, Bia was dancing with a tall boy in suspenders—who was he? Did it matter?—and Ruby was chanting encouragements like she was at a Quidditch match. I threw my head back and shouted, "To final year! May we survive it without being eaten alive by books or professors!" I raised my glass so high I nearly whacked poor Poppy in the forehead, but she just laughed, clinked hers against mine, and we both drank like champions. The crowd cheered with us, or maybe I just imagined they did. Either way, it felt good.

The next thing I knew, Garreth had reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair a mess like he'd stuck a wand in a socket. He caught me mid-spin, hands on mine, grinning like a madman. "Dance with me, Velkan!"

I laughed so hard I hiccupped, breathless, the world spinning in warm, golden swirls. Garreth tugged me along, and I let him, half-dancing, half-tripping, like two kneazles gone wild. My cheeks ached from smiling, my ribs sore from laughter. For a rare, miraculous moment, I wasn't the Veilborn, I wasn't the girl carrying keys or burdens. I was just Valeria Velkan—tipsy, lightheaded, alive.

"Watch this!" Garreth crowed, stumbling to the center. He gestured for space, then flipped backwards. Sloppy, reckless, but he landed, and the room roared. I doubled over laughing, clapping with everyone else.

Then his hands found mine again. He spun me fast, too fast, until the pub blurred in streaks of torchlight and shadow. His palms slid lower, gripping my waist. I sobered a fraction, but told myself it was harmless. Fun. Just fun.

Until he leaned in.

Slow motion. Heat. The press of his lips against my neck.

My stomach dropped, ice flooding through the alcohol haze. I stumbled back, shoving him. My hands shook. My throat closed. The crowd jeered, laughing, cheering like this was part of the show.

"Come on, Velkan!" Garreth grinned, raising his arms wide. "Thought you wanted fun tonight!"

The room tilted. My pulse spiked, wild and jagged. I tried to push him again, but he caught my wrists. His laughter grated, sharp as broken glass. My breath hitched, shallow, too fast. The air was gone—gone.

"Stop—" My voice splintered.

I yanked free, slammed a fist into his chest. He stumbled but lunged back, shoving me. My heels skidded. The world reeled.

Pain exploded at the back of my skull as it struck the bar. My knees buckled, and I collapsed, vision fracturing into black and white blotches. Noise roared and muffled all at once. My chest seized. Air wouldn't come. My arms trembled. Too close. Too much.

And then—

A different crack. Loud. Sharp.

The entire pub froze.

Garreth reeled back, clutching his nose, blood spilling through his fingers. Sebastian's fist hung in the air for a beat, still clenched, his chest heaving.

Before anyone could move, Sebastian lunged, seizing Garreth by the collar. He hauled him close, eyes blazing. The music had cut off, every student silent. Even drunk, even dizzy, I could feel it—his fury. It shook the air like a curse.

"If you ever touch Valeria again," Sebastian snarled, low, lethal, "I'll show you why people whisper my name in places like Azkaban."

Dead silence. Not a soul moved.

Sebastian released him with a shove. Garreth crumpled, friends scrambling to drag him away, blood still streaming.

I blinked hard, the room wobbling in and out of focus. Something wet trickled down my face. I lifted trembling fingers to my nose. 

Blood. 

Then Sebastian turned.

His gaze snapped to me, and his expression shifted—fury carved into something else, something tight and unreadable. He strode forward, crouched low, then swept me into his arms like I weighed nothing. His arm firm against my back, the other beneath my knees. I sagged against him, too dizzy to protest, my head lolling.

The pub was still frozen as he carried me out, every set of eyes following us.

I barely registered where I was until a door creaked open and something soft caught me. My back sank into it—couch cushions, maybe. The world tilted sideways and I slumped back, head spinning not just from firewhisky but from the sheer impact of what in Merlin's name just happened.

"Blimey, Ria!"

A chorus of footsteps, voices tumbling over each other, too loud, too close. Ruby dropped beside me, her hand warm on my arm, rubbing circles as though that would stop the room from tilting. Bia—drunk, wide-eyed—plopped onto the floor with all the grace of a kneazle falling out of a tree. Ominis muttered something about never again, never another pub as he leaned against the wall, arms folded tight like he was holding himself together.

The chatter blurred, voices braiding into noise I couldn't quite untangle. Questions, curses, laughter. My ears buzzed.

"You're an icon, Ria!" Bia half-shouted, slurring.

"That bloody Garreth! I knew he'd had too much!" Ruby's voice—sharp with anger, still tracing calming circles on my sleeve.

"I'll be sure to mention this to the headmaster." Lola, pragmatic as always, her words floating somewhere above me.

And then—silence, as if the air had been cut clean in two.

I blinked, and there he was. Sebastian. Back again, I hadn't even noticed he left. He crouched in front of me with a damp cloth in his hand. He hesitated—just a flicker—but then his fingers moved with surprising care, brushing blood from my nose, my lips. Gentle. 

Too gentle for him.

The others went still, as if the whole room understood the strangeness of it. My pulse skipped. His touch was steady, careful, but his face... his face was a storm. Furrowed brow, clenched jaw, frustration etched deep. He was angry.

The doorframe creaked. Another voice broke the stillness.

"We good in here, Sebastian?"

Every head turned. A broad man with a thick beard—the barkeep—stood in the doorway. I tried to focus, but his face blurred, the beard was all I saw, bristling like a shadow.

"Yeah," Sebastian answered quickly, still dabbing at me with that cloth. "Thanks, John. She just needs a bit of time to sober up. Make sure she hasn't got a concussion."

John nodded, his heavy boots retreating into the hall. The door closed.

No one breathed for a moment.

"Come on, everyone," Ominis said at last, his tone clipped. "Ria's in good hands."

The girls exchanged glances, muttered small wishes—Get well, Ria. You're alright, Ria. Their voices felt like feathers brushing past. They rose, one by one, shuffling out. The door clicked shut, and their absence left the air heavy, humming.

Alone. 

Just me and him.

The room was dim, shadows stretching long, the firelight flickering against his cheekbones. And I couldn't seem to look anywhere else. Not at the blood-stained cloth, not at my hands twisted in my lap—only at him. At that look on his face. A look I couldn't read, and it terrified me almost as much as it anchored me.

I didn't say a word while he worked. His movements were careful, deliberate, the damp cloth moving across my skin with infuriating gentleness. When he finally stepped away, I thought it was over, but then—he came back. Closer.

He sat down beside me, the cushions dipping under his weight. For a moment, he didn't touch me, didn't speak. Then his hand lifted—hesitant, almost reluctant—and his knuckles brushed under my chin. His other palm slid to the back of my head, steady, grounding, as he tilted my face to the side.

My pulse spiked, traitorous, and I found my voice. "What are you doing?"

His gaze never left mine, voice low and steady. "Looking for other injuries."

I swallowed. "I'm fine."

"You may have a concussion."

"I don't."

His jaw flexed. "Don't be so sure."

"I feel fine, I—"

"Can you for once not argue with me?" The words snapped, sharper than he probably intended. "I'm just trying to make sure you're not hiding a gash in your skull. Sit still."

I froze, stunned into silence. 

He realized immediately, the air shifting. He exhaled, long and slow, dragging a hand down his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay," I murmured. And I meant it.

His hands lingered in my hair for a beat longer than necessary before falling away. He muttered a spell—"Aquamenti"—and a glass filled itself on the table. He handed it to me without looking away, his fingers brushing mine.

"Thanks," I whispered, my voice so thin it barely existed. I took a sip from the glass he'd handed me, the water sharp and cool against my throat.

Silence pressed down on the room. Heavy. Suffocating. I was too aware of everything—the scrape of my breath, the glass in my shaking hands, and him. Always him. The way Sebastian's gaze burned when he tried to look away, like he couldn't decide whether to keep his distance or drag me closer.

But I didn't feel calm. 

Not at all. My heart was still clawing against my ribs, my throat raw, my whole body trembling as if the storm from outside had crept into me. I raised the glass again, hands unsteady, the water sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Why am I shaking? It was nothing. Garreth had barely touched me. A hand at my waist. His mouth against my neck. Harmless. 

Harmless.

But it hadn't felt harmless. It had felt like ice, like shadows, like the past reaching out to claim me all over again.

Pathetic. 

I set the glass down too quickly, droplets scattering over the table. My shoulders quivered. I wasn't cold, not really, but I couldn't stop shivering. My mind replayed it in fragments—his laugh, the smell of ale on his breath, that press of skin I never wanted. And before I could shove it back into the dark where it belonged, a sob clawed its way up my throat. Then another.

"Wait here."

My head snapped toward Sebastian just as he rose from the sofa. His voice was sharp, dangerous, like flint sparking.

Panic flared. Instinct overrode thought. My hand shot out, clutching his arm. "Wait." My voice cracked. "Where are you going?"

"To have a little chat with Garreth." His tone was ice.

I knew what that meant. My chest tightened. "No—don't. Please. Don't go."

For a beat he stood there, still as stone, weighing me. Then his eyes softened.

"I... I don't want to be alone," I admitted, the words tumbling out and sticking in my throat, heavy with shame. Asking for something always felt like begging. "Just... stay. Please."

His jaw worked, but he sank back down. Closer this time. I loosened my grip on his arm, my hand falling uselessly into my lap.

"You're hurt," he said quietly.

"No," I lied. My voice shook. "I'm fine."

"You're not."

I wanted to argue. To smile and shrug and dismiss it like I always did. But the tears betrayed me. Another sob slipped free. My hands twisted the fabric of my skirt. "I'm just... all in my head," I whispered.

"Tell me."

"What?" I blinked through tears.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. Words scraped against my throat like broken glass. "I just... overreacted." A bitter laugh escaped me, thin and hollow. "It's stupid. I just—got taken back. To before Christmas. To... other times."

I felt my chest heave, and I knew he saw it. Knew he understood what I didn't want to say aloud.

"It felt the same," I forced out. "Like with... Mr. Whitmore. When he—" My voice cracked, broke apart like brittle porcelain. "When I couldn't stop him. And tonight, it felt like that again. But it wasn't. Not really. It wasn't the same. I know that. But my body—"

The rest dissolved into sobs. Shaking, ugly, heaving sobs.

And then—

"Come here, Chaton."

His voice was nothing like his usual—it was low, steady, almost gentle. I looked up through tear-blurred eyes. His arms were open. Waiting. For me.

I didn't argue. I couldn't.

I folded into him like I'd always been meant to, like a child seeking shelter. His lap cradled me, his arms wrapped firm around me, holding me together when I was sure I would shatter. My face pressed into his shirt, soaking it with tears. I didn't care. I couldn't stop.

And then, slowly, I did. The sobs ebbed into shallow breaths. I just... breathed.

He smelled of ashes and ink, faintly metallic, faintly warm—something that felt like safety, even if it shouldn't. My heart was no longer racing from panic but from something else entirely, something I didn't dare name.

One of his hands rested against the back of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair. The other anchored me to him, steady and sure.

For the first time in hours, maybe in years, I let myself believe I wasn't so alone.

I clawed back just enough composure to lift my head. The question spilled out unbidden, raw and trembling. "Why did you hit him?"

His gaze snapped to mine. Hard. Unflinching. A beat passed, heavy as stone.

"Because he hurt you," he said.

I scoffed weakly. "He barely did. He shoved me, I tripped—like the clumsy idiot I am—"

"I didn't mean that."

Something in his tone made my stomach drop. "Then what did you mean?"

He didn't blink. Didn't move. His eyes locked to mine like they'd never let go.

Finally, his answer came, rough, unguarded. "He touched you."

My breath caught.

His voice dropped lower, dangerous and raw. "I won't let anybody else touch you."

Silence crashed over us. My heart hammered. His gaze flicked up, just slightly, like he regretted what had slipped out. But I'd heard it.

"Anybody else?" I whispered, my voice hoarse, trembling.

He didn't reply.

And there it was again—the ache in me that couldn't stay quiet. Words bubbling up before I could stop them.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

His eyes flicked to me, sharp, guarded. "Do what?"

"Say something small, like it doesn't matter, but it does. And then you lock yourself up again." My voice trembled, but I pressed on.

"I don't," he said flatly.

"Yes, you do." My throat tightened, but the truth was out now, tumbling. "Before... you talked more. You laughed. You said things that didn't always make sense, but at least they were yours. Truly yours. Now it's like every word has to be weighed and cut apart before you let it out. Like you're afraid of your own voice." I swallowed, heat pricking my cheeks. "What happened to that Sebastian?"

Silence. His jaw tightened, and for a beat I thought he wouldn't answer. Then—

"He died," he said.

The words landed like stones in my chest. I'd known he'd say it, but it didn't stop the sting.

"I hope that isn't true," I whispered. "I think he's just asleep. Afraid of what might happen if he wakes. But he's still there. Somewhere."

"Always the optimist," he muttered.

Slowly, almost against his own will, his hand lifted. Fingers brushed my forehead, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. The touch lingered longer than it should have. My breath caught. And suddenly I was reminded of the fact I was cradled in his lap. My pulse spiked and I gulped. 

"You're still you," I whispered. "In some ways."

His eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"You still take care of me," I said softly.

Something passed through his eyes then—recognition, memory. I knew he was thinking of Cedar, of that bloody fight in fifth year, when Sebastian had thrown himself between me and cruelty like it was second nature. He'd bled for me. Been punished for me.

A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "You trust me too much, Chaton. I'm not who you think I am."

I scoffed, though my heart hammered. "I told you before. I'm not scared of you, Sebastian."

His gaze darkened, unreadable. "So you keep saying."

Then his hand tilted my chin, forcing my face toward his. My pulse roared in my ears. His breath mingled with mine, and the world shrank to the inches between us. I stared into his eyes—brown, but not just brown. They held a flicker of auburn, the kind you see in autumn leaves just before they let go of the branch and fall. They felt like secrets I wasn't meant to read, stories tucked away in the dark... and yet, I couldn't stop looking.

"I'm not the kind of man you should look at like that," he said, voice low, raw.

My lips parted. "Like what?"

"With those eyes. Eyes that beg me to kiss you right here and now."

My heart stumbled. My body betrayed me, leaning closer, trembling.

He didn't stop. His voice was a blade, cutting. "But let me tell you something. I don't do kisses, Chaton. I don't do sweet words whispered in the dark, or promises of forever. I'm not the man who will send you letters or leave flowers on your windowsill. I won't tell you the stars remind me of your eyes or that I dream of you when I sleep. I don't do gentle. I don't do safe. What I do is damage. Trouble that follows me like a shadow no matter how far I run. You've seen it—you've bled for it. Every time you step close, you put yourself in the same fire that burns me, and one day it'll catch you too. Because everything I touch, I break."

The words crashed over me, brutal and true, and yet—I couldn't move. My heartbeat thundered, deafening.

"And if you don't learn to stay away from me soon," he breathed, his eyes locking into mine, "I will break you too."

Silence. My throat burned. My body shook. And yet, my voice came, quiet but steady.

"What if I'm already broken?"

His expression faltered—just for a heartbeat. And I saw it then: the crack in his armor, the part of him he tried so desperately to bury.

"You're not," he said at last, his voice flat as stone. "You're whole. Pure. But you won't be for long, if you keep looking at me like that."

The words hit me squarely, and I swallowed hard, throat dry. My heart clawed at my ribs. Still, the truth pressed against my tongue until it slipped free.

"You know..." My voice trembled, but I forced myself to keep speaking. "You say you're not gentle. Not caring. But here you are. Holding me. Keeping me steady when I'd have fallen apart." The admission spilled out like water breaking through a dam. Fear chased after it—fear that he'd drop his arms, step away, leave me cold again. But I couldn't unsay it.

Silence followed. Heavy. His chest rose against mine in a measured breath, like he was weighing whether to laugh or curse or vanish. Then—slowly, infuriatingly—his mouth curved. Just a faint smirk, but it set every nerve in me alight.

"I never claimed to be any good at following rules," he murmured, low enough it felt dangerous. "Not even the ones I make myself."

My pulse thundered so loud I thought he must hear it. Maybe he did. Maybe that was the point.

Then, suddenly, he set me down beside him, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. The absence of his warmth hit me like a gust of cold air, my body mourning the loss before my mind could catch up.

"Come on," he said, his voice rough, steady, too steady. "Let's get you to bed."

My lips parted, ready to argue, to insist I wasn't nearly as tired as my heart or head claimed—but even I knew I'd tested every bit of luck tonight. The words caught, useless, on my tongue.

So I stood. My legs felt weak, my pulse still racing from the memory of his chest against mine, his hand steadying me, the words he'd murmured like they mattered. He moved to follow, close enough I could sense him even without looking, a shadow at my shoulder, watchful and silent.

The crowd parted for us as we slipped through the pub, the warm reek of firewhiskey and smoke swirling thick in the air. Laughter, clinking glasses, voices all blurred around me, distant, meaningless. My mind spun too wildly to make sense of anything except him. The echo of his hands on me. The rasp of his voice.

By the time we pushed through the door and stepped into the cool night, I could hardly remember where I was meant to be going. Only that he was there—and that was enough to make the ground under me feel treacherous.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Sebastian Sallow, ever the rulebreaker. / S

Chapter Text

Late Nights and Cherry Pies

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"But I promise you this, I'll always look out for you. Yeah that's what I'll do."

- Coldplay

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The room was suffocating with the scratch of quills, the sighs, the uneven breathing of students on the verge of collapsing under parchment and ink. It was the sound of desperation, of the last term grinding them down. I should've been buried in my own sheet, but I wasn't. Mine was finished long before the rest of them even dipped their quills. I leaned back, eyes sliding toward the window.

Outside, the world had the audacity to pretend it was waking. Snow vanished overnight, sunlight sneaking between the branches, birds shaking off the frost as if they didn't know winter was far from finished. But I knew better. I could feel it—the truth. That we were near our end. And nobody else seemed to know. Nobody but Ominis, Valeria, and me.

Every few minutes, my mind betrayed me with the same memory. That night. My promise to help her find the keys, the way her voice had cracked with trust when she'd said my name. I told myself I'd keep it. I told myself I could. But how the fuck could I, when every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was her?

I'd called myself stupid so many times the word had lost its sting. Stupid for letting her sit too close, stupid for letting her smile at me, stupid for not pushing her away when I still had the chance. But the worst part wasn't me. The worst part was her. That she hadn't done the smart thing and stayed the hell away.

Because she knew. She had to know. The way her heartbeat had thundered against me when I held her. The way her breath stuttered. The way her eyes—Merlin, those eyes—flicked down to my mouth. She looked at me like she wanted it. Like she wanted me.

And that was all it took. One look. One ragged breath. And my body betrayed me in ways I'd promised myself it never would.

It had taken every single ounce of control not to throw her back against that couch, tear through that flimsy dress and look. Look at what I wanted more than I wanted air. My hands had itched to map every inch of her, memorize her until there wasn't a single curve, a single sound, a single secret left unclaimed.

I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't good at rules. And she—sweet, maddening, reckless Valeria—made me want to break every one I'd set for myself. Because I knew exactly what would happen if she kept looking at me that way, like she couldn't wait for me to ruin her. It would be anything but gentle. And I couldn't—fuck, I couldn't—do that to her.

Before, with other girls, it was easy. I kept feelings out. I kept myself out. No kisses, no whispers, no tender touches. They agreed, to an extent. And when they got too close, I let them go. Simple. Clean. Done.

But with her? I hadn't even touched her properly yet. Not really. Just brushes, accidents, too-close moments. And still—I couldn't get the thought out of my head. The thought of her mouth under mine. The taste of her lips. The sound she'd make when I finally crossed that line I keep swearing I won't.

And every time I imagine it, every fucking time... it feels less like a fantasy and more like inevitability.

"Psst. Sallow."

The hiss cut through my daze like a knife. My pulse ticked once—hard—before settling back into its steady drag. I turned my head just enough to catch Orson—bloody Orson, all Gryffindor grin and smugness—leaning halfway across his desk toward me. His eyes flicked to Professor Hecat, buried so deep in her stack of parchment she could've been under an avalanche.

Then his hand darted out. A scrap of parchment slid across the grain of my desk, pushed just far enough that I couldn't ignore it. He smirked as he sat back, folding his arms like he'd just done me a favor.

I stared at it. My first instinct was to crumple the damn thing without looking. But curiosity—my constant curse—itched beneath my skin. With a grimace, I unfolded it.

The scrawl was atrocious. Half the words spelled like they'd been written by a third-year with no patience for vowels.

Word around school is you knocked out Weasley pretty good. Finally someone knocking some sense into him. Lucas told me he's hiding up in the Astronomy Tower, too scared to show his skin. Sure you don't want to finish what you started?

I let out a slow breath through my nose, jaw tightening. Of course.

Orson thought he was clever. Thought this was camaraderie—two boys bonding over a bit of blood spilled. As if I got some sick thrill out of beating people half to death. As if I was one curse away from confirming every rumor whispered about me.

I crumpled the parchment in my fist until it was nothing but a hard little knot, then dropped it to the floor. Not worth my attention. Not worth the breath it would take to tell him off.

But still... my thoughts snagged on one thing. The Astronomy Tower.

So Garreth Weasley was hiding. Nursing his wounds. Afraid to show his face.

Maybe Orson was an idiot. Maybe he wasn't entirely useless.

Either way, I'd pay Weasley a visit.

Not to "finish what I started."

But there were things I needed to say. And Weasley was going to listen.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

Forty-five minutes later, I had Weasley by the collar, dragging him through the corridor like the pathetic excuse for a wizard he was. His shoes scraped against the stone floor, robes twisted around his legs as he stumbled to keep up. Students plastered themselves against the walls as we passed, whispering in sharp little hisses. Their wide eyes followed us, some horrified, some hungry for spectacle. I didn't care.

Only one thought filled my head. Find her.

The Grand Hall doors loomed ahead, and I shoved them open so hard they slammed against the stone. The sound cracked like a whip through the chamber. Conversation died instantly. The scrape of forks on plates stilled. The silence that followed was deafening, electric.

Hundreds of eyes turned on me. On us.

And then I saw her.

Her golden hair spilled down her back like molten honey, catching the torchlight as she turned. Her eyes met mine, wide and startled, her friends drawing closer around her. Confusion flickered across her face as I pushed Weasley forward, dragging him like a dog on a leash.

The hush was so thick I could have sliced it with my wand. Every head craned. Every student waited.

I stopped in front of her, shoving Weasley down a step. My voice was low, steady, and dangerous enough to echo in the rafters.

"I believe you owe Valeria an apology. Don't you, Weasley?"

The bastard trembled so violently I thought he'd piss himself right there. His face was already a mess, one eye swollen black and purple from my fist. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

"I—I'm sorry, Valeria. For... the night before." His voice cracked.

"Not good enough," I muttered behind him.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Weasley stiffened. I let my hand settle heavily on his shoulder. "Look at her when you speak," I said.

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. Valeria's eyes darted from him to me, shock shimmering across her features, tinged with something else I couldn't place.

And then, slow and deliberate, I pressed down on Weasley's shoulder until he sank. The hall erupted in whispers, hissing gasps. Garreth Weasley, on his knees before Valeria Velkan.

He stammered, voice breaking. "I—I shouldn't have done what I did. I'm... sorry. I drank too much, and it doesn't excuse it. Nothing will. But I swear it will never happen again."

Better.

The silence stretched. My grip on him stayed firm until she spoke.

"It's fine, Garreth. I know you were drunk. I..." she faltered, glancing up at me for half a heartbeat, then back to him. "I accept your apology."

That was enough. I yanked him up by the scruff and shoved him toward the exit. "Scat."

He didn't wait. He fled, practically tripping over himself to get out of sight. The Great Hall buzzed to life again, whispers like wildfire.

"Did you see—"

"On his knees—"

"Hotter than sin."

I caught Bianca's breathy murmur, "A man with determination is hot."

Ruby whispering, "Ria's got her own bodyguard now."

I ignored them. I ignored all of it.

I didn't do it for the show, or the whispers, or the gasps. I did it because Weasley needed to learn the hard way. I'd hit him once, I could have hit him again—but humiliation was better. Public, permanent. He'd never dare lay a finger on her again.

And if he did?

He'd find out how deep my fists could cut.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

The fire in the common room had burned low. Shadows stretched tall against the stone walls, twitching whenever a log gave a sigh. A handful of students were still awake, their whispers pricking at the edges of my mind, scratching at my patience. I wasn't listening. I hadn't been listening all year.

Instead, I stared at the window. That damned window where fish sometimes drifted by, flickering like ghosts in the torchlight. When I was younger, I'd convinced myself merfolk would appear there, faces pressed to the glass, staring in. Waiting. They never did. No one ever does.

Sleep wouldn't come, so why even try? The bed upstairs would just remind me of the cell. The silence would roar, the walls would lean in, and I'd end up here anyway. So I sat, as I always did, letting the water beyond the glass bend the light, distort it, make it easier to pretend I wasn't me for a few seconds at a time.

But pretending never lasts. I'd learned that in Azkaban. Better to remember. Better to rub the scar raw than forget what caused it. If I replayed the past enough, it couldn't slip from me. If I carried it every night, maybe I wouldn't... repeat it.

And so I chose a memory. I always do. Tonight it was that one.

Her scream cracked the air like glass. "Depulso!"

My back slammed against the wall, ribs rattling. My wand clattered to the stone. I remember the taste of copper—blood, spit, guilt, it's all the same now.

"Incendio!"

The inferi writhed, shrieked, then collapsed in flames, crumbling into ash. The stink of burned rot clung to my throat. Through the smoke I saw her—Anne—falling to her knees beside his body. His face twisted, slack, eyes staring into nothing. My uncle. My monster. My blood.

Her hands clutched him, fingers trembling, as if holding tighter might undo what I had done. Her sob broke through me like a curse I couldn't deflect. I wanted to reach for her, but I didn't.

She rose slowly, eyes hollow. Not red from tears, not wild with rage—just hollow. Empty. She crossed the room to the relic, the damned book, her wand shaking.

"Bombarda!"

The explosion tore the chamber apart. I remember screaming, voice scraping my throat raw. "No!"

Her chest heaved, hair wild, eyes finally finding me. And in them—I didn't see my sister anymore. I saw nothing.

"You've made your choice."

The words gutted me. Each one carved me open, deeper than any curse.

And then she vanished. Gone. Just like that. The space she'd left swallowed everything. The book. The body. Him. Her.

I was alone. Alone with my crime, with the stench of blood and smoke and failure.

"Good evening, Sebastian."

The voice cut through my thoughts like a curse. My head snapped up before my brain caught up, and for a moment I thought I'd conjured her out of thin air. But no—there she was.

Valeria.

Her eyes looked wrecked—dark circles clinging like bruises under them—and in her hands she carried... a tray? She crossed the room and sat beside me, setting it carefully on her lap like she was afraid it might explode.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you from... whatever you were doing," she murmured, nerves stitched into every syllable.

"It's fine." My voice came out sharper than I meant. I forced my shoulders to relax. "What's keeping you awake, Chaton?"

Her gaze dipped to the tray. "Uhm..." She fumbled, then lifted it toward me. "I baked you a pie."

A pie.

I blinked once. Twice. The small circle crust, the gleam of red filling staring back at me like it was mocking me.

"Or—well—Bobby and I baked it. He's very good at making pies," she added quickly, as though that might explain why she was here offering me baked goods in the middle of the night.

She held the tray out, waiting. I forced my hands to move, to take it from her, though I couldn't tear my eyes from the thing. A pie. She baked me a bloody pie.

"It's cherry," she said softly.

Of course it was. She'd been eating cherries for years, staining her lips with them. I shoved the thought down and set the tray on the table in front of us, like maybe if I put it out of sight it would make more sense.

"You baked me a pie." Not a question. Not really.

"Yes." Her voice was thin but steady. "I... wanted to thank you. For taking care of me yesterday. And for making Garreth apologize. Though, admittedly, you did it with a bit more force than I'd have asked for."

Something in my chest stuttered, once, hard. I ignored it. "It's no worries."

Silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, teeth digging into the inside of her cheek. Nervous. Always nervous when it came to me. And yet she stayed here. Sat beside me. Offered me pie. I was dreaming wasn't I.

Finally, she spoke again, voice hesitant, not looking at me. "Also... I wanted to ask..."

Every nerve in me locked on her.

"Ominis is... pretty much done. With the keys. But I can't do it alone." Her eyes lifted, catching mine. "I know you said you'd help me before, and that you keep your promises, and such—I just..." She swallowed. "If you're going to quit, I need to know."

I almost laughed. Bitter. "Why would I quit?"

Her shoulders dropped, her eyes softening in a way I wasn't prepared for. "Because... well, a lot has happened recently. And I thought—when you told me to stay away—that you didn't want to be near me. So I—"

I cut her off, raising a hand. "I don't break my promises, Chaton."

The relief that crossed her face was almost painful to look at. She exhaled like I'd just lifted a mountain off her shoulders. "Oh... good. Great." She nodded quickly, like she had to anchor herself in the moment.

"Well," she said after a beat, "then perhaps we should start planning. Where to go next."

I shook my head slowly, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Did you think baking me a pie would magically make me want to help you again?"

Her face flushed crimson in an instant. She stammered, lips parting, shutting, then opening again. "No—I just... I thought—"

She was infuriating when she was flustered. Infuriating. And so damnably cute.

But then she snapped back into herself, as though catching the thread she'd dropped. She stood, snatching up the tray. "Fine. If you don't want it, I'll keep it myself. I needed a snack anyway."

She took a step—and my hand shot out before I could think, fingers curling around her wrist.

She turned, startled, eyes wide, waiting.

I cursed myself for what I did next, but instinct didn't care. Instinct won.

"Thank you for the pie," I said, voice low. Then, deliberately, I reached with my other hand, tore off a piece with my bare fingers, and shoved it into my mouth. Crumbs clung to my knuckles. I chewed slowly, holding her gaze. "It's delicious. Cherry, you said?"

Her lips parted. "Uh-huh."

"Whoever Bobby is, give him my regards for the pie as well."

A small, startled laugh broke free from her chest, soft and genuine, and I hated the way it struck me. She set the tray back down and eased herself beside me again, shoulders close. "Bobby's one of the house-elves in the kitchens. He sneaks me in sometimes at night, lets me steal cherries."

I blinked. At night. My fingers left the pie, smearing crumbs onto my robes. My mouth worked before I could stop it—never a good sign.

"Why do you eat in the middle of the night?"

She fiddled with her sleeve. "Oh, because I forget to eat during the day. I'm particular. If it doesn't look right or smell right, or if I'm not hungry in just the right way—I don't eat."

That explained a lot. The sudden, ravenous shoveling of food. But not everything.

"Why don't you sleep? Don't you have that Apparation test tomorrow?"

Her head jerked up at that. I'd startled her. She hesitated, lips pressing tight, before finally answering. "Yes but uh... I... have this thing. A doctor told me once—insomnia."

I knew the word. Too well.

She glanced down again, voice quieter now, confessional. "It makes it hard to sleep. And the night terrors don't help."

That stopped me cold.

"Night terrors?" My eyes didn't leave hers.

She nodded. "Yes. It's... a waking nightmare. Sometimes, when I manage to sleep, I wake—but not really. My mind's awake but my body isn't. I can't move. Can't scream. I hallucinate... faces over my bed, hands grabbing me, shadows breathing down my neck. And all I can do is lay there, trying to remind myself it's not real. Trying to force myself to wake. Until it ends."

Her nervous laugh was a blade. She meant it to soften the blow, but it only cut deeper.

"So... yeah. I don't really like sleeping." She tugged at her sleeve, twisting the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

My voice came rougher than I meant. "When did you last sleep?"

She thought about it. Too long. And I hated that she had to think at all. "A couple of days ago. For a few hours."

I studied her—really studied her. The shadows under her eyes, the way exhaustion clung to her like another garment. And suddenly everything made sense. Why she haunted corridors at night. Why she buried herself in books in every language she could get her hands on. Why she lingered when everyone else went to bed.

She denied sleep because dreams betrayed her.

And I—Merlin curse me—I felt for her. Felt something twist in my chest, tight and sharp, something that wasn't mine to feel.

She cleared her throat, fragile and forced. "So, uh. Anyways. I have an idea for getting into Hufflepuff."

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

If I saw Sebastian force Garreth to his knees I'd never stop talking about it. / S

Chapter Text

Barrels and Ghosts

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"And I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time. Though I keep searching for an answer."

- Whitesnake

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

There is nothing quite like the castle at night. A hush so deep it feels like the very stones are holding their breath. Of course, a prefect or two occasionally wander the corridors, all puffed up with the importance of catching rule-breakers—but I've never had much trouble slipping past them.

Sebastian and I descended the steps, shadows of ourselves. Torchlight flickered and caught him in fragments—his figure glistening in and out, half-seen through the shimmer of the Disillusionment Charm. It made him look almost spectral himself, like we were two phantoms haunting the castle we weren't supposed to be in.

A week had passed since the pie. Strange, how quickly one week can spin itself into forever, especially when you've decided to do something entirely reckless. That was the week we made the plan. No one knew how to get into Hufflepuff—at least, no one we could ask. I could never bring myself to corner Poppy about it, nor any Hufflepuff student for that matter. They'd only look at me with those wide eyes, and I'd have to lie. I despised lying to friends.

But then I remembered: not only the living know secrets.

"How'd the test go, by the way?" Sebastian asked out of nowhere, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blinked at him. "The Apparition test?"

He nodded once, casual but curious.

"I passed," I said, maybe too quickly.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. "Congratulations."

I should have felt proud. I should have thought about the weeks of practice, the Ministry examiner's sharp eyes, the way most students fumbled their first try. But I hadn't. I'd taken the test with my mind elsewhere, my head full of other things—darker things. Passing had felt almost accidental, like luck more than skill.

Before I could spiral further, Sebastian's voice dropped low, sharp as glass.

"I see him," Sebastian whispered. His voice slipped against the stone like it might vanish into the walls.

I turned sharply toward him, heart quickening, and yes—there he was. A pale outline in the dark, floating with the air of someone who had never once hurried in his entire afterlife. The Fat Friar. Plump, jolly, with robes that billowed as though the night air itself conspired to make him ridiculous. And yet, there was kindness to his face—an openness ghosts rarely kept, especially after centuries of watching the living bumble about.

He drifted down lazily, humming to himself, and for a moment I thought he hadn't seen us at all. Then his gaze flicked—and his eyes widened.

"Well, well," he said, voice like bells muffled by fog. "What are two young Slytherins doing skulking about at this hour?"

I hesitated, then stepped forward. My wand slipped from my hand, charm breaking, and the magic draped from me like water sliding from glass. Beside me, Sebastian did the same. The Fat Friar floated closer, his grin wide as though we'd just made his eternity more interesting.

"Excuse me, sir," I began, though my throat felt dry.

"Oh, so polite!" he boomed, twirling once, his round belly and chains of beads passing straight through his own chin. "And you want something from me, don't you? No one comes to a ghost at this hour for idle chatter."

I glanced sideways at Sebastian. His nod was brief, a signal—go on.

"We need your help," I said, steadier this time.

"Mine?" His eyes brightened. "How curious! Why me?"

"Because you know the way," I said. "Into Hufflepuff."

The grin faltered, just a fraction. "Hufflepuff?" he repeated. "Two Slytherins seeking entrance where they don't belong? Now, that is forbidden." He scratched thoughtfully at his beard, his fingers trailing uselessly through his face.

"We know," I said, pulse hammering. "But we have no other choice. There's something there we must find."

His form wobbled as though stirred by invisible wind. "And what might that be, hmm?"

"A key."

"A key?" he said, unimpressed, as if we'd asked him for directions to the kitchens. "After all that build-up? I thought it would at least be... interesting."

"It is," I pressed, words tumbling out before I could stop them. "It's not just any key. It's a relic Lysandra Vale herself is hunting. We don't know why, but we know if she finds it, the consequences will be—" I stopped, breath short. "We're trying to stop her."

Suddenly, the ghost's eyes flicked up as if some thought had struck him. "What are your names?" he asked abruptly, his voice cutting through the stale air.

I stiffened. The question seemed harmless, but something in the way he said it felt like a test.

"Sebastian Sallow," Sebastian answered, his voice flat, guarded.

"Hm." The ghost's pale mouth twisted in thought before his gaze snapped to me.

"Valeria Velkan," I said softly.

The name left my lips like an admission, and I instantly regretted it. His brows knitted, and he repeated it back to me, slower this time. "Velkan..." His tone was sharper now, probing. Why did people always do that? Like my name was some riddle in itself.

Then he leaned closer, his form flickering faintly. "So tell me, with what you've just said... why should I trust you?"

I swallowed, forcing myself not to shrink back. "Because we're desperate. We've already found two keys. Now we only need two more."

The ghost chuckled, a dry, hollow sound that made the hairs on my arms rise. "Long ago, when it first happened, this castle nearly fell before it ever stood. That was when they were hidden. Few still know of them—but you do."

He began drifting around us in a slow circle, studying us like specimens. My pulse quickened under his stare. Then he stopped directly in front of me, smiling in a way that chilled me more than any storm outside.

"After that, five became four. But I'm getting ahead of myself." He tilted his head. "I'll help you, young Slytherins, because I trust your heart, young Velkan. Not like the Velkan I thought I'd meet."

I blinked. My heart? Which Velkan? The words tangled in my head, each more cryptic than the last.

"The password you're searching for," he continued, "is not like the rest. It is a puzzle. A riddle." Then, with a sudden movement that made me stumble back, he floated closer, extending a hand toward me. "Give me your hand."

My throat tightened. He was only a ghost, but still—something about the gesture made me hesitate. Slowly, I raised my hand. His misty palm hovered over mine, then tapped it once, sharply. He repeated the motion again, then withdrew.

"Listen closely," he said. His fingers tapped a rhythm in the air—steady, deliberate. "Helga. Hufflepuff. Tap that rhythm on the correct barrel—the one two from the bottom, middle of the second row."

His hand slipped through mine like ice water before vanishing. I gasped and jerked my arm back.

The ghost hovered backwards, bowing slightly. "Good luck, little Velkan child. My best regards in your grand mission." And with that, he dissolved into the wall like smoke in a draft.

I stood frozen, my skin still tingling from where he had touched me.

"Cryptic bastard," Sebastian muttered under his breath.

I turned to him. "What do you suppose he meant by five becoming four?"

"No clue." His eyes flickered, restless. "But I've a feeling we'll find out."

I nodded, though the unease sat heavy in my chest.

Then Sebastian started walking down the corridor. "Where are you going?" I asked.

He half-turned, his expression sharp. "To get this over with."

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

We stopped before the barrels, the air cool and faintly damp from the cellars. My heart gave a nervous thrum as I glanced at Sebastian. He wore his usual expression—flat, unreadable—like stone carved into a man's face.

"Well," I murmured, bracing myself. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my hand and tapped the rhythm exactly as the Fat Friar had shown me. Hel-ga Huf-fle-puff.

To my surprise, it worked. The largest barrel shuddered, groaning low before it rolled aside, revealing a round hole yawning into the wall. A doorway. An invitation.

I scoffed under my breath and flicked a glance at Sebastian. He gave the smallest nod, the kind that almost looked like disapproval if you didn't know him. I swallowed hard. It's fine. We've done two trials already. This isn't different. Not really. Except it was. This time it was just the two of us. Ominis wasn't here.

I stepped through, Sebastian's footsteps close behind.

The air shifted. Warmth washed over me, and suddenly we were standing in the Hufflepuff common room.

I blinked. It was... beautiful. Plants spilled from every shelf and corner, vines twisting lazily along golden wood beams. Light filtered down in soft shafts, caught by stained-glass windows painted with dancing badgers. A few armchairs were arranged in friendly clusters, as though waiting for conversations to fill them. The air smelled faintly of earth and bread, like home, even if it wasn't mine.

"Cozy," Sebastian muttered.

I glanced over at him, unable to help the smile tugging at my lips. "Well, I'll be damned. Sarcasm from Sebastian Sallow. Can't remember the last time."

"Maybe I'm always sarcastic," he said evenly, "and you just don't notice."

I chuckled and turned back to the room, scanning the nooks and shadows.

"Alright... where might you be..." I whispered, closing my eyes. I reached inward, searching for that telltale hum I'd felt before—that vibration in my bones, tugging me toward the hidden doors. But this time... nothing. Just silence.

I opened my eyes. "Any ideas? Something linked to Hufflepuff where we might start looking?"

Sebastian shook his head. No surprise there.

"Great," I muttered. "So we stumble around blind, then."

And so we searched. The common room was blessedly empty—not a student in sight, thank Merlin—and we combed every inch. I checked the lavatories, the girls' dormitory. Sebastian scouted the boys'. We looked under rugs, behind bookshelves, beneath potted plants. Hours passed, and still, nothing.

Defeat began to press down heavy, each step dragging more than the last.

I found Sebastian sitting in one of the couches, firelight painting gold across his cheekbones. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the flames crackle like they might give him answers.

"Find anything?" I asked, dropping beside him.

He shook his head. Typical.

"Feel anything?" he asked.

"No," I said simply. Nothing. Just silence.

He rubbed at his chin, thoughtful. "Then perhaps it isn't here."

I tilted my head at him, curious.

"Maybe it's somewhere else," he continued, voice steady, deliberate. "Some other place tied to Helga Hufflepuff herself."

"Maybe," I murmured, chewing the inside of my cheek.

"Ria? Sebastian? What in Merlin—"

I shot to my feet. "Shh!"

Poppy stood only a few feet away, her nightgown brushing the floor, her eyes wide with shock. Sebastian rose beside me, his presence immediately filling the room.

Poppy's hands flew up defensively. "How did you get in here? What are you—?"

"It's alright, Poppy," I started, fumbling for something—anything. "We're just—"

"Poppy," Sebastian cut in, his voice calm but commanding as he stepped toward her. She instinctively drew back, wary of him.

"We're searching for something important," he said evenly. "Something that will help us defeat Lysandra Vale."

"Don't say her name!" Poppy snapped, terror flashing in her eyes.

"I'm not afraid of her name," Sebastian replied, tone sharp enough to cut stone. Then, with a short exhale, he amended, "She-Who-Rose." His jaw flexed as though the concession cost him. "She wants something tied to Hufflepuff's house. And we're going to find it first."

I stood quietly, half stunned—not by Poppy's panic, but by Sebastian's voice. Confident. Measured. He didn't do this often. Usually, I spoke for us. But now? He led. And Merlin help me, I found that control of his far too attractive.

"You don't want her to succeed before us, do you?" Sebastian asked.

Poppy swallowed. "N-no... of course not."

"Then we need your help," he said simply.

He glanced at me, passing the reins back, and I nodded gratefully. "I'm sorry we startled you, Poppy. But this is important. Can you think of any place—a hidden space, maybe—that might be tied to Hufflepuff? Somewhere someone could hide an object?"

Poppy's brow furrowed, still shaken. "I... I don't know. But how do you even know about this? And how did you get in here?"

"Poppy," Sebastian cut her off again, firmer this time. "You know Valeria. She saved Hogwarts in her fifth year. Trouble seems to follow her—and her instincts are rarely wrong. If she feels She-Who-Rose is after something here, she's right."

Poppy hesitated, then nodded slowly. "...Alright."

"Anything?" I asked gently.

She looked around, searching her thoughts. Then her eyes brightened. "Have you checked the greenhouses? There are rumors of a hidden passageway—an old basement beneath them. I've never seen it, but... maybe."

My heart leapt. Of course. That made sense.

"Thank you, Poppy," I said, giving her a quick hug. She still felt stiff with nerves, but she nodded.

"Now go back to sleep, and please—don't tell anyone," I added. "No need to worry the others. Trust me."

She nodded again. "Alright. Just... be careful."

"We will."

I turned, instinctively grabbing Sebastian's arm to tug him toward the door. His arm was solid beneath my fingers, the veins along his forearm rising with the shift of muscle. My stomach flipped violently before I realized what I was doing and let go, pretending it hadn't happened at all as we slipped out of the common room.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

I feel like I'd befriend a ghost so fast if I attended Hogwarts. / S

Chapter Text

The Badger's Hollow

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"When you asked if I could see, I was pulverized. Set on overdrive, test and recognise. I know what to do."

- Seekae, Flume

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

The greenhouse doors groaned open, moonlight spilling through the glass panes like liquid silver. Shadows stretched long and strange across the floor, making the place feel less like a garden and more like a riddle waiting to be solved.

Then—there it was. The sound. Low, whispering, threading through the air.

"Shh," I hissed before I even realized I'd spoken. Sebastian closed the door behind us, his wand already lit, casting gold across the green walls.

"I hear it," I murmured, my body moving before my mind could catch up. My feet carried me forward on instinct, following the pull of that sound. Leaves brushed against my shoulders, damp and restless.

The trail ended at a wall of tangled vines. I raised my wand. "Incendio."

Flames hissed, devouring the green, curling back to reveal a hidden passage. My heart thrummed, half with fear, half with exhilaration. We slipped inside.

The air thickened, humid, heavy with the musk of soil and magic. A smaller chamber unfurled before us, its center claimed by a towering venomous tentacula. Its tendrils twitched lazily, as if amused by our intrusion.

"I've been here before," I whispered, almost to myself.

Sebastian's head turned sharply. "You have?"

"In fifth year. Though... I barely remember it." My voice felt distant. Something else—something older—was pulling me toward the far corner of the room.

That's where I saw it. A symbol, carved into the stone: round, weathered, a dragon and a badger. My fingers rose on their own, brushing it. The carving shifted under my touch, stretching and peeling back until a door revealed itself.

And yet—I froze.

"What is it?" Sebastian's voice was low, steady.

I swallowed, my gaze on the ground. "It's just us this time. What if... what if we don't make it?"

Before the panic could bloom, his hand was on my chin, firm, tilting my face up. His eyes caught mine—dark, unflinching, endless.

"Whatever lies beyond that door," he said softly, "you'd figure out with your eyes closed, Chaton."

My heart lurched so violently I thought it might tear itself free. His hand was warm, grounding, terrifying. All I could see were his fingers against my skin, the line of his arm, the fire smoldering in his gaze.

No. Focus, Valeria. Not now. Not this.

I nodded, too quickly. He let go, and I almost sagged with relief—except his touch still burned like a phantom against my skin.

He reached for the handle, fingers brushing the cold iron, and pushed the door open. Beyond lay a narrow room, stone swallowing light, familiar and dreadful all at once.

Then—I felt it. His hand slipped into mine. Firm. Deliberate. My breath caught. His grip wasn't hesitant—it was steady, grounding—but softer than I expected.

My heart stumbled into chaos. Panic, heat, a dizzying swirl of oh gods, oh no, oh yes.

"Come on," he murmured, tugging me forward.

And I followed. Of course I followed. Because he was holding my hand.

Only once the door sealed behind us did he release me, leaving my palm cold, tingling.

"Lumos maxima," I whispered, sending light arcing across the stone walls. Nothing. Empty, just as before. My knuckles whitened around my wand.

"Verum Ostende."

The spell reverberated, and with a shimmer, the pensive materialized. Above it floated a vial, gleaming faintly in the glow. I took it carefully, pulled the cork, and poured the memory into the basin.

It rippled, pale and endless.

I glanced at Sebastian, pulse racing for reasons far beyond magic. "Watch with me?"

He nodded. Stepped closer. Too close.

Together, we lowered our heads into the swirl.

"Welcome... to the Badger's Hollow."

The world tilted. My stomach lurched as the floor fell away, mist curling up around my ankles and dragging me down, down, until I landed hard.

Stone. Cold, solid, but not damp like the room had been. This place felt warmer, touched by light even in the shadows. I straightened slowly, glancing around. The air smelled faintly of earth and herbs, as if the room itself had roots.

Then—her.

A figure stood ahead, robed in soft yellow threaded with gold. Her face was kind but stern, her hair bound simply beneath a veil. Her eyes glowed with something steadier than fire—warmth, endurance, the quiet certainty of someone who had never once broken her word.

"Helga Hufflepuff," Sebastian breathed beside me.

Her gaze rested on us both, steady, unblinking. When she spoke, her voice was calm and even, yet it seemed to echo in the very marrow of my bones.

"Fairness. Loyalty. Endurance," she said, her tone unshakable. "These are the traits I hold most dear. Not the fleeting brilliance of ambition. Not the brittle mask of pride. But the strength to stand when others fall. The courage to remain true, even when the world turns against you."

I felt my throat tighten. Her words pressed into me differently than Slytherin's or Gryffindor's had—less like a blade, more like a weight I had to choose to carry.

"You would claim the key," Helga continued. "But it cannot be won through wit alone, nor by power stolen in shadows. It must be earned through loyalty tested, through toil unyielding. Only those who prove their hearts unshaken... may pass.".

"One may leave, but I will take the other. If you falter, the Hollow will not yield. Its earth will close around you, its silence will bury you. Fail, and you will be forgotten, as countless others who could not endure."

The stone beneath us rumbled faintly, as though the chamber itself were alive, listening.

"Prove yourselves," Helga said at last, her voice both gentle and immovable, "or remain here, nameless, until time itself forgets you."

The badgers flared bright, bursting into smoke that drifted through the chamber like mist. The air thickened, pressing close around us, heavy with expectation.

I tightened my grip on my wand, pulse drumming against my ribs.

Beside me, Sebastian muttered under his breath, "Shit."

And the Hollow began to shift.

Air rushed back into my lungs like I'd been underwater too long. My knees buckled, back hitting the cold stone wall as the world of the Pensieve dissolved. My heart thrashed, each beat sharp as a drum.

Beside me, Sebastian gripped the edge of the basin, knuckles white, his breath ragged. "That cryptic bi—"

"It's just like before," I cut him off, my own voice steadier than I felt. "We have to demonstrate Hufflepuff's traits to pass."

"She didn't say what we'd actually have to do."

"No..." My gaze swept the room like it might offer up answers if I stared hard enough.

"Didn't the other Founders do that?" he pressed.

"I think so" I murmured, thinking fast. "Though, remember the Lion's Den? Godric didn't mention any statue either. Just true bravery—and then the test revealed itself."

Sebastian tilted his head, jaw tight. "So what's true loyalty?"

I shook my head, already scanning the shadows for some trigger. "No clue yet."

We prowled the small chamber like trapped foxes—him muttering, me searching every seam in the stones. No doors appeared, no floor dropped away. Cobwebs hung still, the air heavy.

"Why isn't anything happening?" he growled, peering under a cracked arch.

"I—don't know." My mind raced, replaying Helga's words, every nuance. Loyalty. Endurance. To stand when it's easier to run. There had to be a mechanism—there always was.

And then—

The floor trembled. Dust sifted from the ceiling as the stone shuddered. A door carved itself out of the far wall, the tremor ceasing with a final crack. Beyond it: the venomous tentacula, the dark corridor back out.

We stood in silence, the kind of silence that feels like a held breath.

"Well," Sebastian muttered, stepping forward, "that was bloody easy."

"Wait." My voice snapped sharper than I intended. He stopped.

"There's something off about this," I said, forcing myself to slow down, to think.

He turned, brow furrowed. "The door's right there."

"No." I shook my head, my brain mapping possibilities. "This can't be it. We haven't proven loyalty at all."

"Maybe the room already knows," he said.

"That's not how the others worked," I shot back. "The Serpent's Coil didn't 'know' we'd already cast Unforgivables. The Lion's Den didn't care we'd already been brave. Each trial demanded proof in the moment. Why would this one be any different? Besides, there's no key yet."

Sebastian muttered a curse, rubbing the back of his neck.

I stared at the door, calculations running behind my eyes. "It's a test," I said finally, the thought slotting into place like a lock turning. "'One may leave, but I will take the other.' Go—and the door probably closes before the second person can get through. Or worse."

"We'll just leave at the same time," Sebastian suggested.

"And you're sure that'll work?" I asked, eyes narrowing. "What if the door snaps shut halfway? What if one of us is trapped? This is Helga Hufflepuff we're dealing with. Loyalty means staying, not bolting. And we can't leave without the key."

He exhaled hard and slid down the wall, looking at me with something like resignation. "You're the Veilborn. You decide."

My mouth had gone dry. I swallowed. "We stay," I said finally. "We wait for the real test. We don't move until it reveals itself. That's the only way I trust this."

He didn't argue. Just sighed, nodding once.

I lowered myself beside him, the stone cold through my robes, my wand still clenched in my hand. We sat together in the dim light, surrounded by silence and possibility, waiting for whatever came next.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Talk about intuition. Let's just hope she's right. / S

Chapter Text

Locked In

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"I wish I didn't do a lot of the shit I do, and I wish you didn't too."

- Lil Peep

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

I had no idea how long we'd been sitting here. Hours. Maybe days. The place didn't have clocks, only stone and silence and that damned pensive hovering in the air like it was laughing at us. Door wide open, nothing stopping us but Valeria's stubborn insistence. It's a test, she'd said. Some bloody test. Right.

The silence pressed in, thick enough to make my ears ring. Just our breathing, nothing else. Until—

"What's your favorite color?"

I turned my head slowly, narrowing my eyes.

She sat cross-legged across from me, chin propped on her hand, like she'd been waiting for the right moment to ask. "I'm bored. Thought we could get to know each other."

Suspicion prickled. "Why?"

She waved a hand. "Never mind why. Just answer the question."

I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. Green."

Her brows arched. "Green? Why green?"

I knew exactly why, but I wasn't about to hand her that piece of information. "I just like it."

"Boring." She huffed. "Ask me what mine is."

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I don't care."

Her mouth dropped open. "Sure you do! What if I get hexed by some ancient curse, and the only way to save me is to shout my favorite color into the void?" She threw her arms wide, staring dramatically at the ceiling.

I blinked once. "You're unhinged."

"Come on, Sallow. Ask me!"

I sighed. "Fine. What's your favorite color?"

She tapped her chin, eyes bright with thought. "Hmm... I'm not sure."

My head dropped back against the wall. "Brilliant. So if you're cursed now, you're dead anyway."

She swatted my arm. "Shh, I'm thinking." Then, after a beat: "Maybe blue, like ripples in water. Or orange, like leaves during autumn. Or—oh, I know! Pink, like a sunset!"

I just stared at her. Merlin, how does someone survive with that much energy inside one body?

"I'd love to see a sunset right now," she went on, her voice softening. "All those colors bleeding together. Maybe from a meadow, plucking flowers, or reading a book."

My lips twitched. And her imagination—relentless.

"Is that where your head goes when you go quiet for a while?" I asked.

Her eyes found mine. "Sometimes. But usually different places, different things. I like imagining. Helps pass the time."

The silence returned after that. 

I tugged my trouser cuff up, fingers finding the familiar weight in my boot. The blade slid out, catching the dim light as I turned it in my hand. Steel. Cold. Real. The one thing in this room that made sense.

"Is that a real blade?" Her voice, soft but sharp, cut through the silence.

"Yes." My answer was automatic.

"Sebastian..." she said, shifting so her body angled toward me, brows knitting. "I gave you a fake one for a reason." There was that tone again—half reprimand, half disappointment.

"I know." I flicked the knife once, watching the glow skate along its edge. "And it was cute. But you know it's not the same."

Her lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the scars on my fingers before she blurted, "Well, I thought it might be smart. Considering how many scars you have, it's not like you need more."

Then she froze, hand flying to her mouth like she could shove the words back in. "Sorry," she mouthed against her palm.

"It's fine," I said. Flat. Automatic.

"No, really, I—" she started, softer now. "I didn't mean to press on something so... private."

I exhaled, slow. If I was going to be trapped in this cursed room with her for hours, we might as well talk about something real. "You asked me once—in that broom cupboard—how I got the scars."

She blinked. "Yes, but I—"

"Do you still want to know?" I cut her off, eyes locked on hers.

Her throat bobbed. "Y... yes," she said quietly. Then, after a beat, "Only if you want to tell me."

Her eyes held mine—sharp, steady—like she already knew the answer.

I drew a long breath, but it felt like glass in my lungs.

"A few times a day," I began slowly, "the dementors would come into my cell."

Just saying it pulled the memory open like an old wound. The smell hit first in my mind, damp stone and rust. Then the sound—chains somewhere you couldn't see, and that low, rattling hiss as they drew near.

"They'd suck at everything that wasn't despair. Like... like they were hollowing me out from the inside." My voice came out flat. "Sometimes they'd lift me up—literally hover me into the air—and then let go. Just let me fall. Stone floor, glass shards, whatever was there. That's how most of the scars happened. Not curses. Just falling. Over and over."

I didn't look at Valeria. I couldn't.

"But the dementors weren't the only ones," I said, my hand tightening around the knife until my knuckles went white. "Sometimes an Auror would stop by. Not to help. To remind us what we were. They hated the new law—the one that said anyone sent there under eighteen might get a second chance later." A bitter laugh slipped out, sharp as a blade. "They didn't like that one bit."

I rolled up my sleeve, showing a faint welt across my forearm. "Ropes. Slashes. Their favorite trick was a whip charmed to burn as it cut. Shoulders. Face. Wherever." My voice went rough. "They called it discipline."

Finally, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still on me, unblinking.

"You believe in me too much, Chaton," I said quietly. "Because there's nothing left of me."

The words came out before I could stop them. And once they did, I couldn't seem to shut up.

"The dementors took it all. They spent hours draining every joyful thought, every memory, every scrap of feeling until I was just... dark. Empty. Nothing but the worst parts of myself echoing in a box." My throat tightened but I kept going. "The cells were tiny. Cramped. Cold. A slit of a window, barely enough light to see. You never left unless an Auror dragged you out. You never saw another person, not really. Just their screams. You learned them. Who was who. You could tell by the sound which one had broken that day."

I stared at the blade, my reflection warped on its surface. "The dementors make you relive your worst memories, over and over. You don't sleep. You don't eat. You just... live inside every mistake you've ever made. Day after day, night after night, until you don't know your own name anymore. When I first came back to Hogwarts, I don't remember the first weeks. I was still there. Still in the cell, still in the memories. And then..." I swallowed hard. "Then I decided I'd force myself to remember it all. Replay it until I couldn't run from it. So I wouldn't forget what I'd done."

The words left me like smoke. For some strange reason, it didn't sting like I'd expected. Saying it aloud felt... lighter. Like letting poison drain.

Then a sound cut through the silence. A soft, broken sob.

I looked up sharply. Valeria sat there, eyes locked on mine, tears streaking down her face. She didn't speak. She just moved. Scooted closer until she was right beside me, and in one motion her arms wrapped around my neck. She pressed her head into the crook of my shoulder, chest to mine, legs folded under her.

My fingers hovered in the air, still holding the blade—then opened. The knife clattered to the floor with a dull thunk. She didn't flinch. She didn't move at all. Just held me. Firm, determined, like she meant to anchor me to the ground.

I stared at her, stunned. My hands moved on their own, landing on her back. For a heartbeat I didn't even remember how to breathe. We stayed there like that—minutes, maybe. I lost track.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes shone, rimmed red.

"I'm so sorry, Sebastian," she whispered.

I almost scoffed. "Sorry?"

"Yes," she said, voice small but steady.

I shook my head. "You shouldn't be sorry for me, Chaton. I did this to myself."

"No," she said. "It wasn't fair. And no matter what you did, no one should suffer like that. Not ever."

Of course she'd say that. Valeria—ever the one to find light where there wasn't any. The only person in this cursed place who could look at me, a murderer, and still feel sorry.

And I hated how much it didn't hurt to hear her say it.

"I'm not the only one who's been through shit," I said. My voice was flat, almost cruel in its honesty.

Her eyes snapped up to mine, startled, before sliding away. She loosened her arms from around my neck and settled beside me instead, her back pressed to the wall, like she suddenly needed something solid to hold her upright.

"I've been lucky," she said after a beat, though her voice wavered. "Most people have it worse."

"Never," I cut in, sharper than I meant. "Never compare what's happened to you to anyone else."

Her jaw flexed, but her gaze stayed fixed on the floor. "But it's true," she whispered. "I mean, yes... there are a few things I'd have changed. Maybe parents who actually wanted me. But truth be told, I can't remember much of my childhood."

The words dropped heavy between us.

"There are... fragments," she went on. "But I don't know if they're real, or just things my mind stitched together. Most of it's gone. Until I was about thirteen. That's when... Mr. Whitmore decided I was mature enough."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the words nearly strangling her on their way out.

Something ugly flared inside me.

"I don't know," she whispered, her hands twisting in her lap. "Maybe if I'd been a better daughter. Cleaned more. Asked for less. Stayed quiet, done everything right, then maybe—"

"Stop." The word left me like a blade.

She froze.

I reached for her hand before I could think better of it, gripping it tight enough that she had no choice but to look at me. My eyes locked onto hers, and I held her there, every word a vow forced through clenched teeth.

"Valeria. Listen to me. What that man did to you has nothing—nothing—to do with how clean the floors were, or how quiet you were, or how good of a daughter you think you should've been. It's not about you at all. It was only about him. And it was absolutely, entirely, not your fault."

Her lips parted, trembling. Her eyes glossed, water spilling over before she could stop it.

I leaned in closer, voice low, raw. "It is not your fault. Do you hear me?"

She nodded once, choked on a sniffle.

That should've been enough. I should've let go, stepped back into the cold stone of myself. But I didn't. My chest tightened as I pulled her into me again, arms closing around her like a vice.

Why the fuck was I hugging so much lately?

Why the fuck couldn't I stop?

Her small frame shuddered against me, and I felt the wet heat of her tears seeping into my shirt. She buried herself in the crook of my neck, sobbing in quiet, broken bursts, and I hated myself for holding her tighter. Hated myself for not being able to be stone, not when she was shaking in my arms like that.

She shouldn't be seeking comfort from me. Not me. But gods help me—I couldn't let her sit there and carry it alone.

Minutes bled together. Her sobs dulled to hiccups, then to silence. Finally, she pulled back, dragging the heel of her hand across her eyes, cheeks blotched red.

"Breathe, Valeria," she whispered to herself, voice so faint it nearly broke me. She pressed her thumb to her fingers, counting slow, deliberate beats, each inhale shaky but steadying.

"What are you doing?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her gaze flicked to me, eyes still rimmed with tears. "It's a calming exercise," she murmured. "I use it when... when my anxiety kicks in."

A sharp pang cut through my chest. The thought of her—alone, clutching herself together like this—sitting in some dark corner, whispering reminders to breathe. Counting seconds just to feel steady again.

And then, against all odds, her lips twitched into a fragile smile. A soft, uneven chuckle escaped her, raw but real. "I suppose we both have our shit," she said quietly.

Something in me cracked, just a hairline fracture. I let a faint smile ghost across my mouth. "I suppose," I said.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

Time bled strangely in that room. Hours folded into each other until I couldn't tell day from night—if either even existed down here. My stomach had long since given up reminding me it was empty, my throat was dry, and my body hummed with the restless ache of sleeplessness. We'd talked, here and there—about nothing and everything. Small things. Childhood stories, classes, petty rivalries. Anything to distract from the fact we were still trapped, waiting for some unseen judge to decide if we were worthy to leave.

The silence between us had stretched comfortably when Valeria suddenly shivered. It was faint, but I saw the tremor ripple through her shoulders.

My head tilted. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just a bit cold," she said quickly, hugging her arms around herself.

Without thinking—before I could stop myself—I stripped off my robes and swung them around her shoulders. The fabric draped over her, nearly swallowing her whole.

She blinked, startled, then swallowed once. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice quieter than usual. A beat later, she gave a tiny, crooked chuckle. "Wait," she said suddenly, eyes brightening. "I remember reading something..."

Her wand was in her hand before I could ask. She muttered under her breath, a soft string of syllables, and tapped the floor beside us. A pulse of magic rippled out, faint but sure—and to my shock, the ice-cold stone began to warm. The air shifted with it, the biting chill chased back just enough to be bearable.

I arched a brow. "Huh. I should write that one down."

"You really should," she said, smirking faintly. Then she tipped her head, green eyes glinting. "You know, if you'd let me teach you a few things, maybe you wouldn't be such a slacker at Crossed Wands."

That almost dragged a laugh out of me. Almost. "You know damned well I'm the best duelist there is."

She gave me a look full of mischief. "Maybe you were. Before I came along in fifth year."

I couldn't help it—an actual chuckle escaped me, low and grudging.

"And what about Alora?" she pressed, smug now. "Have you ever beaten her?"

"Once," I admitted through gritted teeth.

Valeria's grin widened. "Well, I've beaten her more times than I can count. Of course, she's beaten me too, but still—"

"Perhaps get off your high horse, then," I muttered.

She shoved at my shoulder, playful, before straightening. "Oh, come on. What else are we supposed to do in here? Let me teach you one. I'm sure you don't know it."

Suspicion narrowed my eyes. "Which one?"

She tapped her lip thoughtfully, then lit up. "Praesidium Caloris."

I frowned. "That doesn't even sound real."

"It is," she said, rolling her eyes. "Advanced protection charm. Old, obscure—most professors don't even bother teaching it anymore. But it's useful. You can weave it into shields to guard against cold, fire, even poison if you know how to channel it right."

I blinked once. Alright. That I'd never heard of.

Valeria stood, brushing the dust from her skirt, and tugged both of our robes aside to clear space. "Come on," she said, expectant.

I sighed, but rose anyway, brushing dirt off my trousers. "This better not end with me blowing my own hand off."

Her lips twitched. "No promises."

She raised her wand, posture precise. "It's about intent. Praesidium is the shield itself—but Caloris anchors it, gives it heat. Think of it like... forcing your magic to cling to the body instead of spreading out."

I mimicked her stance, raising my wand half-heartedly. "So you're saying... hug myself with magic?"

She groaned. "Merlin's sake, Sebastian, just watch."

She flicked her wand, fluid and sharp. A shimmer bloomed around her body like golden light caught in glass, faint at first, then strengthening into a halo. I felt the warmth of it even from where I stood. The air bent faintly around her, as though she stood in a current only she could feel.

She lowered her wand, the glow fading. "Like that."

I let out a low whistle despite myself. "Not bad."

"Your turn," she said.

I raised my wand, muttered the incantation, tried to summon the same pulse of intent she'd described—and all that happened was a weak puff of sparks at my feet.

She snorted. "Adorable. Try again."

Scowling, I did. This time a faint shimmer crawled up my arm but sputtered out before it reached my shoulder.

"Better," she said, stepping closer. Too close. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against my wrist to correct the angle of my wand. "Here. Stop trying to force it. Think of it as... wrapping yourself in loyalty. A promise your own body makes to protect itself."

Her words—and her touch—sent a pulse through me hotter than any spell. I swallowed hard, trying to focus.

I cast again. This time the shimmer held, weak, flickering, but there. A thread of golden light wrapped loosely around me, the warmth just barely reaching my skin.

Her smile flickered, warm and unguarded. "See? You're getting it. Not bad at all."

I let out a sharp breath, lowering my wand. "Careful, Chaton. Keep complimenting me and I might get used to it."

For a beat, colour rose in her cheeks—soft, fleeting—but she held my gaze anyway, her lips curving into that quiet, maddening smile. The kind of smile that could set my pulse stuttering no matter how hard I tried to play it off.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Cried writing that first part ngl. / S

Chapter Text

Together or Not at All

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"But I will go down with this ship, and I won't put my hands up and surrender."

- Dido

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

I'd lost track of time. Hours, maybe a couple days. The pensive still floated in the center like some smug little ghost, the door wide open, and yet here we sat, trapped. My legs ached from the stone, but I didn't move.

Valeria's head rested in my lap. She'd slumped there after leaning on my shoulder too long, and when she started to slip, I'd eased her down. Now she slept—if you could call it that—breathing soft and even, lashes smudged against her cheeks. I watched her chest rise and fall, counting the breaths. It was the only thing keeping my own breathing steady.

I wanted sleep. I wanted to shut my eyes and let oblivion take me, but every time my lids drooped, a thought cut through: What if she doesn't wake up? What if this damned chamber took her too?

Her lips parted slightly in sleep. A stray strand of hair—one pale thread—stuck to her mouth. My hand twitched with the urge to brush it away.

Then she jolted.

A sharp, guttural gasp tore out of her, eyes flying open, mouth stretching as she dragged in air that didn't seem to reach her lungs. It wasn't a normal waking. It was a silent scream, a drowning sound.

"Valeria?" My voice was rough. Her pupils darted back and forth like she was seeing something I couldn't. The sound she made—hissing, wheezing—turned my blood to ice.

I grabbed her head, tilting it so she'd look at me. "Valeria?!" My voice cracked. Panic sharpened my ribs like knives. Was she choking? Cursed?

Her eyes were wide but unfocused. Her hands clawed at nothing.

Then it hit me—the words she'd told me before, about her sleep. Waking nightmares. Faces over my bed. Hands grabbing me.

I shook her once, hard enough to make my palm sting. "Valeria! I'm here—can you hear me?" My eyes scanned the corners, expecting shadows to peel off the walls, some monster for me to rip apart. Nothing. Only her, lost inside whatever hell her mind was feeding her.

"It's okay," I heard myself saying, softer, lower. My hands dragged her up, clutching her against my chest. "It's just a nightmare, Chaton. It's not real. I'm here. I've got you. Breathe. Breathe with me."

Her body trembled in my arms. Then, like glass shattering, she let out a scream. Raw, ripped from somewhere deep. She scrambled back off me, touching her body, frantic.

"Hey, hey—look at me." I crawled toward her, palms out like I was approaching a wild animal. "You're awake now. You're here. No shadows."

Slowly, painfully, she came back. Her eyes found mine. She exhaled a jagged breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered, burying her face in her hands. "I just saw—"

"Shh. Don't apologise." My hand moved before my brain caught up, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing the trembling point of her chin. "You're safe. We're still in this room."

Her eyes flicked to mine. Something in her eased, she let her head drop into my palm. My thumb kept moving without permission, tracing the edge of her jaw.

We stayed like that—our breath mingling, the air between us heavy, charged—until her breathing steadied. She still had one hand covering her mouth, like she could shove the nightmare back in.

Then, softly: "Sebastian?"

"Yes, Chaton."

She gulped. "Have I ever told you... I quite like your scars?"

It almost startled a laugh out of me. "You like my scars?"

Her gaze flicked down, almost shy. "Not how they came to be. But they're like... your freckles. Just there. Marking you. Like a painting." Her voice dipped lower. "Beautiful, in a way."

I scoffed, a bitter edge creeping in. "No one except you could find scars beautiful, Chaton."

"Maybe not," she murmured. But her eyes didn't stay on mine—they dipped to my mouth. To the scar slicing across my lower lip. She bit the inside of her cheek.

My pulse went off like a curse.

The faint flutter under my palm answered her swallow, her pulse had gone quick, a timid butterfly under my skin.

I let my face move closer without meaning to. The sound of my own breathing was too loud. I could trace, in my head, the exact shape of the next second—the way her eyes would widen, the way her fingers might curl into my sleeve. I tasted an old promise and a new, fierce hunger. The world tilted toward that small, desperate edge.

No.

I yanked my hand back, fingers flexing against the stone. Scooted back until my shoulders hit the wall. Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. I couldn't do this—couldn't keep playing at something I couldn't give her.

She opened her mouth, some half-formed thought trembling there, then shut it. Looked away.

I couldn't stand it. I pushed to my feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"I'm going to rewatch the pensive," I said, my voice harsher than I meant. "Maybe we missed something."

Before she could answer, I stepped to the basin, stared down into its swirling light, and lowered my head. Anything to drown out the image of her looking at my scars like they were worth touching.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

I came up for air like I'd been drowning. My lungs burned as I tore my head from the pensive for the fifth time. The swirl of silver mist clung to my fingers before slipping back into the basin, like it was mocking me.

"I told you," Valeria's voice cut from beside me, hoarse with exhaustion. "We're not missing anything."

"There has to be something," I snapped, already reaching for the basin again. My fingers hovered above the glow. If there was a hint—some cryptic scrap Helga had hidden in her words—I would drag it out with my bare hands. "There's always something."

Then her fingers clamped around my wrist. She didn't just touch me; she dragged me back with a surprising force. "Stop, Sebastian!"

My patience—thin as spider silk—snapped. "We leave now!" My voice echoed off the walls, rough and ragged. "I'm going insane in here!"

"I know!" she shot back. Her voice cracked on the last word. "And I'm going crazy just thinking about it!"

We stared at each other across the dim chamber—wild-eyed, pale, both of us frayed down to our threads. How long had it been? Two days? Three? Our stomachs were hollow, our lips cracked. She'd tried every spell she could think of, muttering incantations under her breath until her voice went raw, and still nothing.

Valeria's gaze flicked back to the open doorway. She stepped toward it slowly, like it might bite. I pushed myself up, my limbs heavy, and followed.

She stood at the threshold, wand in hand. "Lumos," she whispered.

I frowned. "Lumos? That's what you're going with?" My voice was flat. She's losing it, I thought. But then I saw it—just a shimmer, faint and silvery, hanging in the doorway like a spiderweb catching moonlight.

Her shoulders squared. "It's enchanted," she murmured. "I knew it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So if we walk out, what? It rips us apart? Drains our magic?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, her wand shaking in her hand.

I took a long breath, my chest aching with it. "Helga's words," she said suddenly, her voice quieter but harder now. "One may leave, but I will take the other. If you falter, the Hollow will not yield. Its earth will close around you, its silence will bury you. Fail, and you will be forgotten, as countless others who could not endure."

I turned to her slowly. "So she meant it literally," I said. "One can go. The other... stays."

"I... I don't know what happens to the one who stays," she whispered.

"Maybe if one leaves, the key appears," I muttered. "But that's not loyalty."

She was trembling now. Thinking herself in circles. Her eyes darted across the walls like they held some answer we'd missed. Then, suddenly, she stilled. Her wand lowered.

"I'm not leaving!" She said, her voice clear and cutting through the stale air.

I froze.

"I will rot in here if I have to!" She said, louder. "But I'm not leaving Sebastian!"

For a heartbeat, everything inside me went still. All the noise. All the hunger. Just still.

Then I found my voice again. "Me either," I said, and it came out rough, almost a growl. "I'm not going. So you can close that damned door. If only one can leave, then loyalty can shove itself—"

Light exploded.

White-gold, blinding, searing my retinas shut. It roared up from the floor and ceiling at once, so bright my teeth ached. I threw an arm across my eyes and felt the heat like a summer sun. Valeria did the same.

Then it vanished.

In its place floated a key. Silver, glinting with yellow stones, a badger and dragon intertwined on its bow.

We stared at it. At each other. Back at it again.

Valeria bolted forward first, her fingers closing around it like she was afraid it would vanish. She held it against her chest, staring at me, eyes wide.

"Together," she said. Just one word, but it hit like a vow.

I nodded once, took her hand. Her grip was warm despite the cold. She drew a deep breath.

And we moved.

Bolting out of the room, our steps in perfect sync. I half-expected the doorway to slam on us, teeth of stone biting shut. But it didn't.

We stumbled out the other side, the world snapping into focus again—the greenhouse's stale air, the faint hiss of the venomous tentacula. We were back. The door behind us sealed itself with a soft hiss and then melted into the wall as if it had never been there.

Valeria clutched the key like a lifeline, her chest rising and falling. "I can't believe that worked," she mouthed.

"Why in Salazar's name did it work?" My voice sounded dazed even to me.

She turned the key over in her palm, her expression softening. "We showed what Helga asked for. Fairness. Loyalty. Endurance. We didn't just say it—we lived it. Hours locked in there, refusing to leave each other behind."

I snorted faintly, rubbing my face. "We could've made that speech first thing."

"Maybe," she said. "But maybe the chamber needed to be sure we meant it."

I shook my head. "These bloody games."

She opened her palm, looking at the key like it was something holy. "Only one more to go."

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Waste of time or necessary? / S

Chapter Text

Roots and Ruin

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"I wish I had monopoly over your mind, I wish I didn't care all the time."

- Melanie Martinez

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"Come on, Rubes—we're going to be late for Herbology!" I called into Honeydukes, my voice pitched higher with panic than I meant.

"Just hold on—I almost got it!" Ruby shouted back, muffled by shelves and sugar.

Of course she was "almost done." She'd been "almost done" for ten minutes, stuffing her bag like she was preparing for a lifetime siege rather than a double period with Professor Garlick. The other customers—third-years, mostly—watched her with the same wide-eyed curiosity as kneazles spying on a mouse. I wanted to melt into the cobblestones. Why did I follow her in here? She promised it would be quick. (It was never quick. I should have known.)

I scratched absently at my neck, tugging at the scarf that had suddenly decided to feel like it was spun from nettles. Note to self: different fabric next time. Preferably something that didn't make me want to claw my own throat open.

And then, of course, my thoughts slipped where they always seemed to lately: back into that room. The Badger's Hollow. Those three endless days with Sebastian. Three days that felt like they'd stretched into years. Every detail clung to me like burrs—our conversations, his voice when he spoke about Azkaban, the way it cracked in places he didn't want me to notice. The moment he pulled me against him when I was trembling from that nightmare. His hand at my cheek. And then—the withdrawal. Always the withdrawal. Like I was fire and he'd scorched himself by reaching too close.

"Okay, I'm ready!" Ruby chirped, appearing at my side with her cheeks bulging, sticky fingers clutching more sweets than she could possibly eat in a week.

"Finally," I muttered, grabbing her wrist before she could dawdle again. With a twist, we Apparated back to the castle, my stomach lurching as the world righted itself.

We landed just outside the castle, and bolted to make it in time. The air was thick with the faint tang of damp earth and something vaguely herbal as we neared the greenhouses. I froze for a fraction of a second, memory tugging like a hook—Sebastian beside me, the hollow hidden beyond the leaves. No one else knew.

"Come on!" I hissed, dragging Ruby along. We bolted through the doors of the greenhouse, practically skidding to our seats just as the room quieted. Every head turned toward us. I tried to fold myself small, like I could vanish behind the fronds of a puffapod.

And then—blessedly—the door opened again.

"Good afternoon, students!" Professor Garlick beamed, her presence as warm and bright as sunlight.

A chorus of voices answered her. I exhaled, finally letting my shoulders slump, relief washing over me like cool water. Safe. For now.

"Today, we're going to—"

And that was it. I lost her. Whatever Professor Garlick said after that went fluttering straight past my ears like a wayward snargaluff pod. My quill tapped against my parchment uselessly as I stared at the table, pretending to take notes. All I could think about was the next key. Always the next key.

It felt like an illness, a fever that gripped my thoughts and refused to let go. I wanted it finished, wanted this whole twisted scavenger hunt Lysandra had thrust upon us buried in the past. But then—the questions. What would I do once I had them? Why did she want them? And why did a part of me feel like I was already far too entangled to ever wriggle free?

Relax, Valeria. Breathe. Don't be rude to your head—it's only doing its job. Everything will be alright.

Think of something else. The meadow, yes—the one just beyond the castle. That stretch of grass is always beautiful. The flowers won't bloom until spring, but when they do, they are unmatched. I pictured myself there, sitting among the green, plucking petals one by one.

"Valeria?"

My head snapped up. Sebastian stood before me, as if he'd simply stepped out of the air itself—clad in silver armour. The metal gleamed, catching the faint light like it had been forged from starlight itself. A sword hung at his side, his dark hair tousled above the polished helm tucked under his arm.

He extended a gauntleted hand, steady, unyielding. I slid my fingers into his, feeling the cool press of steel against my skin. He pulled me to my feet with ease, and suddenly the meadow dissolved. The Undercroft walls rose around us, but he didn't change—still a knight, armour and all, the clink of it echoing as he stepped closer.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. 

"I wanted to see you. And... I've been meaning to give you something," he murmured, his eyes burning with intent.

"What?" I whispered, heart hammering.

"This."

He leaned in, lips brushing mine with a softness that stole the air from my chest. Then, suddenly, he lifted me as though I weighed nothing and set me onto the nearest table. I gasped, heat flaring through me as his mouth claimed mine again, harder this time, urgent. His hands roamed, mapping every line of me until they paused—fingers firm at my throat. My pulse thundered beneath them, wild and reckless.

"...Mr. Steel and Miss Velkan. And Mr. Gaunt and Miss Sweeting."

My head jerked up so fast my neck twinged. The image shattered, dissolving into nothing but air. My heart still hammered as I blinked, dazed, back into the classroom.

Steel? As in—Cedar Steel?

My hand shot into the air before I even knew what I was doing.

"Yes, Miss Velkan?" Professor Garlick's smile was patient, too patient.

"Uh, sorry, professor, could you maybe... repeat that last part?" My voice squeaked. Wonderful.

A ripple of laughter spread across the greenhouse.

"Please try to pay attention, Miss Velkan," Garlick said gently, though her words landed like a slap. More chuckles followed. "I was reading out the pairs for the next few lessons—the partner you'll be working with on cultivating Cirriphyllum Sprigweed and writing your NEWT paper."

I nearly keeled over right there among the puffapods. My head swam. Partner. Paired. With him.

"Now everyone, find your pairs and get to work."

The world tilted. No. Absolutely not. There had to be some mistake. She couldn't possibly—

"Hello there, Velkan."

The voice made my stomach plummet like I'd swallowed a cauldron stone. Slowly, against my better judgment, I turned.

Cedar Steel. Smug little Cedar bloody Steel.

I whipped my head back toward the table so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. If I didn't look at him, maybe he'd vanish.

He didn't. He slid into the seat beside me as though he had every right to occupy space in my vicinity. "So..." he began, in a voice so level it almost unnerved me, "the instructions say we should start by mixing the soil with powdered mooncalf bone before we plant the seed."

I blinked. That was it? No jab? No mockery? Just soil and mooncalf bones?

"Are you plotting something?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

His brow lifted, mildly amused. "Plotting? No. Just... working." He reached for the mortar and pestle, measuring out the powder with meticulous care, as though he hadn't spent the last two years making my life miserable.

I stared at him like he'd grown a second head. He didn't even glance up. Just continued, calm as you please, "Hold the pot steady for me, will you?"

My hands moved before my brain gave permission. I braced the little clay pot while he poured the mix in. No insults. No gloating. Just... planting.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you playing at?"

"Nothing." His tone was maddeningly even. He tamped the soil down with the back of his hand. "You've got a sharp suspicion, Velkan, I'll give you that. But not everything's a game."

Not everything's a game? This from Cedar Steel, human embodiment of a dungbomb prank? My thoughts tangled so fast I barely noticed when he slid the seed packet toward me.

"Your turn," he said.

I hesitated, half-expecting the seeds to explode into green slime. They didn't. Just small, brown, ordinary things that sank neatly into the soil when I planted them.

We worked in silence for a moment. His movements were steady, practiced. Almost... careful. It made my skin prickle.

By the time the seedling was settled, I realized I'd been holding my breath. I glanced sideways. He was watching the sprigweed, not me. Expression calm. Almost serene.

And I hated it. Because I didn't know what it meant.

An hour later class was over and I was already done stuffing pens and parchment into my bag and started walking away when a voice cut through the bustle.

"Hey, Velkan."

I snapped my head up. Cedar stood there, casual as ever, hands raised like he hadn't instigated a dozen awkward moments in the past. "What?" I shot back.

He spread his palms, all innocence. "Just wondering when we should meet to finish the assignment."

My eyes pinned him. This was wrong. He was meant to be sneering, or ignoring me, or—ideally—trying to make my life difficult. Not asking about logistics like we were two normal students. Had someone swapped him for a nicer model? I wanted to inform him the only meeting I planned with him involved the end of his dignity and my wand shoved so far up his—

"Valeria!" Alora's voice bubbled up at that moment. She appeared at my shoulder like she'd materialized from nowhere. "Hey—are you coming to Crossed Wands later?"

I blinked. "I— I don't know. I've got a lot to do, and I forgot to give Gerald his pellets this morning so—" I caught myself, clamped my mouth shut, and forced a smile. Stop babbling, Valeria. "Yeah. I'll be there."

Alora grinned, a flash of competitive light. "Great! I can't wait to beat you." She swung away before I could dream up a witty retort.

The world righted itself—almost—until Cedar's voice pulled me back.

"So, when do we meet?" he asked again, all calm, as if this were the most normal sentence in the world.

I rolled my eyes, gave him a curt, "Fine. Library tonight," then turned on my heel and walked away before curiosity could pry me back. Whatever game he was playing, I refused to spend more energy decoding it. There was a duel to think about, and worrying about Cedar behaving like a decent human being wasn't going to help me win.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

January 18th

Dear diary,

I haven't written in ages, but my head's too full not to. Everything's moving so fast. Three keys down. One to go. On paper it sounds like progress, but it doesn't feel like it.

Sebastian's been avoiding me. Ever since the Hollow. Ever since three days of being locked in a stone room with nothing but our scars and our secrets. Ever since he pulled his hand away like I'd burned him. I don't know why he does that. Maybe he's scared. Maybe he's smart.

Because if he hadn't... I think I would have done it. I would have leaned in. Kissed him, hard. Begged him to take me right there, claim me, ruin me, whatever it is I'm craving from him. I don't even understand myself anymore.

I can't stop watching his hands. The way his knuckles flex around his wand. The way his fingers twitch when he's thinking. And Merlin help me—I can't stop imagining them on me. On my skin. At my throat. I've never been that girl, never had these kinds of thoughts. Hands on my body have always made me tense, made me feel cornered. Even a friend's touch on my shoulder can make me flinch. But with him... it's different. With him, I want it. I ache for it. Only from him.

I'm at Crossed Wands now, scribbling this while waiting for the next round. Alora's itching to beat me, but she won't. Not today. I've got too much rage simmering under my skin—Sebastian ignoring me, Cedar playing some twisted game, this ridiculous "chosen saviour" thing hanging over my head. And the last key—Ravenclaw's key—I still don't know how to find it. I'm tired of feeling like I'm just reaching in the dark.

Maybe I'll corner Ominis later. He always makes me feel lighter, like my head's not a storm for a few minutes. Maybe a game of chess. Maybe I'll stop thinking about Sebastian long enough to breathe.

Daily Rosebuds:

Rose: I passed my Apparition exam. Hardly thought about it until the parchment came back stamped "approved," but now I can leave whenever I want.

Bud: Learn to stop spilling my whole life story every time someone asks a simple question.

Thorn: Cedar Steel acting like we're friends. If he smiles at me one more time I might jab my wand into my own eye.

"Next up, Sebastian Sallow and Asher Vexley!" Lucan's voice rang out.

I snapped my diary shut so fast the quill inside nearly bent in half, shoving it into my bag before anyone noticed I'd been scribbling like a lovesick fool.

Sebastian stepped onto the dueling platform, and my stomach gave a jolt I pretended was hunger. I hadn't known he'd show up today—he hardly came anymore. Same with Asher, his ever-enigmatic roommate. No wonder the crowd around the court erupted into whispers, like birds scattering at the sight of a hawk.

Asher cracked his neck without even lifting his hands, flashing Sebastian a sly grin. A grin Sebastian almost—almost—returned. Just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I tried to remember how close they'd once been. Fifth year, I think—they were inseparable for a time. Childhood friends, maybe, from before I'd even set foot in Hogwarts. Now, though? I couldn't tell if they were allies or rivals. Maybe both.

"Begin!" Lucan shouted.

Spells flew instantly. A blur.

Sebastian's wand slashed down—Depulso—and Asher staggered but didn't fall, his boots skidding sparks across the stone floor. His return was quick, a sharp Levioso that Sebastian blocked without hesitation. The audience roared.

But my eyes... my eyes betrayed me. I wasn't watching the duel, not really. I was watching his hands. The way his fingers locked tight around the wand, firm, steady, like he'd been born with it fused into his palm. My throat went dry. I bit the inside of my cheek. What was wrong with me?

"They're both brilliant," came a voice at my side.

I startled, turning to see Natty slip onto the bench beside me, her keen eyes flicking between the duel and me.

"Hi, Natty," I said, forcing a polite smile.

"Forgive me—I can see I've pulled you from your thoughts."

"It's alright. I spend half my life in them anyway," I admitted softly.

We sat in silence a moment, watching blue sparks crackle across the platform. Sebastian ducked under Asher's hex like it was nothing. My heart did something stupid in my chest.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Natty said suddenly.

I tore my eyes from the duel. "About what?"

"She-Who-Rose."

The name snapped through me like a whip. "What about her?"

Natty's expression softened, but her voice was steady. "I know your talent, Valeria. I remember fifth year—when we fought side by side."

The memories rushed back in flashes—blood, ash, the hollow thud of spells hitting stone.

"There's a war coming," she said, lowering her voice. "Bigger than the Aurors can handle."

I shook my head at once. "Natty, don't. Whatever you're thinking—don't. Lysandra will fall eventually, but not by the hands of students. You need to keep yourself safe."

"I know," she whispered. "But maybe there's something you can do. With your abilities."

My chest tightened. "My... ancient magic?"

"Yes."

"How could that possibly help?"

Her gaze flicked back to the duel, voice dropping. "Rumor is—She-Who-Rose has powers too. Magic no one else can touch."

The thought rattled me. I opened my mouth to press her—did she know for certain? Or was it just another one of those whispers that turned into legends?—but before I could—

A crack like thunder shook the air.

Asher went flying backwards, his body slamming into the far wall with a grunt. The crowd erupted.

"Sebastian wins!" Lucan called triumphantly.

My pulse kicked. Too fast. Too loud.

"Next up—Alora Castelle and Valeria Velkan!"

I jolted. "I have to go," I muttered to Natty, standing too quickly, nearly tripping over my own bag. "We'll talk another time—just... don't do anything reckless, alright?"

She nodded once, solemn.

I tossed my robe aside, stepped onto the platform, and tried—really tried—not to glance at Sebastian as I took my place.

Tried, and failed.

He walked away, slipping into the crowd like smoke—but not before his eyes brushed mine. Just for a beat. Then he was gone, shoulder to shoulder with Asher against the far wall. They leaned close, speaking low, and Asher chuckled at something Sebastian said.

The sound tugged at me. Were they friends again? Maybe they always had been, just in a way I hadn't noticed. I tried to picture it—fifth year, before I knew either of them properly. Maybe sneaking into the Restricted Section together, whispering plans under candlelight. Maybe Asher had been more talkative back then too, before he learned silence could be its own kind of weapon. I wondered if—

"Valeria. You're supposed to bow."

I jolted, eyes snapping forward. Oh. Right. Alora. The duel.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I bowed stiffly. She mirrored it, sharp and composed, her eyes gleaming with that familiar thrill. Focus, Ria. Duel. Focus.

We stepped back, raising our wands.

"Wands at the ready!" Lucan's voice rang out. "Begin!"

"Expelliarmus!" Alora's spell flew toward me so fast the air cracked.

"Protego!" I snapped, shield flaring, the red beam ricocheting off.

Alora chuckled under her breath, her wand spinning easily between her fingers. "How I've missed this."

Despite myself, I grinned back. "You won't be laughing when this is over."

"Big words," she teased, and with a flick, she hurled a nonverbal jinx that sent a chair splintering behind me. Gasps rippled through the students watching.

I ducked, twisted, shot back a Stupefy so quick she barely got her shield up in time. The blast hit hard enough to rattle her stance, but she didn't falter.

"Nice try."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," I muttered, and flicked my wrist. A silent spell—Incarcerous. Ropes shot forward, but she slashed them away mid-air with a fiery Diffindo.

The crowd roared.

For a moment, it was just her and me. No audience. No chatter. Just sparks and speed, spell against spell, block against block. Her red jets met my blue bursts, explosions of light sparking between us like tiny stars that vanished as fast as they came.

She sent a Blasting Curse; I countered with Protego Diabolica, the black shield erupting in flames. Students gasped again, some edging back, but Alora only grinned wider.

"Show-off," she called.

"Says the girl trying to blow up the floor."

Her laughter echoed as she pivoted, wand whipping in a sharp arc. Petrificus Totalus. I sidestepped, firing back Expulso. The stone floor cracked at her feet, dust scattering, but she only leapt sideways, landing light as a cat.

Every spell felt like a conversation between us—strike, parry, taunt, grin. And for every one of hers, I had an answer. For every one of mine, she had a counter. We knew each other's rhythms too well.

The students pressed in closer, the air thick with their cheers and gasps, like they were watching two predators circle. My pulse thrummed hot in my ears, but my smile spread wide anyway.

Merlin, I'd missed this too.

I knew the whispers. Half the students thought I was dangerous, the other half thought I was strange. Maybe they weren't so different—both sides were afraid. Afraid of what I might do if they ended up on the wrong side of my wand. They never seemed to realize I wasn't one for starting fights without reason.

Still, I sometimes wondered how they saw me when they weren't looking at my face. What shape I took in their minds. What color. Did they think of me in yellow, like my hair? Or green, like the trees? Or perhaps brown, like Sebastians eyes. Sebastian. Sebastians arms. Hands. On my throat. On my—

"Depulso!"

The spell slammed into me before I could raise a shield.

The world whipped sideways, the air punched from my lungs as I crashed into the wall. Pain burst at the back of my skull as stone met bone, sharp and ringing. My vision splintered, blurred at the edges.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, voices breaking against my ears, but they felt far away. I clawed at the floor, trying to push myself upright, blinking against the dizziness—

And then darkness swallowed me whole.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

This girl is way too distracted sometimes. (Yes I know I'm the author) / S

Chapter Text

Against My Nature

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Before I knew what hit me baby, you were flowing through my veins. I'm addicted to you." 

- Avicii

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

"Will she be alright?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. They didn't sound like mine. Too raw. Too jagged.

"She'll be perfectly fine, Mr. Sallow—if you let me work," Nurse Blainey snapped, rushing between shelves like a woman possessed, her arms full of vials and bandages.

I stayed where I was—at the foot of the bed. Her bed. Valeria lay there, limp against the white sheets, her lashes dark smudges against her skin, a bruise already shadowing her temple.

Fuck.

I should've stopped it. Told her she shouldn't duel. But of course she wouldn't have listened. Stubborn as hell. And I—what? I just stood there and let it happen. Watched her get thrown like a ragdoll into stone. The image wouldn't leave me. It crawled under my skin, burning, until my entire body felt like it was vibrating with the need to do something.

I wasn't myself anymore. Not when it came to her. I knew it. My veins boiled, my chest tightened, my head screamed at me—protect her. And it was fucking insane, because I don't protect. Not people. Not anyone. But her? Instinct took over. Always did.

"Never seen you this worked up, Sallow."

Alora Castelle's voice. Light. Teasing. It cut through my skull like a blade.

"Shut it, Castelle. You're the reason she's here." The words snapped out sharper than I meant. Useless. Pathetic. Had I been in my right mind, I wouldn't have said a thing.

Alora's smirk faltered.

Ruby piped up beside her, gripping Valeria's hand like a lifeline. "It's alright, Alora. These things happen in duels."

"Yeah, totally normal," Bianca added, too brightly. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Ria's tough. She'll be alright," Natsai Onai said, softer.

"If you could all please back away while I'm working!" Nurse Blainey barked, her wand flicking as she muttered a diagnostic charm.

Then—

A sound. Small. Broken. A muffled groan that sliced through the air.

"She's waking," Blainey announced, instantly at Valeria's side, pressing a damp cloth to her bloody nose.

Every single one of us froze. Watched. My lungs refused to move as Valeria stirred, her head shifting slightly, lashes fluttering open.

"Hi babes," Ruby whispered, squeezing her hand.

"Rubes?" Her voice was weak, mouth barely shaping the name. "What... what happened?"

"I'm sorry, Valeria. I was sure you had me there," Alora said quickly, guilt bleeding through her grin. "But... you must've been distracted."

"I lost?" Valeria's voice was stronger now, her eyes open, searching.

The girls giggled. "Yeah," Alora said, trying for lightness. "But don't worry—we'll rematch."

Nurse Blainey checked the bandage around her head, then thrust a steaming goblet into her hands. "Drink this."

Valeria wrinkled her nose at the smell, gave the smallest grimace.

"Drink it," Blainey ordered. "Or you'll be here for days."

She drank. Swallowed it down, though I saw the way her throat worked, the flicker of distaste on her face.

"Merlin, Valeria—" another voice. Sharp. Controlled. Lola, sweeping in like she owned the place.

"What happened?"

Valeria forced a faint smile. "Turns out I've lost my knack for dueling."

"Eh, you'll get me next time," Alora said, patting her arm. "Glad you're alright. I'll come visit." She smiled—genuine, for once—and left.

And that was my cue. My skin burned just standing there, watching everyone else circle her like they belonged at her side. Her friends. Her people. Me? I was just the ghost in the corner, too worked up to pretend indifference, too weak to stay.

So I turned. Walked out. Didn't look back.

She'd be fine. She had to be.

But the lie scorched in my chest like fire.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

I shoved the dorm door open harder than I meant to. The slam rattled the hinges, echoing through the stone like a curse. My chest was tight, my throat raw. I kicked my boots off and collapsed backward on the bed, pressing my palms over my face.

Shit.

"How's she doing?"

The voice cut through the quiet. I snapped my hands down. Asher. Of course. Sitting there like he'd been waiting, sprawled in the armchair, a book balanced in his lap like he actually read the bloody thing. His dark eyes flicked up, sharp, curious.

I ignored him. Rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling.

"Oh, come on. You're not even going to talk to me about it?"

My jaw clenched. "Why the fuck do you care, Vexley?" My voice came out low, flat.

He shrugged, unbothered. "Curiosity, I suppose. You can't deny the facts, Sallow."

My head tilted toward him, eyes narrowing. "Which are?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, that sly grin ghosting his mouth. "You practically bolted the second she hit the wall. First one there. Shook her like you could drag her back just by willing it. And when she didn't answer?" He cocked his head. "You scooped her up and ran. Straight to the hospital wing. Don't even try to tell me otherwise—I saw it. The whole bloody school did."

My teeth ground together. Of course he'd noticed. That bastard had a way of cutting straight through to the things I wanted buried deepest.

I sat up, leaning forward, my elbows digging into my knees. "I don't think about it, Vexley. I just... react." The words were rough, scraped out of me like they didn't want to leave.

Asher studied me in silence for a beat. Then his grin sharpened. "You're in love with her."

The laugh that left me was hollow, sharp. "I don't do love."

"Mm." He leaned back, flipping a page without looking at it. "Sure you don't."

"I don't." The words snapped out harder than I intended. I dragged a hand through my hair. "Love is a fairytale for idiots who don't know what the world's really like. All it does is chain you down, make you weak. I've had enough chains for a lifetime."

"Whatever you say, brother." Asher smirked without looking up, the picture of calm while my insides burned.

"Drop it," I muttered.

He didn't answer. Just kept flipping pages, the faint smirk never leaving his mouth. And somehow, that was worse than anything he could've said.

I laid back down, staring at the ceiling again, but every time I blinked, I saw her face. The way her eyes fluttered when she woke. The sound of her voice, hoarse but steady. The weight of her in my arms.

I don't do love.

I repeated it in my head like a curse.

"There you two are."

Ominis's voice carried through the door before I even saw him. He stepped inside with that usual stiff precision, Hugo trailing behind like a drunk Crup pup.

"We've been looking for you. Where in Merlin's name have you been?" Ominis demanded, brows knitting.

"Yeah—we're supposed to be drunk as skunks by now," Hugo chimed in, shaking his head so hard his mop of hair slapped him in the face.

"We were at Crossed Wands," Asher said easily, leaning back in his chair like he'd been waiting for an audience.

"Oh, I didn't know you two still did that," Ominis replied, his tone sharper than usual.

"Eh, I dragged Sallow with me. Told him he needed to work off some anger."

Hugo's eyes cut to me, narrowed, assessing. "Doesn't look like it worked."

"Don't mind him," Asher drawled. "He's moping."

"I'm not moping," I said flatly. The kind of finality that should've shut them up—but never did.

"Sebastian, what's going on?" Ominis asked, frowning deeper.

"That little friend of yours—the one with the long blonde hair, talks to animals?" Asher cut in smoothly.

"Valeria?" Ominis's head tilted.

"Yeah, that's the one. She lost a duel. Got hurt pretty badly. Sallow carried her to the hospital wing," Asher said, casual, like he wasn't pulling the pin out of a bloody grenade.

"Wicked," Hugo said under his breath.

"What?" Ominis's voice sharpened to a blade. "Is she all right?"

"No idea. Ask Sallow," Asher said, throwing the ball straight into my lap.

Three pairs of eyes landed on me. Heavy. Waiting.

"She'll be fine," I muttered, jaw tight.

"Boring," Hugo groaned.

"Shut your face, Fenwyck," I snapped. Harder than I meant to—but maybe I did mean it.

"Well, that explains why Cedar approached me earlier," Ominis said suddenly.

My head snapped up. "What did that moron want?" The words shot out like curses.

Ominis raised his hands slightly. "Relax. He just asked where Ria was. Apparently they planned to study together tonight."

My blood went cold. "You're lying."

But it was useless. Ominis doesn't lie.

"They were paired in Herbology earlier," Ominis added coolly. "You'd know that if you'd shown up to class instead of brooding."

Shit. Paired with Cedar bloody Steel. My fists clenched. I could picture her sitting beside him, his smug little smirk, her annoyance written all over her face.

"Anyway, I told him I didn't know where she was. He'll find out soon enough," Ominis said.

"Blah, blah, can we go now?" Hugo cut in, bored of the tension.

"Shut it, Fenwyck," the three of us snapped in unison.

"Fine," Hugo muttered. "I'll go myself. But honestly, I think all three of you are in desperate need of a drink."

They weren't wrong—we'd made half-baked plans to head to the Three Broomsticks later. More like Hugo and Asher had, and dragged the rest of us into it.

"Eh, I'll come," Asher said, rising from his chair with that lazy shrug.

"Honestly, it wouldn't hurt," Ominis admitted. "Professor Sharp's been breathing down my neck all week. Sebastian?"

"Pass," I said immediately.

"But—" Ominis began.

"Leave him be," Asher cut him off smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with something knowing. "He's got something else to do later."

Ominis sighed, the long-suffering type. "Very well. We'll see you after."

The three of them drifted out, the door clicking shut behind them.

And I sat there alone, skin burning like fire ants under my veins, with one thought circling my head on repeat: I had to make sure she was ok.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

I'd never been so quiet in my life. Each step up to the hospital wing was slow, deliberate, my boots barely grazing stone. Maybe because I knew I shouldn't be here. Or maybe because my chest was knotted so tight it hurt to breathe.

The door creaked when I eased it open, just enough for me to slip inside.

And there she was.

Flat on her back in that damned bed, nose bandaged, eyes wide awake. A book propped against her knees. Always a book.

Something tugged at my mouth—some ghost of a smile I shoved down so hard it almost hurt.

I moved toward her before I could think better of it. Her head snapped up, eyes locking on me, startled.

"Sebastian!" Too loud.

I pressed a finger to my lips, hushing her.

Valeria's voice dropped. "What are you doing here?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. "I wanted to see you."

Did I just say that? Out loud?

Her eyes widened, shock sparking in them. "You did?"

I ignored the question. "How are you doing?"

"I've been better," she admitted, trying for lightness. "But it's fine. Slight concussion. No idea what's going on with these nosebleeds lately, but—" she cut herself off, eyes softening. "I'm alright."

"You sure?" I muttered. I dragged a chair over, planting myself beside her, elbows digging into my knees.

She nodded. Smile tugging at her lips. Always trying to pretend it was fine. Always trying to make it easier for everyone else.

"Ruby brought my books, as you can see," she added, gesturing at the stack by her bedside. At least twenty piled up like bricks.

I arched a brow. "Do you really need all of them?"

She huffed a laugh. "No. But Ruby doesn't know which ones are my favorites."

I let out a small chuckle despite myself. Couldn't help it.

The quiet settled between us then. Comfortable. Dangerous.

Until she broke it.

"Natty told me you were the one who carried me here," she said, eyes flicking to me.

"Did she now?" I muttered, keeping my voice flat.

She nodded, then groaned, throwing a hand over her face. "I can't believe I lost. I mean, I've lost to Alora before, but not like this. Usually it's the little things—reflex, timing. Not... not a full-blown crash into a bloody wall." She sighed. "Note to self: don't get distracted during a duel."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "What were you thinking about?"

No reason for the question. Just... curiosity. I'd caught her eyes slipping off again, somewhere far away, and apparently I'd developed a habit of wondering what went on in her head when she drifted like that.

Her reaction wasn't what I expected. Her cheeks went crimson so fast it was like watching a flame catch parchment. She yanked her gaze from mine. "Eh... well," she muttered. "Mostly flowers. Or leaves."

A lie. That was a lie.

I studied her—the rigid posture, the way her hands knotted in her lap, the way her throat bobbed like she'd swallowed something sharp. No. Her head had been somewhere else entirely. And I wanted to claw it out of her.

Before I could think, my hand found her thigh.

She jolted like I'd hexed her, eyes snapping back to mine, face a deeper red now. Her pulse jumped under her skin. And mine... mine wasn't exactly steady either.

"What's the matter?" I murmured, a chuckle curling around the words.

"N-Nothing," she breathed.

Fuck, she was cute when she was nervous.

Her gaze drifted down to my hand, staring at it like she'd forgotten the rest of the world. Was she staring at the scars on my fingers? The Glove? Or just the fact that I had it on her leg? I couldn't tell.

Suddenly I too became too aware of the touch. Wondering what it would feel like if the blanket wasn't separating us. I snapped out of it.

"If you want me to move it, just say so," I said quietly.

She snapped out of whatever haze she'd fallen into and blurted—too fast—"No!"

Then realization hit her like a Bludger. One hand flew to her mouth. "I mean, I don't mind it. Y-You can put your hand where you want—" She stopped, eyes squeezed shut. "I mean it's your hand, and you can do with it as you please. No, I—" Another breath, shaky this time.

I laughed. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have touched her either, but those sage-green eyes did things to me I hadn't planned on indulging. Making her nervous tasted like heroin—sweet and lethal—and I hated that I wanted more.

"Hm." I murmured, letting the sound fill the space between us. "Best leave you to sleep before this turns into something you can't finish." Plain as a command.

Her cheeks flamed so hard I wondered if she'd combust. I pulled my hand back and dropped it into my lap like a contrite thief.

"Can't finish? What do you mean?" Her voice was small and stubborn at once.

"I told you what happens when you play with fire." I said it like a warning, like a fact carved into bone.

She scoffed—tiny, fierce—and crossed her arms. "Excuse me very much, you were the one who put your hand on my leg, not me. So if you can't finish what you started, that's your problem."

Pointed. Infuriating. And absurdly adorable. I wanted to choke her so hard her eyes rolled back and show her exactly what she did to me; instead I breathed. Words were never my tool, except with her.

"I could finish whatever I wanted with you," I said slow, tasting each syllable. "Snap my fingers, and turn you into a fucking howler. Point is, I won't. So don't go provoking me."

Her eyes stayed nailed to mine. She didn't flinch. She never flinched when it mattered.

I stood up. "Sleep tight, Chaton."

She was quiet for a long second, like she was weighing whether to throw the whole conversation away. Finally, from behind me, came a muffled, sarcastic, "Yeah. As if." A dry little laugh.

I knew exactly what she meant. Night terrors. Insomnia. The thin, poisonous nights that left her raw.

I stopped halfway to the door and turned. The question fell out of my mouth before I could stop it—softer than anything I'd said tonight. "When did you last sleep?"

"When Alora knocked me into the wall," she said flatly. "But before that, not a clue."

The corner of my mouth ghosted a smile—more like a grimace, really.

Then her stomach growled. Loud enough to echo in the quiet. She wrapped her arms around it with a nervous laugh, and something in my chest twisted.

She hadn't slept. She hadn't eaten. And yet she was still sitting here, cheeks red from my touch. And me? My heartbeat still wasn't steady.

"When did you last eat?" I asked.

"That I do know," she said, lifting her chin. "Yesterday. They served cherry jam at breakfast, so I put it on a bagel."

"Why haven't you eaten today?" The words came out before I could stop them. I felt stupid for giving a damn, but there it was.

"Well..." She ticked it off like she was reading it straight from her mind. "I missed breakfast because I couldn't find my favorite scarf, so I had to take the itchy one, which annoyed me so much I spent lunch foraging a potion to make it softer. Then Ruby dragged me to Honeydukes to help her stock up her candy drawer. Then we had Herbology, which was torturous, and after that I went to Crossed Wands." She finished with a small smile, looking right at me like that explained everything.

Did she even take a single breath through that whole speech?

I'd heard enough. I turned around again.

"Where are you going?" she asked quickly.

"Fetching you some food. I'm sure Bobby will whip up something if I tell him it's for you," I muttered.

"Wait!" she blurted, reaching out a hand as I started toward the door. "I don't eat tomatoes. Or beef—I can't stand beef. And don't pick anything with thyme, thyme makes me puke, and—"

"Chaton?" I said, glancing back over my shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Does Bobby know all this?"

"Yes," she said, blinking.

"Great. Then I'm sure you'll be able to eat it."

I didn't give her a chance to protest. I turned and walked out, my boots echoing on the stone floor. Shit. What was I doing? Running errands for a girl I wasn't supposed to care about. But my legs kept moving anyway.

I'm in deep shit.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Sure are Sebastian. / S

Chapter Text

Missed Chances

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"That was our place, I found it first. I made the jokes you tell to her when she's with you. Do you get deja vu when she's with you?"

- Olivia Rodrigo

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

Thank Merlin I only had to spend one night in that place. The hospital wing has never been my idea of comfort, but last night was impossible. The bed was too hard, the rafters creaked like whispers in the dark, and my mind—well, my mind never shuts up, but in there it screamed. No matter how tightly I shut my eyes, I couldn't trick myself into sleep.

Not that I wasn't... distracted.

After Sebastian brought me food—toast with cheese, roasted chicken, and a whole bowl of cherries (a perfect meal, thank you Bobby)—I'd devoured it like I hadn't eaten in weeks. I barely came up for air. And then he left, and the silence pressed in. And I was left with the only thing louder than silence: my own thoughts of him. Over and over. Every little thing he did filed away neatly in the back of my mind, into some ridiculous folder labeled Proof Sebastian Is a Good Man.

I shook the thought away, tried to bury myself in a book, anything to quiet it.

"Is that all you've got?"

The shout pulled me back into the present. My eyes lifted from the page to the courtyard, where two boys—Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, probably fifth or sixth years—were dueling for fun.

"You thought I was finished?" The Ravenclaw grinned, flicking his wand. "Levioso!"

The Gryffindor shot up into the air, arms flailing, laughing too loudly. Then—drop.

"Oh, you're gonna get it!" The Gryffindor countered. "Incendio!"

The flash of flame at the end of his wand—

Smoke. Heat. Screams.

My lungs filled with it. Acrid, choking.

Red on my hands. I rubbed and rubbed, but it wouldn't come off.

"Take her!" 

Arms grabbed me, too strong to fight, lifting me off the ground. A long beard brushed my cheek.

Running.

"There you are!"

Ruby's voice cut through, ripping me back into the courtyard. My eyes snapped open. I was holding the book too tightly, my fingers stiff.

"Hey, Rubes. What's up?" My voice came out too quick.

"Bia said Alora went to check on you, but you weren't in the hospital wing. Nurse Blainey told us you'd been released, but you weren't in the dorm either. So I went looking." Ruby plopped down beside me, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Oh. Sorry. I just... needed sunlight."

She hugged her robes tighter. "Sunlight? It's freezing."

"Not really." My voice was thinner than I meant.

"Have any of you seen Lola?"

Another voice—sharp, irritated. Imelda Reyes. She stalked toward us with her usual air of impatience.

"Uh... no?" Ruby said quickly.

Imelda rolled her eyes. "Practice started ten minutes ago, and she's not there."

"She's probably asleep in her office again," Ruby muttered. 

"Great. This never would've happened if I was captain," Imelda grumbled.

I stood, brushing off my robes, forcing my mind to settle. "Asleep again?" I asked Ruby.

"Yeah. I found her there last week, snoring over a stack of parchment."

"Poor Lola." I shook my head. "We best go find her."

We marched down the corridor toward the Head Girl's office, my boots clicking louder than I intended—as if determination could be measured in sound. Ruby trailed behind me, arms full of Merlin-knows-what sweets she still hadn't finished eating, trying her best to keep up with my pace. Poor Lola. I wasn't her closest friend by any stretch, but after sharing a dorm for two years, I knew her habits: strict, punctual, disciplined to a fault. Which is exactly why the thought of her sleeping through practice felt like watching the sun forget to rise.

The corridor turned, narrowing, and I glanced back—yes, Ruby was still there, puffing out little breaths, eyes wide like she was on some secret mission. My hand hovered for a moment before I knocked on the door.

"Lola?" My voice was soft, almost guilty. No answer. Another knock, firmer this time. Nothing but silence.

I looked at Ruby. She looked at me. A silent well?

My hand turned the knob before I could overthink it.

The office was dim, dust motes floating like lazy stars through the thin shaft of sunlight spilling in from the narrow window. Books and parchment were stacked high, like they'd been breeding in the night. A kettle sat cold on the hearth, forgotten. And there, right at her desk, collapsed forward as if gravity had won a duel—was Lola.

"Oh... Lola," I murmured. She looked so different without the sharp braid and sharp voice to match. Her hair had come loose, spilling like a curtain across her face, her cheek pressed to a half-written report. She wasn't the untouchable Head Girl just now. She was... human. Exhausted.

Ruby tiptoed closer, leaning in so far I thought she'd topple right onto her. "What do we do?" she whispered, as if Lola might explode if woken wrong.

"I... I don't know," I whispered back. My stomach twisted. Waking her felt cruel, but leaving her here felt worse. "She's supposed to be at practice..."

Ruby poked her. Literally poked her. "Lola."

Nothing.

Ruby poked again, harder. "Hey, Lola!"

That did it. Lola groaned, shifting, her hair slipping further over her face. Then—suddenly—her head jerked up, eyes snapping open. For a moment she looked wild, like she didn't know what century she was in. "Wh—what in Merlin's—" Her gaze found us and sharpened. "Val? Rubes? What are you doing in my office!?"

Ruby threw her hands up like she was being arrested. "Relax! We just came to tell you quidditch practice started... fifteen minutes ago."

The words landed like a curse. Lola's eyes went wide. "What?!" Her chair scraped across the floor as she shot to her feet, rummaging for her gear in a frenzy.

"Wait—" I tried, but she was already gone, storming past us with her broom under her arm, like a hurricane with brown hair.

Ruby and I stood frozen in the silence she left behind. Then I exhaled. "We need to tell her she's working too hard."

Ruby turned toward me with a grin so sly it could've belonged to Peeves.

"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Oh, we're going to practice." She said it with that mischievous lilt she got whenever she was plotting something.

I blinked. "What, to... wait for her to finish?"

"Something like that," Ruby sang, grabbing my hand before I could argue. And then she was dragging me out the door, faster than I could catch my breath, my brain already imagining five hundred scenarios—none of which I was ready for.

It didn't take long before the pitch came into view. I was half-breathless, Ruby practically dragging me the whole way like a runaway cart horse. My scarf scratched at my neck and my hair was sticking to my cheeks—lovely. At least we slowed once the sound of voices reached us; no one wanted to be that person crashing into Quidditch practice like a stampede.

The players were lined up across the grass, Lola front and center, posture razor-straight, lecturing them about precision or something equally terrifying. I wasn't about to get close enough to hear details. We skirted the pitch toward the stands, Ruby waving like a madwoman at someone in the seats.

And then I saw them—Bia, Alora, Rania.

What? Since when did they care about Quidditch?

"Hi, Bia!" Ruby chirped, collapsing into the bench beside her.

"Hey, Rubes. Ria." Bia's grin stretched wide. I slipped in beside them, still trying to catch my breath.

Alora's piercing eyes flicked over me. "Valeria—how are you feeling?"

Oh. Right. The duel. The hospital wing. The part where I went flying headfirst into a wall like an absolute idiot.

"I'm perfectly ordinary, thank you, Alora." I said it too quickly, and she chuckled, smiling in that way that always feels like she's three steps ahead.

"Good. Sorry about that. Still—rematch anytime."

I forced a grin. "I'll take you up on it. When I'm... less distracted."

They all laughed. Ha-ha. Very funny. Distracted. If only they knew.

"Speaking of distracted," Ruby whispered, nudging me with her shoulder and tilting her chin toward the pitch.

I followed her gaze. At first nothing—just Lola barking orders. But then—

Oh.

Sebastian.

Standing at the far end of the line, broom in hand.

My stomach dropped. Since when was he—? And why—? My thoughts tripped over each other until all that was left was static.

He wasn't even looking at Lola. He was looking—straight at me.

Shit.

I whipped around toward Ruby. "Why are we here?" My voice was sharper than I intended.

Ruby smiled all innocent. Too innocent. "To check on Lola, obviously. And maybe, just maybe, because someone else happened to show up today."

I could strangle her.

Before I could hiss at her to shut it, Rania's voice cut through, dreamy and far away: "Ugh, isn't he dreamy?"

I snapped my head around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

Rania. Practically drooling.

Sebastian's gaze lingered a beat longer—then Lola's voice sliced the air.

"Sallow!"

He turned at once. "Yes, Captain."

"Look at me when I'm talking."

"Yes, Captain."

...No. No, I did not just hear that. Sebastian Sallow, obeying orders like a soldier? Accepting Lola bossing him around? Had the world tilted sideways? I thought he'd only agreed to play one match. Not stand there like some tamed beast.

"He was looking at me," Rania whispered, clutching her wand like it was a bouquet of roses.

"Ran, you're insufferable when you have the hots for someone," Alora muttered, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Ruby leaned in close, her voice feather-soft at my ear. "I thought he was looking at you."

I ignored her. Or tried to. My pulse hadn't caught up with my denial yet.

"Why's Sebastian here?" I managed, voice thin.

"Apparently Lola begged him to come back full-time," Bia said. "They struck some kind of deal. Not sure the details. We're just here because of Rania."

"Shut up!" Rania's cheeks went scarlet, almost blending with her hair.

"Ran, you don't even know anything about him. What's his favorite color?" Alora challenged.

Green. My mind supplied it instantly.

"Uh... blue?" Rania guessed weakly.

"Sure," Alora smirked. "And his twin sister who died? Her name?"

Anne. The thought sliced sharp through me.

Rania stammered. "Something with an E?"

"See? You just like him because he's suddenly all mysterious."

"And what's so wrong with that?"

The others laughed. I didn't. My gaze was glued to the pitch, where brooms rose into the air and bodies streaked upward like arrows, the practice roaring to life.

The girls beside me dissolved into chatter about hair potions and who was courting who, their voices blending into a harmless hum. But I barely heard them. My gaze kept finding one player in particular.

Sebastian.

He leaned low over his broom, chasing down a bludger with the same relentless precision he had when casting spells. His movements weren't polished like Lola's—more raw, almost reckless—but there was something mesmerizing about it. He swung his bat with a kind of controlled violence, the bludger spinning off into the distance. My breath hitched before I could stop it.

I tried to tear my eyes away. Tried to focus on Bia giggling about some Hufflepuff boy who'd written her a note, or Rania boasting about how Alora had supposedly hexed a suit of armor into dancing. But my mind wandered. Spiraled.

What if he fell? What if that bludger caught him off guard and cracked his skull open? What if he didn't get up this time?

Stop it, Valeria. He's fine. He's always fine. He doesn't need you worrying.

And yet—I couldn't stop.

I noticed the way his hair caught the afternoon light, chestnut turned to gold for the briefest second. The scars on his cheek, barely visible from here, but etched into my memory anyway. The grip of his hands around the broomstick, veins tight against his skin. My brain was cataloging it all like it was evidence—proof of something I didn't dare name.

He dove for the Quaffle once, cutting past another player so sharply the crowd let out a collective gasp. And I gasped with them, though mine wasn't for the spectacle of the play. It was because my stomach had knotted itself into something unbearable.

The others kept laughing, gossip spilling like butterbeer foam, but I couldn't follow a single word. My mind was too loud.

I imagined myself in the air beside him—my broom veering close, the rush of wind against my face, the thrill of being inches away from him. What if he glanced at me then, the way he had earlier? Would I forget to fly altogether and plummet straight to the ground? 

Probably.

"Valeria, are you even listening?" Ruby nudged me.

I blinked, forcing a faint smile. "Of course," I lied.

But the truth was I wasn't listening at all. My entire world had narrowed to one boy in green robes, hurtling through the sky, and the treacherous thought echoing in my head:

He'd been looking at me.

After a while, practice wound down. Brooms dipped, boots hit the grass, and one by one the players landed, chatter and laughter breaking through the crisp afternoon air. The girls around me stood, brushing off their robes, and I followed. Right. I was here for a reason. To speak to Lola.

She stood at the front of the pitch, hair windblown, barked a quick, "Good job today, everyone. See you next time!" and began collecting her things.

Now's my chance.

I slipped down from the stands, weaving through the small crowd, keeping my eyes on her—

Until Ruby's sharp voice cut through. "Merlin, Rania, are you alright?"

I stopped short.

Rania was sprawled face-first on the grass, groaning as the others rushed to her in a flutter of skirts and panicked voices. I spotted the culprit: a stray Quaffle lying innocently nearby. Of course.

I cursed under my breath, glancing between Lola—already slinging her broom over her shoulder, walking off the pitch—and Rania, clutching her forehead dramatically while Ruby hovered over her. My window closed in front of me, and with a frustrated sigh I turned back toward the circle of girls.

Rania sat up slowly, cheeks flushed, hair falling into her face. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, though she didn't look it.

And then—

"You okay?"

That voice. Deeper, low enough to make my skin prickle.

The others shifted aside, and there he was. Sebastian. Standing just in front of us, eyes fixed on Rania.

She froze, staring up at him like he'd descended from the bloody heavens. He extended his hand without a word, and she practically launched herself at it, gripping it tightly. He pulled her up easily, steadying her on her feet.

"Thanks," she mumbled, her voice embarrassingly soft, like every ounce of bravado had been knocked out of her by that Quaffle.

Sweat clung to his brow, catching in the mess of his hair. His cheeks flushed red from the cold, sharp against the pale of his skin. My heartbeat tripped, faster, louder. Honestly? Was I seriously finding sweat attractive now? Or was it the fact that he looked like he'd been working himself raw—that grit, that effort—that made my chest tighten in the worst possible way?

The silence broke when Bia smirked. "Good job today, Sebastian. Looking good out there."

Ruby chimed in immediately, eager as ever: "Yeah, the other teams won't stand a chance."

And Rania—Merlin's beard, Rania—twirled a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers like some lovesick cliché. "You're very quick on that broomstick," she breathed.

He didn't answer. Not really. He glanced at me then. Just once, and a small curt nod to the group before turning away, striding toward the castle like the whole thing hadn't even happened.

The girls regrouped around Rania instantly.

"Oh my god, he's so heroic!" she beamed, practically glowing.

Alora groaned, unimpressed. "Ran, he just helped you up. Any one of us would've done it. You tripped on a ball."

"Yes, but he did it much sexier than any of you would have," Rania countered, dreamy-eyed. "Maybe I should fall in front of him more often."

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt.

But when I glanced back to the pitch—empty now, utterly silent—I realized Lola was gone.

"Lola's gone," I muttered to Ruby, frustration creeping in.

She shrugged, nonchalant. "Eh, don't worry about it. We'll catch her tonight."

We started back toward the castle, the others laughing and replaying the moment like it was the greatest romance in history. But my chest felt heavier than before, my thoughts circling in ways I didn't want them to.

Sebastian helping her up shouldn't have mattered. He probably just saw her fall and stepped in because it was the decent thing to do. That's all.

But it wasn't like him. Not really.

Or maybe it was.

After all, he's done the same for me more times than I can count.

And for a wild, uncomfortable moment, I wondered—had I been lying to myself all this time, thinking it was different when he did it for me?

Ugh.

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

Back in my dorm, my head was a battlefield. A mess of thoughts tripping over one another until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began. I knew what happened on the pitch wasn't serious—just Sebastian helping Rania up like any decent person would—but the image wouldn't leave me alone. Him, steady hand, that maddening calm of his.

Why did it bother me so much?

No, I knew why. Because I wanted it to be me. I should've been the one to trip over that bloody quaffle. Not her. Rania with her fluttery eyelashes and spoiled little smile. She could forget it.

Or—maybe I was the fool. Maybe all those times he caught me when I fell, or made Garreth apologize, or put himself between me and danger... maybe none of it meant anything. Maybe he wasn't being a knight. Maybe he was just being... kind.

And that was worse. Because he'd told me himself: stay away. That I'd get burned if I got too close. That there wasn't anything there. And maybe he meant it. Maybe I'd made up the rest, carved out a fairytale from scraps. It wouldn't be the first time.

My spiraling came to an abrupt halt at the sound of tapping against the window.

I froze, glanced around the room. The other girls were already asleep, sprawled in heaps of blankets and soft snores. It wasn't even that late, but after dinner they'd all crashed like rocks. I'd managed to corner Lola earlier, telling her she needed to slow down, maybe hire an assistant or grow a second brain, something.

Tap. Tap.

Right. The window.

I padded over, opened it, and in swooped an owl I didn't recognize. Not Ruby's. Not Bianca's. Not anyone's I could place. It stuck out its leg like it was offended I'd kept it waiting. A letter, tied tight.

I pulled it free, unrolled it—and my stomach dropped.

Velkan,

I heard you spent the night in the hospital wing, so I understand why you stood me up on our study session. Perhaps we can pick it up tonight instead?

Meet me in the library, I'll be there all evening.

- Cedar Steel

I stared at the words until they blurred, my chest tightening like someone had tied ropes around it. Cedar. Of course. I'd completely forgotten about that cursed Herbology partnership.

But what in Merlin's name was this tone? Understanding? Patient? Pleasant? What did he want? Since when did Cedar Steel care about anything besides tormenting me?

A jolt of something close to horror spiked through me. Ugh. Excuse my language but—Merlin's fucking tits.

Still, I wasn't about to tank my marks over this. With a groan, I grabbed my shirt and skirt, glanced once at the corset, then shoved it back into the drawer. I yanked the clothes on, tugged at my reflection in the mirror. Passable. It was only Cedar.

Bag slung over my shoulder, wand clutched in my hand tighter than necessary, I slipped out of the dorm and into the common room, the quiet wrapping around me like a warning.

I wasn't exactly thrilled about this. But if Cedar Steel wanted to play some strange game, I was going to be ready.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

What does this one want now? / S

Chapter Text

The Hypocrite

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way, you're happy without me."

- Labrinth

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The door slammed shut behind me, echoing through the dorm. I yanked the Quidditch gear off piece by piece and tossed it into a pile on the floor. My body hummed from the flight, the adrenaline still in my veins. A shower would be smart.

"Keep undressing in front of me, Sallow, and I might start catching feelings," a voice drawled.

I turned. Asher was sprawled across his bed like he owned the place, arms folded behind his head, watching with that lazy smirk of his.

I scoffed. "Please. I don't need to be half-naked to make you fall for me."

That earned me a low chuckle.

"Didn't know you were still playing," he said.

I dragged a clean shirt over my head. Screw the shower—I'd deal with it tomorrow. "What's it to you?"

"Curiosity," he shrugged.

"Careful, Vexley. Curiosity killed the cat."

He grinned faintly. "And yet here I am."

I sighed. No winning with him. "The captain roped me in. Lola. Struck me a deal—no detentions from her prefect squad for the rest of the term."

That actually got him to sit up. His laugh was short, sharp. "Didn't know you had it in you to bargain your way out of trouble. Persuasive, Sallow."

"It's whatever. Flying clears my head."

"Sure. Until a Bludger snaps it off."

He pushed off the bed and grabbed his wand from the desk, heading for the door. "You coming?"

"To what?" I asked, tugging on my trousers.

"Dinner. Ominis and Hugo already went."

I arched a brow. "And what, you decided to wait for me like the gentleman you are?"

"Ha. Ha." He didn't even fake a laugh.

I smirked. "Admit it. You like hanging around me."

"Only when you're drunk." He cracked the door open, tossing the words over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, but still followed him out.

We walked side by side through the corridor, neither of us saying much. Most students were already crammed into the Great Hall, voices echoing off the stone like a hive. I shoved the doors open. The smell of food hit me—muted, dull. My sense of smell had never fully come back, and everything still felt... bland.

Didn't stop me from scanning the tables, though. Instinct. And sure enough—there she was. Valeria. Sitting with her friends at the Slytherin table, prodding something on her plate with that distracted look she always wore.

"There you two knuckleheads are."

Hugo. Already grinning like a loon as we sat down.

"Shut it, Fenwyck," Asher muttered, dropping into the seat beside me.

"Sebastian?" Ominis asked.

"Yeah, it's me," I said, reaching for bread and chicken.

"How'd practice go?"

"Fine." I tore into the bread, my mind betraying me. Flashing back to last night—slipping into the kitchens, Bobby whipping up food the second I said it was for her. Chicken, toast, cherries. Plain as hell. But she'd devoured it like it was a feast. I almost smiled at the memory—almost.

"And can you believe it? She practically begged for it."

Hugo's voice cut through my head. I blinked back into the room, stabbing at a potato.

"Hugo, you're disgusting," Ominis said without lifting his head.

"What did I miss?" Asher asked, not looking up from his plate.

"You seriously didn't hear my epic tale about Bianca Deveraux?" Hugo puffed up his chest.

Asher sighed. "Spare me."

"What about her?" I muttered, curiosity slipping out before I could stop it.

Hugo's grin turned wolfish. "Let's just say Bianca wanted a taste of Hugo Fenwyck."

"I wouldn't believe that if I watched it happen," Asher deadpanned.

"It's true!" Hugo leaned in. "I cornered her in the corridor. Told her I'd get her a date with the guy she's been drooling over if she gave me a little reward." He winked.

My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

"Oh, by the way, Vexley—you've got a date tomorrow."

The look on Asher's face was worth every miserable second of Hugo's story. He went stiff, colder than ice, and I couldn't help it—a laugh tugged at me.

"Repeat that?" Asher's voice was low.

"Well, everyone knows she fancies you," Hugo backpedaled. "I promised her I'd make it happen."

"You what?" Asher's tone sharpened, dangerous.

"She'll be pissed if you don't show," Hugo said quickly.

"Not happening."

"This'll break her heart—"

"Not. Happening."

I smirked, leaning back. "Hypocrite."

Asher shot me a glare sharp enough to slice skin. I ignored it. He was the one who'd been trying to convince me I was in love, and here he was, running from a girl like she was a curse.

"You could do worse than Bianca," I said smoothly. "She's popular. Attractive. You'd make her year."

"And spend mine bored out of my skull," Asher countered. He stabbed his fork into his food like he wanted it dead. "Girls aren't worth the trouble. Right, Sallow?"

I rolled my eyes, refusing to dignify it.

"Coming from the two idiots who think emotional detachment is irresistible..." Ominis finally chimed in, his voice sharp. "...how's that working out for you?"

Asher and I turned to glare at him—only to realize, at the same time, he couldn't see it.

Hugo burst out laughing.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

The fire cracked and hissed, spitting embers into the grate. I sat slouched in the chair, one arm draped over the armrest, staring into the flames like they might burn the memories out of my skull. The common room was unusually quiet—most of Slytherin had already retreated to their dorms. For once, no noise. No Hugo's whining, no Asher's commentary, no Ominis pestering. Just me.

And the fire.

Then the silence broke. Light footsteps on stone, quick and uneven, coming from the girls' stairwell. I glanced over my shoulder, more out of habit than interest.

Valeria.

My skin prickled.

She was muttering to herself, jaw tight, wand clenched so hard her knuckles were white.

"Stupid. Cedar. Bloody. Steel." Her voice was low, sharp. She didn't even notice me. Her eyes were on the floor, each step punctuating another growl of words.

"I'll hex him into another century. Hi, Velkan. Oh, hi Steel, my best friend in the whole bloody world—shall we work on this paper like you haven't had a stick up your arse for years?"

She mimicked the words with exaggerated sweetness, dripping with venom, before huffing under her breath and shaking her head.

I almost smirked. Almost.

Instead, I stayed still, quiet as a Demiguise, watching her cross the room. She didn't see me at all—just stormed past, fury wrapped around her like a cloak, and headed for the stairs that led out of the common room.

Steel.

My jaw ticked.

She was meeting him. At this hour. Alone.

For the project.

Right.

I turned back toward the fire, trying to let it go. I should've. I wanted to.

But the thought of her walking to meet him—the bastard—kept needling at me until it burned worse than the fire at my back.

Screw it.

I pushed to my feet, grabbed my wand, and followed her out.

Hogwarts was tolerable at this hour. Quiet. Still. Just the way I liked it.

Except for her.

Her voice cut through the silence, muttering low and sharp as she marched down the corridor ahead of me. I followed at a distance, boots silent on the stone, cursing myself for giving a fuck. I felt like a predator shadowing prey—or worse, a stalker.

"Oh, yes, we can so be friends. Definitely." Her voice carried just enough for me to hear.

I exhaled through my nose. Frustrated, bitter—her whole body was practically vibrating with it. About him. I knew it without knowing.

She shoved the doors to the library open. The sound echoed, and I hurried forward, slipping through before the heavy wood swung shut.

The library was dim, lit by the faint orange glow of lamps. Shadows stretched long between the shelves. Perfect for hiding.

And I did.

My shoulder brushed the corner of a bookcase as I stilled in the dark, my eyes snapping to him immediately.

Cedar Steel. Sitting smugly at one of the front tables.

Where the hell was the librarian?

He looked up when she approached, and I had to curl my fingers around my wand to stop myself from stepping out.

"You came." His tone—too pleased.

"Let's just get this over with," she muttered, dropping into the chair across from him. She yanked parchment and quill from her bag, pulled her wand, and flicked it with a quick, wordless spell.

The quill rose into the air, scratching fast across the parchment, notes blooming like ivy.

Clever. Always clever.

"That's a nice trick," he said.

She ignored him.

Steel leaned forward, sliding a parchment toward her. "I thought we'd start with this section here."

She barely glanced at him, biting down irritation as her quill moved on its own. "Fine."

He smiled at her like they were friends. Like he'd earned the right.

I shifted my weight, leaning into the shadow of the shelf. Watching. Every muscle in me coiled.

She looked exhausted. Frustrated. But beneath that—I could see it in the way her brows pulled tight—she was... surprised. Caught off guard by him not being cruel.

It made me want to hex the smirk off his face.

I stayed still. Silent.

And watched.

The scratching of quills and the low crackle of library lamps. That was it. The quiet had been tolerable until he opened his mouth.

"So the blossom cycles are noted here—if you take this section," Steel pointed, "then I'll do this part."

Valeria nodded, her wand twitching to command the quill that scribbled down notes without effort. Brilliant, efficient, sharp.

Steel jotted something of his own, then broke the silence. "How are you feeling?"

Her head snapped up.

"I heard about the duel," he added.

"Fine." One clipped syllable.

"Good." He smiled like he'd earned it.

I nearly stepped out from behind the shelves, hex ready. But I didn't. I stayed in the dark, jaw tight.

"Do you know this one?" He tilted his parchment toward her.

"Fimbuleaf."

"Right. Thanks." He grinned. She rolled her eyes.

Why was he acting civil?

I cursed myself for still standing there, for listening, for giving a damn. I should've left. Walked out and buried the whole thing.

But then—

"Velkan." His voice dropped. "Look."

She did.

"I'm... sorry."

My whole body stilled.

"What did you say?" she asked, brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry. For... everything."

It went so quiet I could hear my own pulse in my ears.

"I wasn't very kind to you all those years."

"You were a prick," she said flatly. "Worse than a prick. You were a grade-A—"

"Yes, yes. You're right. I just... wanted to apologize."

"Why?"

He hesitated, rubbed a hand over his pale hair. "Because after Sallow knocked some sense into me—"

My grip on the shelf tightened.

"I realized it didn't make me happy. Picking on you, all that rubbish. I'd always been like that. Didn't know any other way. But I don't want to be like that anymore."

I almost laughed. Almost. What game was this?

Valeria asked what I wanted to: "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing. I mean it." His voice was too steady. "I'm tired of pretending just to hang around Jack and his lot. They're assholes. And I went along with it because I didn't know what else to do."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true."

She studied him. Her silence was worse than words.

"And what—you expect me to just forgive you?" she asked. "For calling me a freak? For dragging my parents into it? For cursing my cauldron so it exploded tomatoes all over me? I hate tomatoes."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips before he bit it back. "No. I don't expect you to forgive me. I just want to start over. Ever since my dad died..."

Here came the sob story.

"I realized I never liked him. Never liked who he was. And I don't want to turn into him. I thought... maybe I'd start with you. Just apologize."

She sat there, quiet, eyes softening the way they always did.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said. Sincere. Always sincere.

Steel smiled faintly. "Thank you. And maybe, if you can forgive me someday, we could start new."

I saw her brows knit, then her sigh, then her hand extending across the table.

"Hi. I'm Valeria."

He chuckled, shaking her hand. "Cedar."

They laughed. They laughed.

Then he leaned closer. "Maybe you could show me that room of yours. The beasts. I've always wanted to see it."

"How do you know about that?"

"Everyone does. You talk to them. And I overheard Poppy once. Not exactly a secret."

She chuckled. "Fine. I'll take you there sometime."

And my chest went cold.

Were they friends now? Just like that? Did she forgive him because he strung a few sad words together? And why the fuck was she laughing with him? How could she sit there and laugh? Valeria.

My Valeria—

The thought scorched through me, freezing me in place.

Shit.

I had to get out of there.

I slipped from the shadows before I said something I couldn't take back, before I hexed him across the table. The door shut quietly behind me, leaving them in their strange new peace.

And me—furious with myself for caring.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

I wonder if what Cedar is saying is true... / S

Chapter Text

The Saviour They Expect

« ⋅☼︎⋅ »

"You say the whole world is ending, honey it already did. You're not gonna slow it, heaven knows you tried."

- Bo Burnham

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

⋅☼︎⋅Valeria⋅☼︎⋅

"This is Liora." My voice came out steadier than I felt as I lifted my hand, palm open, letting the unicorn approach.

Who is the man you've brought? Her question flickered through my mind like a bell. I glanced over my shoulder. Cedar. Baffled, stiff, like he didn't dare breathe.

"This is Cedar," I explained softly. "He wanted to meet you."

Liora bent her head into my palm, her breath warm against my skin. I stroked along the ridge of her cheek, grounding myself. When I turned back, Cedar was still frozen, eyes wide, like one wrong move might make her vanish.

"What—are you afraid of unicorns, Steel?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

He let out the kind of nervous laugh that made me want to roll my eyes. Still, he shuffled forward, hesitant, and stretched out his hand. His fingers barely brushed her mane, reverent, as if he were touching starlight.

Celeste padded closer too, curious, so I waved my hand gently to let her know it was safe.

"She's... beautiful," Cedar said, his voice quieter than I'd ever heard it.

I couldn't help it—I laughed. A light sound, spilling out before I could stop it. Then I drifted on, pulling him along from one enclosure to the next, introducing him to my little world. The mooncalves with their enormous eyes, Dale the kneazle flicking his tail in practiced disdain, the puffskeins that hummed when you held them right. Cedar barely said a word, which for him was almost suspicious. Nervous, but calm.

And me? I had mixed feelings.

It had been a week since that night in the library, when he cracked his chest open like a book and showed me the pages inside. I'd expected a trick, some smirk, some sting in the tail. But there wasn't one. At least, I hadn't found it yet. I usually could tell when people lied—it rang in their tone, itched in my skin. He hadn't lied.

But forgiveness? That was a different creature entirely. Could I ever forgive the years he spent tormenting me? The names, the hexes, the tomatoes. Maybe not. But I also wasn't one to clutch grudges until they rotted me from the inside. People changed. Or tried to. Everyone deserved a second chance—didn't they?

"I can't believe you rescued all of these," Cedar muttered, crouched down as Dale sniffed his hand and allowed himself to be scratched between the ears.

I tilted my head, watching them. "I've had help," I said. "Poppy keeps me updated if she finds cages—or worse. And Highwing?" I nodded toward the hippogriff preening its feathers in the corner. "She's more Poppy's than mine, really."

He hummed, still stroking the kneazle, like he was finally seeing me for the first time.

And maybe that was the strangest part of all.

"Speaking of Poppy..." I started, brushing a blade of grass between my fingers. "She was supposed to meet us here."

"Sorry I'm late," came a voice—speak of the devil. Poppy appeared at the edge of the clearing, her curls bouncing as she walked over, a weary look on her face. "The common room was a disaster. I'm so tired of the chatter—everywhere I turn, it's the same thing." She sank into the grass beside me with a huff.

"What chatter?" I asked.

Her voice dropped. "About She-Who-Rose."

"What about her?" Cedar piped up, startling Poppy.

"Oh goodness, I forgot you were here, Cedar." She smoothed her robes, flustered. "Right—you weren't in the common room. The Daily Prophet reported another town burned last night. It's... getting closer. Near Hogwarts."

A heaviness pressed down. I hated that name. Hated the way it lingered like smoke in the air.

"Ugh. I don't understand wars," I muttered. "Why not just... live in peace?"

Poppy nodded faintly, though her gaze kept flickering toward Cedar, as if she couldn't quite swallow the fact that I was sitting here with him. Of course she couldn't. Every Hufflepuff knew who Cedar Steel used to be, and she wasn't wrong to doubt him. I'd tried explaining to her—explaining to everyone—that he wanted to change. But wanting and being were very different things.

"Can we talk about something else?" Poppy asked quietly. "I'd like to stop thinking about it."

"How about the end-of-year ball?" Cedar offered.

My head whipped up. "Ball? What ball?"

"You haven't heard?" He looked almost smug. "Professor Garlick announced it to Hufflepuff this morning. They're hosting a ball for the seventh years at the end of term—a sort of graduation send-off."

"Oh, that's right," Poppy murmured, hand to her forehead. "I'd completely forgotten. And now I have another thing to worry about."

"How have I not heard of this?" I demanded, utterly confused.

"Maybe Professor Ronen hasn't mentioned it to Slytherin yet," Cedar said.

"Or maybe he did this morning while you were 'distracted,'" Poppy teased, her lips twitching.

Right. Distracted. As in listening to Bia pace our dormitory, ranting about Asher. Apparently some other boy had promised her a date with him, then backed out—or he never agreed in the first place. The details were blurry, but the devastation was not. Seeing Bia upset over a boy? New. And disorienting.

"Great. So a ball," I said, scratching at my wrist. "What do you even do at one?" I'd never been to one in my life.

"You dance, drink some punch, and dance some more," Cedar answered like it was obvious.

"Wonderful. I can't dance to save my life."

"Unless you count drunk table-dancing," Poppy muttered under her breath.

My glare could've peeled paint.

Before I could snap back, another voice cut in. "Miss Valeria?"

We all turned. Deek stood at the entryway, wringing his hands.

"Oh—sorry, Deek." My cheeks flushed. "Didn't realize you were waiting."

"Not at all, Miss. Deek only came to deliver a message. Professor Weasley asks to see you."

"Uh oh, someone's in trouble," Cedar said under his breath.

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you, Deek. I'll go find her now."

I stood, brushing grass from my skirt. The others scrambled up after me.

"We'll come with you," Poppy said, already falling into step.

Cedar nodded, wordless this time.

We drifted down the corridor toward Transfiguration, Poppy and Cedar side by side, their voices light, circling back to the ball.

Poppy—shy, quiet Poppy—was actually laughing at something Cedar said. That surprised me. Though, if I really thought about it, maybe it didn't. There had to be a reason he was a Hufflepuff. Maybe they shared some hidden kindness. Or maybe Poppy was just too nice to hold a grudge.

"I best go alone, in case..." I muttered.

"In case of what?" Cedar smirked. "She's secretly plotting the downfall of Hogwarts and only you get to hear it?"

I rolled my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.

I knocked lightly on the door, then pushed it open a crack.

"Professor Weasley?"

Her head lifted from a stack of parchments, her face composed but unreadable. "Ah, Miss Velkan. Do come in."

I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me. My fingers fidgeted against the hem of my sleeve. "Sorry to disturb you, professor. Deek told me you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes. Yes, I did." She rose from her seat, smoothing her robes as though steeling herself. "We'd better not waste time. The Headmaster wishes to see you."

My heart stuttered.

The Headmaster? Why?

She was already striding toward the door, and I trailed after her, thoughts tangling faster than my feet could keep up.

"Back already?" Cedar's voice cut through the hall as we emerged. He leaned against the wall like he'd been waiting for me.

"Miss Sweeting, Mr. Steel," Professor Weasley said sharply. "Don't you have classes to attend?"

Poppy straightened instantly. "We were only walking Valeria here, professor."

"Our next class doesn't start for an hour," Cedar added, far too casually.

"Then I suggest you spend that hour productively in your common rooms."

"Yes, professor," Poppy murmured, tugging at Cedar's sleeve until he nodded and followed her away.

I swallowed and followed Professor Weasley in silence. She said nothing, and the silence was heavy, pressing at my chest until my pulse quickened. My thoughts spun like wild cogs.

What could the Headmaster possibly want with me?

Did he know about the keys? About the other house visits?

By the time we reached the stone gargoyle, my mouth was dry. Professor Weasley whispered the password, and the spiral staircase groaned to life. I followed her up, every step heavier than the last. She rapped lightly on the door, and I swallowed hard.

What if this was the moment everything unraveled?

The door creaked open on its own, groaning like it disapproved of my steps. My stomach knotted.

"She's here, Headmaster," Professor Weasley announced, ushering me inside.

"Ah. Miss Velkan," Black drawled, leaning back in his chair like a cat with a mouse. "Do come in."

The heavy oak door shut behind me with a low, resonant click. It felt less like a door closing and more like a cell locking. His eyes fixed on me—dark, appraising—and my skin prickled under the weight of them. My stomach was already twisting. What had I done?

"I've called you here today because there are... rumours," Black said smoothly, like he was discussing the weather. "Rumours whispered by the ghosts."

The ghosts? My pulse spiked.

"Of you," he continued, "accompanied by some boy, sneaking around at night. And—" he tilted his head, eyes narrowing—"sneaking into other houses."

Shit.

He steepled his fingers. "Now, I have no idea how you're managing it, nor why. You're not the sort of student who usually lands in my office, Miss Velkan—except for that rather lively stretch in fifth year. But I suspect that had more to do with Mr. Sallow's influence than your own."

I swallowed hard. My mouth had gone dry. "Explain yourself," he said, voice clipped.

What was I supposed to say? Oh, I'm the Veilborn, actually, and I'm breaking into other Houses at night to hunt down keys connected to a prophecy about a dark witch who wants to destroy the world.

Right. Perfect.

"I've been... sleepwalking," I blurted out.

"Sleepwalking?" Professor Weasley's eyebrows arched.

"Yes," I said, hearing how pathetic it sounded but pushing forward anyway. "I've woken up in corridors before. As for the 'other houses'—I don't know anything about that."

They stared at me. Black didn't look convinced; he looked like he was cataloguing every twitch, every micro-expression. But I could also tell he had no proof—nothing but rumours.

"Very well," he said at last. "If that's what you're sticking with."

"It's true," I added quickly—too quickly. Which, of course, only made me look guiltier.

"You may go," he muttered finally.

I turned on my heel so fast I almost stumbled, but then Weasley's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Valeria?" She'd used my first name. I looked back.

"If something is going on," she said softly, "anything at all—remember, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

I forced a smile. "Thank you, Professor." And left.

I was still breathing like I'd sprinted across the grounds by the time I cleared the office. My chest ached with it.

Merlin's beard. What had just happened?

I was getting hauled in like a misbehaving first-year for trying to save the goddamn wizarding world. What did they expect me to say? Oh, by the way, professors, I'm the Veilborn. I've been sneaking around chasing mysterious keys I don't know how to use in hopes of stopping Lysandra Vale. Sure. Brilliant plan.

Then what? I'd collect my little keys like trophies, wave them under Lysandra's nose, and she'd just topple over dramatically: Oh no, Valeria Velkan, you've got me! I'm melting! The wizarding world is saved!

Right. Simple. Rainbows and sunshine.

Fuck.

I needed to talk to someone. Get this out of my head before it cracked open. Or maybe just a drink. Anything but this silence buzzing like bees in my skull.

By the time I reached my dorm, I'd convinced myself maybe—just maybe—the girls would be somewhere else. I could scream into a pillow, or sit in the quiet for five minutes before Transfiguration.

Of course, I wasn't lucky.

I opened the door and there they were. Ruby, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and Bia—poor Bia—sobbing so hard into her hands her whole body shook.

Brilliant. Add crying roommate to the list of crises.

"Hey girls," I said softly, shutting the door behind me.

Ruby gave me a small smile. "Hi, Ria."

"It's not fair!" Bia wailed, muffled by the pillow she was strangling.

I sighed, crossing the room and lowering myself onto Ruby's bed beside them. The mattress dipped under my weight, Bia shifting closer like I was some kind of lifeline she didn't even want.

"How you holding up?" I asked gently.

"Terribly! Can't you tell?" she practically screeched, face blotchy and red.

Ruby rubbed her back in soft circles. "Shhh. It's okay," she whispered, the eternal peacemaker.

But Bia wasn't hearing it. "I can't believe I was that stupid!" she cried, clutching the pillow like it was all that tethered her to earth. "That damned Hugo! He swore Asher would show—he promised! And I sat there at the Three Broomsticks all night like some lovesick fool, waiting, and he never came!"

I hadn't realized how badly she'd taken it.

I shook my head. "Maybe Hugo never even told him. Honestly, it sounds exactly like the kind of mess he'd cause."

Bia sniffled hard, eyes rimmed pink. "Maybe..."

Ruby leaned her head against Bia's shoulder. "Definitely," she said firmly. "This is all on Hugo, not you."

I reached out, gently tugging the pillow from Bia's death grip, replacing it with my hand instead. "Exactly. Hugo couldn't arrange a proper date if his life depended on it. Don't waste tears on him."

Bia let out a laugh that was really more of a hiccuping sob.

This was so unlike her. Bianca Deveraux didn't cry over boys. She made them cry. She'd never been stood up before, probably because most boys at school would duel to the death for a chance to sit next to her at breakfast.

"And the ball!" she wailed suddenly, sitting up straighter with a dramatic sniff. "Alora told me about the ball. I refuse to go unless it's with him."

I blinked at her. "Bia, you hardly know him," I said, voice softer than I felt. "I'm sure he's an arse."

She sniffled hard. "Ugh. That damned Hugo," she muttered darkly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm gonna hex him. No—worse. I'm gonna tell Alora to hex him."

That earned a small chuckle out of me.

"Yeah. That's a good idea," Ruby chimed in, ever the co-conspirator. "Or we could slip a puking pastille into his tea."

Bia nodded vigorously through her tears, eyes glassy but vindictive.

I sighed, leaning back on my hands. My brain was a hurricane of prophecies and keys and war; I could barely hold the thread of this conversation about boys and balls.

"What's the matter with you?" Ruby asked, her eyes flicking toward me.

"Hm?" I said, blinking like I'd just been caught staring at a wall. "Nothing. Bad day, I suppose."

"My life is a bad day!" Bia drawled, clutching the pillow to her chest.

Ruby sat up straighter, voice taking on that decisive tone she used when corralling us all. "Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. We're going to the Three Broomsticks tonight, just us girls. We'll drink our sorrows away."

Honestly, that sounded perfect. "I'm so down for that," I said immediately.

"I refuse to go anywhere until I find out why Asher didn't show!" Bia said, cutting the moment dead with another sniff.

I exhaled sharply. Of course.

Then her gaze snapped to mine like a Bludger homing in. She looked like she'd just solved the riddle of the Sphinx.

"What?" I asked, instantly wary.

"You're friends with Sebastian!" she blurted.

"...What?"

"You're friends with Sebastian," she repeated, eyes shining with desperation.

"...I mean, I guess?" I said slowly.

"Sebastian shares a dorm with Asher!" she continued, building steam like a train.

I still had no clue where this was going. "And...?"

"You need to go ask him why Asher didn't show!"

"Oh, no, I—"

"Oh, come on, Ria, you never do anything for me!" she pleaded, clutching my arm now. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Uh... yeah..."

"Please, please, pleeease," she begged. "If I can just find out what happened, then I'll go with you to drink. Otherwise I'm going to stay in here and sob all night so none of you will get any sleep!"

Her stare pinned me like a Niffler spotting gold.

Fucking tits.

"Fine!" I said, throwing my hands up. "I'll ask him."

"Yay!" she squealed, instantly brighter.

Then they both went quiet. Both of them looking at me expectantly.

"...What?" I asked.

They raised their brows in unison.

"Now?" I said.

"Yes. Now," Bia said firmly.

"Alright. Fine." I pushed up off the bed, muttering under my breath. Better get it over with then.

«─•───•─ « ⋅☼︎⋅ » ─•───•─»

Talk about eventful day. / S

Chapter Text

Frustration and Firewhiskey

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Truly I ain't got no business here, but since my friends are here, I just came to kick it."

- Alessia cara

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

I dragged the edge of my dagger against the wood of the bedpost, not carving anything in particular. Just letting steel bite into grain. The sound, the feel, it slowed my thoughts—if you could call them thoughts. Mostly it was just heat under my skin. Frustration. No real reason. It lived there now.

Some bloody ball coming up. Great. Celebrate the end of the world by throwing a dance. Typical Hogwarts.

"Sebastian, your brooding is making it impossible to focus."

Ominis' voice drifted over from his bed. His wand hovered above his book, guiding his fingers across the page.

"I'm not brooding," I muttered.

"Well, whatever you're doing with that dagger, it's loud. Distracting."

I rolled my eyes. "You could've studied in the library if you wanted silence."

"Well forgive me for wanting to be in my own dorm," he shot back.

Then—three sharp knocks at the door.

I froze. Nobody knocked on our door. Not Asher, not Hugo.

Ominis tilted his head toward the sound. "Who—?"

"I'll get it." I swung my legs off the bed, shoved the dagger onto my nightstand and crossed the room.

The door cracked open—and green eyes hit me like a curse.

"Valeria?" It slipped out before I'd processed it.

"Hi. Can I come in? Lovely." She brushed past me without waiting for permission.

I shut the door slowly. My arms crossed before I even realised it. Why was she here?

"Ria? What are y—" Ominis started, but she was already sitting on his bed, laying her head on his shoulder like she belonged there.

"Oh, Ominis. Thank God you're here. I need you to tell me everything's going to be alright, okay?"

He stiffened under her weight. I stayed on my bed, watching. My fingers flexed against my knees, nails biting into my palms.

"What's going on?" Ominis asked, his voice softer than mine would ever be.

Her head lifted, eyes darting between us. That flicker of annoyance shot across her face before she burst. "Guess who got dragged into the Headmaster's office today? Oh, right—me!" Her voice rose, sharp. "Apparently the ghosts have been tattling, saying they've seen me sneaking around at night. With someone. Getting into other Houses."

She flung herself backward across his bed, arms splayed, glaring up at the ceiling like she hated it. "And what did I say? That I've been sleepwalking. Sleepwalking!" Her laugh was hollow. "Because what else was I supposed to say? That I'm the Veilborn? That I'm hunting keys for some prophecy that might not even be real? I don't want this. I didn't ask for it. I don't even know how to defeat her. And how the hell can we be sure it's even me?"

She was spiraling, words crashing over themselves, faster and faster. Then her gaze snapped to me, pinning me down like a curse.

"The ghosts told them it was me with you?" My voice cut through before I could stop it.

"No," she snapped back. "Just that it was a boy. But I think Black suspects it."

Her groan filled the room. She pressed a hand to her temple, shoulders trembling with frustration.

Ominis tried to soothe her, his calm like oil on fire. "Ria, relax. It'll sort itself out."

"And what if it doesn't?" she shot back, sharp as glass. "This sucks."

"Totally sucks," I muttered. My voice came out low, flat, but her head whipped toward me like I'd offered her a lifeline.

"Thank you, Sebastian. Finally someone who gets this isn't just a game of chess—it's real." She collapsed back into the pillow again, groaning.

Her breaths were coming too fast, shallow, panic clawing its way out of her chest. Before I thought better of it, the words slipped out of me. "Breathe, Val. Remember?"

It was quiet, too calm, too steady to be mine. But she heard it. Her eyes widened, locked on me as she drew in a long, deliberate breath. Held it. Exhaled. Counting with her fingers. Again. And again. Until her shoulders lowered and some of that wild panic bled away.

I didn't look away. I couldn't. Not until her breathing matched mine.

She finally groaned, rubbing her temple. "I need a nap."

"So you came here for a nap?" Ominis asked flatly.

Her head snapped up like she'd just remembered something important. "Shit. I buried the lead." Her eyes flicked to me. "Actually, I came here because Bia has been sobbing in our dorm for a week straight. About your roommate."

"Hugo?" Ominis guessed.

"No—Asher." She glanced between us, exasperated. "Though she's furious at Hugo too."

My jaw tightened. "What about Asher?"

"Apparently Hugo told Bia he'd get her a date with Asher. She waited for him at the Three Broomsticks, but he never showed. I got sent here to figure out if you knew anything."

Ominis sighed, folding his hands over his book. "Asher isn't exactly the dating type."

Valeria leaned forward, sharp. "Did he even know about the date?"

"If by know you mean Hugo ambushed him, declared he'd set something up, and then walked away—yes," Ominis replied.

"Then why didn't he show?" she pressed. "Because he 'doesn't do dates'? What does that even mean?"

I let out a short breath. "It means he spent the evening in here, not giving a single damn. Any girl expecting Asher Vexley to waltz into the Three Broomsticks for tea and roses is digging her own grave."

Her brows knit. "Well, Bia's devastated. You have to help me—either come up with a convincing lie, or actually talk him into going out with her. I can't listen to her crying anymore."

Before I could answer, the door swung open. Speak of the devil.

Asher stepped in, hair a mess, confusion painted across his face as his gaze landed on Valeria perched beside Ominis. "Am I interrupting something?"

Valeria practically leapt off the bed like it had caught fire. "Not at all, I was just leaving."

"What's going on?" he asked, shutting the door behind him, curiosity sparking like always.

"Valeria was just explaining her shit day," I said dryly.

He huffed a laugh.

She cut me a look, then smirked. "Yeah. Think I might skip my next class and brood in my room. You know, like Sebastian always does."

Ominis and Asher both laughed. I didn't. But I had to admit, it was a clean strike.

"Or maybe I just need a drink," she muttered, hand on the door handle.

"Same," Asher grunted.

Then her gaze snapped back to me. Something flickered there—an idea she wasn't saying out loud. My brow arched at her.

"Me and the girls are going to the Three Broomsticks tonight," she said instead, smiling now—too casual. "Why don't you lot join?"

"Sure," Ominis said without hesitation.

"Why not," Asher added.

And of course they both left me hanging. I dragged a hand through my hair. "Fine."

Her smile widened like she'd just solved a riddle. "Brilliant. See you tonight, then."

And with that, she was gone—slipping out the door, leaving the room colder for it.

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"Merlin, it's cold," Ominis muttered, clutching his scarf tighter.

"It's not that cold," I answered, jaw set.

"It's freezing, actually."

Before I could bite back, Asher chimed in with that smug drawl of his. "Children, children—stop bickering or I'll have to scold you."

"Very funny," I shot back, my patience already thin.

"Can't believe I agreed to this." I muttered. The walk to Hogsmeade, the company, the inevitable noise of the Three Broomsticks. But most of all—I couldn't believe I'd agreed to see her outside of the castle walls.

"I would've been surprised if you'd said no," Asher added, lips twitching into that self-satisfied smirk, "considering..."

"Considering what?" My words came out through clenched teeth.

"Considering it was your little princess who asked you to come."

My lungs burned with the urge to snap. Instead I dragged in a slow breath, trying to chain the anger down. "She didn't ask me, she asked us. And what the hell are you even doing here?"

"Tagging along," he said easily. "Could use a drink too."

I wanted to roll my eyes. Maybe throw him into a snowdrift while I was at it. Instead, I kept walking. The wind clawed at my robes as we passed the edge of the Forbidden Forest. My gaze swept the treeline, sharp, restless—half-hoping, half-dreading the sight of shadows that weren't ours. Lysandra's presence was tightening around the school like a noose. No one knew exactly what she was after. No one except Valeria, Ominis, and me. And the thought of Black—or anyone else—catching on was enough to sour my stomach.

The lights of Hogsmeade spilled across the cobblestone ahead, warm against the bite of the cold. Relief uncurled, brief and dangerous. The closer we got to the Three Broomsticks, the more I almost felt steady.

Asher, ever theatrical, swung the door open. The warmth and noise hit us all at once. I stepped in last, eyes scanning automatically. Didn't take me long to find her.

Valeria.

Tucked in a corner with Ruby, Bianca, and those Gryffindor girls. Laughing? No. Talking too fast, eyes moving too much. Even across the room I could read her—chaotic, restless, distracted. My distraction.

"Hey, boys!" Ruby called when she noticed us.

"Hey," Ominis replied smoothly, already lowering himself into the seat beside them.

"I'll get the drinks," I muttered, turning away before my gaze could linger too long on Valeria.

Sirona was already pouring a butterbeer by the time I reached the bar. She glanced up, and her face split into a grin. "My, my. If it isn't Sebastian Sallow. Good to have you back."

"Thank you, Sirona," I said, voice clipped. "It's good to see you."

"How are you holding up?" she asked, tone low, kind.

I snorted. "Never better." Pure sarcasm, and she saw straight through it.

She chuckled softly. "Well. We'll see how long I can keep this place standing. With She-Who-Rose so close, Hogsmeade is probably next." Her words fell like stones. She poured another drink without looking at me.

My throat tightened. "I'm sure it'll be fine," I muttered. Lying. Both to her and myself.

Her eyes narrowed knowingly. "My hope lies with the Veilborn. Prophecies don't lie. She'll show herself when the time comes."

My hand flexed around the glass, knuckles white. For one insane second, I wanted to tell her. Wanted to say she didn't have to wait, that Valeria Velkan was already carrying the world on her shoulders. But the words jammed in my throat.

I swallowed hard, forced a nod.

Sirona slid two more cups across the bar. "Take care of yourself, Sebastian."

"You too." I managed the faintest smile, grabbed the drinks, and turned back toward the table. Back toward her.

"Ever the gentleman, Sallow," Asher muttered, smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Only for you," I said dryly, the joke biting at the edges.

The girls sat stiff, quiet—too quiet. All of them sipping on their drinks like they hadn't dragged us here for a reason. It was Ruby who finally cut the silence.

"So, Asher," she said brightly, extending her hand like this was a tea party instead of a pub. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

He eyed her hand like it was a trick. She didn't flinch, just kept it out until he finally gave the faintest twitch of movement. She reached forward, grabbed his hand herself, and shook it firmly. "I'm Ruby. It's nice to meet you."

I almost smiled. Ruby could be sharp when she wanted to.

"This is Bianca, and Valeria," she added, gesturing.

Asher gave Valeria the barest nod. "We've met."

"Yes, right." Valeria said quickly.

"And of course, you know me," Alora piped up.

Asher didn't even blink. "Who are you again?"

I couldn't stop the smirk that tugged at my mouth.

Alora scoffed, tossing her hair, pretending she hadn't just been gutted.

"I'm Rania," another voice chimed in.

The introductions felt more like an ambush than small talk. Too neat. Too arranged. I ignored it, downing half my drink in one go.

Valeria broke the tension with that careless tone of hers. "Great. Now that we've introduced ourselves like first-years, how about we do something else?"

A chuckle rippled around the table.

"I know," Ruby leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Truth or dare."

"Pass," I muttered instantly.

"No thanks," Asher echoed.

"Oh, come on. I didn't realize we were sitting with cowards," Alora goaded, voice syrupy and sharp.

I narrowed my eyes. Knew exactly what this was—some scheme, no doubt involving Bianca's broken heart and Asher's complete disinterest. Good luck to them.

"It's mandatory when someone suggests a drinking game," Ruby pressed. "Those are the rules. Unless you're scared?"

Of course she played that card. I met Asher's glance across the table, both of us reluctant.

"Fine," he said.

Fuck.

"Just a few rounds," I muttered.

"Brilliant!" Ruby beamed. "I'll start. Truth or dare, Alora?"

"Truth," Alora said.

Ruby tapped her chin, playing it up. "How many duels have you lost in total?"

Alora rolled her eyes. "Five."

Valeria chuckled under her breath.

Alora's eyes narrowed. "And what are you laughing at?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that I was four of those."

I smirked despite myself, remembering the fifth was me.

"Yeah, yeah," Alora waved her off. "You're a great duelist. Don't let it swell your head. I distinctly recall you laid out in the hospital wing last week."

Valeria shot her a glare, which Alora ignored with the grace of someone who knew she'd landed the hit.

"Anyway. Ominis—truth or dare?"

"Truth," he sighed.

"If you've ever gotten detention, what was it for?" Alora asked.

"That one's easy," he said smoothly. "Following Sebastian into one of his half-baked schemes."

The table erupted in laughter. I didn't.

"Rania, truth or dare?" Ominis asked.

"Dare."

He smirked. "I dare you to—" He named something silly and she went through with it, drawing more laughter. Then she turned to Valeria. "Truth or dare?"

Valeria blinked. "Um... how do you play this again?" Her tone sheepish, almost innocent.

"You've never played?" Rania laughed.

"Well—no."

"It's simple. Truth, you answer honestly. Dare, you do it, no matter what."

"Alright then. Dare."

Rania grinned. "I dare you to chug your whole glass of butterbeer."

Valeria's brows shot up. She glanced at the glass, then back at us. "Fine."

She lifted it, tilted her head back, and drank like her life depended on it. The girls immediately started chanting. "Chug! Chug!"

By the time she slammed the empty glass down, she groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

And then—her glass lifted into the air, floating off to the bar. A fresh one hovered back, settling neatly in front of her. We all glanced up to see Sirona at the counter, winking.

"Thank you, Sirona," Valeria said, smile tugging at her mouth.

Sirona only gave a nod, the faintest smirk curling at the edges.

"Okay then. Sebastian—truth or dare?"

Her voice. My name on her lips. It curled low in my stomach before I forced it down.

"Truth," I said, flat.

She hesitated, chewing her lip. "Uh... what's your favorite class?"

Simple. Too simple. I opened my mouth to say none when Bianca cut in, loud and sharp.

"Oh, boo, that's boring. Ask him something better."

Valeria flushed. "I—I don't know what else to ask."

"Fine," Bianca snapped, eyes locking on me like a predator. "I'll ask then. What's your deepest, darkest secret?"

The table seemed to still. For a moment, my pulse kicked against my ribs. Because I knew. I knew the real answer, the one I'd never say aloud, not even in the privacy of my own damned head.

So I smirked instead. "That I'm actually an undercover Auror sent here to keep an eye on all of you."

Silence. Then Asher's low chuckle cracked it open, spreading until the whole table was laughing.

"You can't lie in this game," Ruby rolled her eyes.

"I'm not lying. I just don't have any dark secrets worth telling."

"Oh, please. Everyone does," Alora chimed in, smug.

"Do they?" I turned to her. "Then tell me yours."

Her chin lifted. "You haven't asked me truth or dare."

I leaned back, swirling my drink. "Fine. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," she said quickly, thinking she'd sidestepped it.

Bad move. I smirked. "I dare you to tell me your deepest, darkest secret."

Her jaw snapped tight. "That's not fair. That's a truth."

"No," I said, voice low. "It's a dare. I dare you to tell me the truth."

Her glare could've cut stone. Then she exhaled. "Fine. I had a crush once."

The table exploded. Gasps, shrieks, Bianca's mouth falling open.

"What?!"

"You heard me."

"I thought you hated boys!" Ruby's eyes were wide.

"You're kidding," Rania said.

"It was years ago," Alora muttered, flicking her hand. "Doesn't matter now. Moving on. Truth or dare, Asher?"

His face was carved from stone. "Dare."

And that wicked smile spread across hers. "I dare you to kiss Bianca's hand."

The air shifted. Bianca froze, red creeping up her cheeks like fire.

Asher's brows flicked up, the smallest tell, then dropped again. The table held its breath.

"No," he said flatly.

"It's the rules," Alora sing-songed. "Or are you a coward?"

He clenched his jaw, thinking. The silence stretched, brittle. And then—he moved. Reaching across the table, he took Bianca's trembling hand in his, brought it to his lips, and pressed the lightest kiss against her knuckles.

The girls exploded. Shrieks, laughter, Ruby pounding the table, Bianca squealing into her free hand. Valeria laughed too, soft and genuine, and the sound scraped against me in ways I didn't want to name.

Asher leaned back like nothing had happened. But I saw it—the tension in his jaw, the edge in his shoulders. He hated it. Hated all of this.

But he'd done it. Because Asher Vexley wasn't a coward.

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Bia must've fainted on the inside. / S

Chapter Text

Bruise

« ⋅☾⋅ »

"'Cause I can't be your superman, can't be your superman. Can't be your superman, your superman, your superman."

- Eminem

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

⋅☾⋅Sebastian⋅☾⋅

The game dragged on longer than I'd signed up for.

At one point Bianca was dared to buy firewhisky for the whole table—her vault was bottomless, after all—and she actually did it. The shots burned down my throat, one after the other, until the edges of the room blurred and the noise of laughter tangled together.

I didn't usually drink this much. But I couldn't stop myself tonight. Couldn't stop watching her.

Valeria.

Her laugh. The way she leaned back in her chair, looser than usual, not carrying the weight of the world for once. She looked lighter. I should've let it be. But my eyes kept pulling to her, like some masochistic tether, and every time she smiled my chest tightened.

Idiot. Keep an eye on her, that's all. Make sure she doesn't go too far. That's all.

"Merlin, Poppy!" Valeria's head snapped toward the door.

I followed her gaze—

There she was, Poppy skipping inside like this was a social call, with half of Hufflepuff trailing behind her. And at the front of the pack—smug grin in place, hair neat as ever—stood Cedar Steel.

Fucking hell.

"Didn't know you were all here," Poppy said cheerfully, pulling up a chair. Cedar lingered a moment, uncertain, until—

"Hey, Cedar, join us," Valeria said.

He smiled. Sat down. Right beside her.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she shifted over, making room for him.

Every muscle in my body locked tight. My jaw. My fists. My chest. She might've forgiven him—but I hadn't. I'd never forget the way he used to look at her. The things he said.

"What are you doing here?" Ruby asked, breaking my focus.

"Needed some fun," Poppy shrugged, nodding toward her housemates gathering at another table. "With everything going on."

Everyone nodded. Drinks passed. The conversation shifted. I let it wash over me, sipping in silence.

"Ugh, don't remind me about the dance," Rania groaned.

"I don't see the fuss," Valeria said. "If we don't have dates, we can go as friends."

Of course she'd say that—practical, sweet, making it sound so simple.

And then Cedar, damn him, leaned toward her. "How did it go with Professor Weasley earlier?"

Valeria's mouth pulled tight. "Don't remind me," she muttered. "It went... fine."

"I think she has a soft spot for you," he said smoothly.

"You think?" she asked, and laughed.

Laughed. With him. Like it was easy.

I forced my eyes away, catching Poppy leaning into Ominis for some muttered conversation about Potions. Bianca and the Gryffindors had fallen into chatter about the dance. Alora twirled her wand idly. And there I sat, glass in hand, hating that I noticed how relaxed she looked beside him.

Why was she giving him this? Why was she letting him laugh with her? She was kind to everyone—but not everyone had earned it. Not him.

More students spilled into the pub, crowding around tables. The air grew louder, heavier with smoke and heat.

"Who wants to do shots?" Cedar asked suddenly.

Alora grinned. "I'm in."

"Sure—if you're paying," Bianca muttered.

He laughed and strode to the bar. I watched him go, nails pressing crescents into my palm.

The moment he was gone, the girls leaned in like conspirators.

"He's so different," Bianca whispered.

"I know," Poppy agreed. "It's like he's changed overnight."

"Uncanny," Alora said, grimacing. "I always hated him."

"His father died," Ruby murmured. "Gave him a reality check. Isn't that right, Ria?"

Valeria nodded, quietly. "Yeah. Surprised me too. But... he's actually rather fun to hang around."

Her words hit like a stone to the gut.

By the time Cedar came back, hands full of shot glasses, I was burning. He set them neatly on the table. Everyone grabbed one.

"You know, Steel, I'm beginning to like you," Bianca said.

"Another boy already?" Ruby teased.

Cedar laughed, raising his glass. "To drowning our worries in liquor."

All around me, glasses lifted. Even Asher picked his up, grim but compliant. They downed them in unison.

I stared at mine for a long second. Free drink, I thought bitterly. Then tossed it back.

The fire slid down my throat. But it didn't burn nearly as much as watching Valeria smile at him.

The pub had turned into a crush of bodies and heat, music spilling from someone's enchanted lute in the corner. It could've been a dance floor for all the shoving and laughing. Valeria had already drained her fourth butterbeer and licked the rim of her third shot. She was laughing at something Cedar said, swatting his arm, and I felt my jaw tighten around the rim of my glass.

Asher leaned close, voice a low mock-whisper in my ear. "Looks like someone's stealing your girl."

I wanted to put my fist through his smirk. Instead, I stared at Valeria. She pushed her chair back, moving with that drunken determination she always had, muttering something about getting another drink.

My eyes followed her across the room. Always.

She reached the bar, murmured something to Sirona, and turned sharply—

And then the world fractured.

A Ravenclaw boy came out of nowhere. They collided hard. Butterbeer exploded between them, spraying down her clothes, soaking his robes. Shards of glass rained to the floor, skittering across the stone.

And then—

Her hand.

Suspended midair. Fingers trembling. The remnants of glass still lodged in her grip.

Blood.

It spilled thick and fast, trailing down the delicate line of her palm, dripping from her wrist to the floor in sharp red drops. She stared at it, frozen, her lips parting like she couldn't quite process what had happened.

Blood.

My heart stopped. Dead silence in my chest.

Then it slammed back to life with a brutal thud, rattling my ribs, roaring in my ears until it drowned out the entire room. I couldn't hear the crowd, couldn't see the Ravenclaw stammering apologies, couldn't think of anything else.

She's hurt.

I was moving before my brain even caught up, shoving my way through the crowd. Chairs scraped, people muttered, but all I saw was her hand trembling midair, red dripping down her palm in a steady stream. Not a scratch. Deep.

"Valeria—" My voice broke out rough.

Sirona gasped from behind the bar. "Goodness!"

"I—I'm so sorry!" the Ravenclaw stammered, pale as parchment.

"Fuck off," I snarled at him, not even looking. "Haven't you done enough?"

He backed away instantly.

The girls were at her side now, voices overlapping—"Ria, are you okay?"—but I barely heard them. All I could see was the blood running down her hand, trailing to the floor, warm and bright against the stone.

I caught her wrist, my grip firm but careful, tilting her palm up. My own pulse roared in my ears. Her blood. My mind had narrowed to that single point. Her blood. She's hurt.

"Sirona—first aid?" I barked.

"No, don't bother," Valeria muttered, trying to pull out her wand. "I can heal it—"

"No way." My voice came out sharp, almost a growl. "You're not doing magic this drunk."

Her green eyes blinked up at me, hazy but defiant. "It's just a cut."

"It's not 'just' anything."

I looked at the others. "Anyone else know a healing spell worth a damn?"

They all shook their heads. Even Sirona.

Shit.

"I've got a box of potions and such upstairs in my lavatory," Sirona said.

"Good." I didn't wait. I grabbed a clean bar cloth from the counter, sloshed liquor over it, and pressed it to Valeria's palm. She hissed through her teeth, but I held it there anyway, one arm sliding around her shoulders to steady her.

"Come on." My voice was low, hard. No room for argument.

I guided her out of the crowd, up the stairs, my hand still clamped over hers, feeling her pulse through my palm. The girls stayed downstairs, murmuring. They didn't follow.

Of course they didn't. They knew I'd take care of her.

I silently cursed myself for that.

Because my heart was still hammering, and all I could think was—

She's hurt. She's hurt. She's hurt.

I practically slammed the lavatory door open with my shoulder, half dragging her in behind me. It was bigger than I expected—white tiles, a claw-foot tub, shelves stacked with potions and linens—but all I could see was her hand, red and slick, pressed to the soaked cloth.

"Here. Hold onto this," I said, my voice rougher than I meant. I pried my hand from hers and she immediately clamped her other palm down over the cloth, grimacing. She stumbled back against the counter like she needed it to hold her up.

My pulse hammered so loud it filled the room. My fingers tore at every cupboard, pulling open drawers, rifling through cabinets. Think. Focus. She's bleeding.

There—at the back of a shelf, a small wooden box. I snatched it and set it on the counter, coming to stand in front of her without thinking.

I caught her waist before I even realized what I was doing, lifting her easily onto the counter. She let out a soft yelp at the sudden movement but didn't protest, just settled onto the cold surface. My hips brushed her knees, she was right there, trembling slightly. My hands were already inside the box, shifting through its contents—bandages, salves, a couple of potions, none of them what I needed.

"Is there any dittany?" she asked, voice thin.

I shook my head once, curt. "No. Wiggenweld though." I held up the green bottle, pulled the cork with my teeth and handed it to her. She took a sip and grimaced at the taste.

Then I took her hand. Gently. As if the wrong pressure might break her entirely. I peeled the cloth away and blood welled instantly, dark and steady. The potion had slowed it but not stopped it. My stomach turned but I forced myself to stay steady, dabbing at it with a clean square of linen.

Shards. Tiny glints embedded in her palm.

"Stay still." My voice was low, sharp. I grabbed a pair of tweezers from the box. "This might hurt."

She nodded, jaw tightening.

I lowered the tweezers, hands steady despite the thunder in my chest. She hissed through her teeth and it punched through me like a blade. "I'm sorry," I muttered before I could stop myself. "Just a little longer. You'll be fine."

She didn't speak, only watched me with wide, glassy eyes. Another shard came free, and another until they were all out. I dabbed the blood away again, slow and careful. She winced, a soft sound slipping out of her throat, and I found myself murmuring before my brain caught up.

"Shhh. It's alright."

Her eyes shone, tears brimming. My hands worked automatically now, cleaning and pressing, wrapping her palm with a fresh bandage. "I'm going to put it on tight, okay?"

She nodded faintly. I wound the cloth around her hand one layer at a time, firm but gentle, my thumbs brushing her skin. All I could hear was my heartbeat, loud and relentless: she's hurt, she's hurt, she's hurt.

I tied the bandage off carefully and exhaled a shaky breath.

Say something. Anything. Anything to break the silence gnawing at her edges.

The words slipped out before I could catch them.

"Now we'll have matching scars."

Her gaze snapped up to mine, confusion flickering in those sage-green eyes.I swallowed hard, finished the wrap in neat, precise folds, then lifted her hand and caught the tail between my teeth—tore off the excess and tucked the end flat, forcing my hands steady. Slowly, reluctantly, I let go of her wounded palm. She cradled it against her lap, protective, fragile.

And then I did what I never do. I pulled at the edge of my glove, peeling it back finger by finger, like I was exposing a secret. The air felt cold against my skin. I held my hand up, scarred palm bared to her. The thin, deep line cutting across it like a memory carved into flesh.

She looked at it. Said nothing. Just... reached. Her unwounded hand found mine, holding it, anchoring it, her eyes fixed on the old wound as if it could tell her a story I couldn't put into words.

"How did you get it?" she asked, voice small, almost reverent.

My throat tightened. I swallowed. "In there," I said—no need to explain further. The word itself was enough. Azkaban lingered like smoke in the air between us.

"I would've done anything to numb the pain," I continued, the memory heavy on my tongue. "One night I picked up a glass shard. Just to see if I could still feel something... after the dementors had been at me for too long. And I did. I felt it."

Her eyes softened, flicking over the jagged scar. Then—slowly, gently—she raised her fingers and traced it.

The air shifted, thick and heavy, like even the castle itself had stilled to watch. My pulse slowed into heavy, deliberate beats, thudding in my chest, while my breath caught—shallow, ragged—matching hers.

Her fingertip traced across the scar in my palm, feather-light. I didn't pull away. I couldn't.

Then—Merlin help me—she lifted my hand as if it were something fragile, precious, and pressed the softest kiss against the scar.

Every nerve in my body caught fire. Blood surged hot and fast, pooling low, flowing straight to my dick in the span of a second.

She lowered my hand carefully, like it had become something more than flesh and bone. She leaned closer without meaning to, lashes lowering, her face inches from mine. And then—her gaze flicked upward, straight to my mouth. To the faint white scar that split my bottom lip.

Her fingers followed her gaze—hesitant, trembling—lifting from my palm to my mouth. And then she touched it. The scar. Just a soft press, tracing the line like it was something precious instead of broken.

I swallowed hard, every nerve in me alive, my skin burning where she brushed me. My pulse thrummed against her fingertips; I could feel hers too, frantic, traveling all the way through her touch.

And then—

"I still find them beautiful," she whispered.

The words hit me like a blow, sharp and solid, settling deep in my chest. I let out a low, unsteady chuckle, the only shield I had left.

"You're crazy, Chaton."

But my voice cracked on the word.

She blinked, swallowed, her lashes fluttering as her gaze locked with mine. Her fingers still rested against my scar, feather-light but branding, like fire on skin. My lungs stuttered. My pulse thundered so violently I was certain she could hear it in the silence.

We stared. Neither of us breathing, as if the whole room had narrowed to this single thread between us. Her eyes flickered down to my mouth—barely, but enough to undo me.

Her pulse buzzed under my fingertips—quick, urgent—and before I could think better of it my mouth moved on its own.

"Your pulse is fast." The words came out flat, stupid, a surveillance report that somehow sounded like a confession.

She swallowed. I watched the little lift and fall of her throat, the way her sage-green eyes locked on mine as if she could pin the thought behind them. "Is it?" she said. It wasn't a question. 

Something in my chest tightened until it was a live thing. My tongue felt thick. "Am I making you nervous?" I heard myself ask. God, the voice sounded foreign—raw and too honest.

She let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh if anything about this was funny. "Don't say stuff like that," she said.

I frowned, stupidly. "Why not?"

Her lashes dropped for a beat, when they lifted again the room narrowed to the line of her mouth. "I can't think straight when you say things like that." The simple truth came out like an accusation and a plea at once.

Something animal inside me unclenched and then flared. "What if I don't want you to think straight?" I whispered before I could stop myself, and the words hung between us like charged wire.

Silence answered, thick as drowning. I could feel my heartbeat in my jaw, in the palms of my hands. 

And then, dangerously slow and impossibly decided, she leaned in.

I froze. Every muscle taut, my body screaming in panic and want all at once.

Then—

Her lips brushed mine.

Carefully. Like a question, hesitant, trembling, nothing more than a whisper of touch. My eyes flew wide. I forgot how to breathe. Her hand fisted in the fabric of my shirt, clutching it like I was the only solid thing in the world. 

I was still stone, my mind blank, racing to catch up—until instinct finally ripped through hesitation.

I moved.

My hand snapped to the curve of her throat, rough, possessive, thumb digging just under her jaw until I felt the fragile pulse hammer against my skin. My other clamped onto her waist, hauling her against me so hard I knew she'd bruise. 

Her breath caught, her body jolting into mine.

"Not the softness you find in your books, is it?" I murmured, lips inches from hers. 

With one pull her legs parted, locking me between them, her body molded tight against me. My erection pressing hard onto her center.

I tilted her head back, forcing her to look at me, at what she was provoking. 

Then—

"I don't want softness."

Fuck.

That did it. In one swift motion I crushed my mouth to hers.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't supposed to be. I kissed her like I was starving, like I'd been holding this back for years and finally broke. My lips slammed into hers, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. 

She was too soft, too pure for the way I devoured her—but I couldn't stop.

Her taste hit me like fire—cherries and warmth and something that clung to me like sin. Sweet, intoxicating, dangerous. I swallowed her gasps, pressing harder, drinking her in like I'd never had anything worth living for until this moment. 

Her lips yielded but I didn't give her space, dragging her deeper, pulling her closer, my grip at her waist biting so tight it felt like a warning.

She was silk beneath my hands, honey on my tongue, and I was the ruin clawing at her sweetness. I kissed her like I wanted to consume her whole—unable, unwilling, to let go.

Her fingers gripped tighter, anchoring us together.

Then—

She moaned against my mouth—a soft, startled sound—and I devoured it like it belonged to me. 

And then my brain caught up.

I tore myself back as though burned, stumbling two steps away. My lungs locked, then convulsed, dragging ragged air into me like I'd been drowning. My pulse hammered in my throat, frantic and uneven. I dragged a shaking hand through my hair, eyes darting around the room for something to anchor me.

"Fuck..." It slipped out, cracked and low. "Fucking—fuck." My eyes squeezed shut. My chest heaved. My heart felt too big for my ribs.

"Sebastian?" Her voice was small, frayed, as if she didn't quite know which version of me she'd just kissed.

"Why did you do that?!" My voice snapped, higher than I meant, sharp enough to cut.

"I—" she began, but the words drowned under mine.

"I can't be your knight in shining armour, Valeria!" It burst from me before I could stop it. She sat frozen on the counter, still flushed from the kiss, hair tumbling around her face, looking so goddamn beautiful it hurt. My heart thrashed harder.

"I told you," my voice cracked again, "I can't do this. I can't give you what you want. I can't give you stability or soft words or love. I don't feel love, Valeria."

Her eyes snapped open wide, but then her feet hit the ground. She stepped toward me, voice trembling but firm. "Yes, you do," she said. "You just don't recognize it. I feel it too. You can't tell me it isn't there!"

I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "You still don't get it, do you?" My hands were fists now, knuckles white. "I'm not the one who needs saving. I'm not a victim you patch up with kindness. I am the thing you should be afraid of. The monster they whisper about."

Her chin lifted. "You're not the monster, Sebastian," she said, steady even with tears shining in her eyes. "The monster is out there. And she has a name. Lysandra Vale."

"You think danger is out there?" I spat. "You think they're gonna come for me—kick down the door, blade to my throat? No. You don't see it, Valeria. I am the blade. I'm the cold edge they choke on. I don't wait for danger—it waits for me."

My words felt like gravel, ripping out of my throat.

"I can't do this." My voice cracked, low and rough, like gravel underfoot. "You keep looking at me like I'm some knight from your stories—a man who rides in and saves you. I'm not that man, Valeria. I don't have a sword, or a white horse, or happily-ever-afters in my blood." My hands trembled. "I'm not built to catch you. I'm built to break things. I almost broke you right here and now."

Her eyes glimmered. For a heartbeat she said nothing—then the words tore out of her, hot as a brand. "You think you're the only one with scars?" she snapped. "You think you're the only one who knows what it is to bleed and keep walking?"

She stepped closer, her voice softer but sharper. "You wear yours on your hands. I wear mine everywhere no one sees. And still, I'm here."

Her fingers found mine, pulling my bare hand into her wounded one, pressing our palms together until our scars lined up like a map through the fabric. Her touch was trembling but sure. "You talk like you're some dark thing I should be afraid of," she whispered. "But do you even see what I see when I look at you?"

Her thumb brushed over the scars on my hand. "I see a boy who's been cut open and stitched himself back together a thousand times. I see someone who has learned how to fight but still, somehow, still chooses to protect. That's not a monster, Sebastian."

She lifted my hand, guiding it to her chest until our scars were between us like an oath. Her eyes were wet, but steady. "That's a man. And I've already chosen him." Her breath caught. "I don't know when I did. I only know I did. So stop telling me what I deserve." Her voice cracked.

My heart slammed. For one suspended moment, the room held its breath. Her eyes searched mine, and I wanted—fuck, I wanted—to believe her.

"This was a mistake." I said, voice low more. controlled. But then I tore my hand from hers, turning away like a coward. My voice came out flat, dead. "Go back to the castle, Valeria."

Silence. I didn't look at her; I could feel the tears standing in her eyes without seeing them. Her breath hitched once.

"Fine." Her lips shaped the word more than spoke it. A whisper carved from glass.

Her footsteps retreated across the floorboards. Each one echoed like a countdown in my chest.

Shit. The word clawed out of me before I could stop it. "I'm trying to save you, Valeria."

That stopped her. She turned, eyes sharp, fury sparking in their depths. "From what?" Her voice cut like a blade.

I swallowed hard, throat dry, heart pounding so violently it hurt. "From me."

For a heartbeat she just stared—searching, maybe even begging for me to take it back.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Her jaw tightened. Her gaze broke. And then the door slammed, the sound shattering through me—

And she was gone.

I clenched my teeth, every muscle burning. My gaze fell to the floor, blurred. I kicked the side of the tub, the crack of it echoing like a curse. Then I slid down to the cold tiles, head in my hands, heart still slamming, the taste of her still on my lips.

Fuck. Fucking shit.

What have I done?

«───=─── « ⋅☾⋅ » ───=───»

Oh you thought they would finally get together? Jokes on you then. / S