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Chapter Text

The lacewing flies flitted in harmony with the cicadas that chirruped in the bushes that lined the Aranshire cottage. The frogs by the shoreline bellowed, their croaks carrying on the gentle breeze. It was a quiet summer’s night in the idyllic hamlet that the Sallow family called home.

Or it would have been, if not for the fifteen year old boy being frogmarched up the path to his home by two Aurors, wrists shackled behind his back and making an absolute racket as he protested his questionable innocence. His untamed, wild curls drooped into his eyes that were permanently frozen into a scowl – had been since The Incident – and he tried to use his broad shoulders to shrug his captors off him. The Aurors, seasoned veterans, rolled their eyes over the top of the miscreant’s head; they had heard it all before and they were cynical enough to know that a teenager was lying when their mouth was moving. With a heavy sigh the more senior of the two Aurors knocked on the door, fist pounding with the sombre note of authority.

“Not again!” Silas Sallow growled as he threw open the door to find his wayward son on the doorstep with a police escort home. He called out to his wife; Emerys was comforting and settling Anne after one of her attacks, but it seemed that she would have to abandon her dying daughter in favour of the son that was straying from the path of being good.

Sebastian, to his credit, had the decency to look the slightest bit abashed as his father grabbed him by the collar of his linen shirt, ripped and stained, the lingering stench of stale wine and smoke curling around him, and dragged the boy over the threshold of the house.

“Sebastian, why are the Aurors bringing you home?”

“They just followed me here; can we keep them? You did promise to get me and Anne a puppy when we were little and you never made good on it.”

“Sebastian!” Silas growled once more, the vein in his forehead throbbing prominently as it was so wont to do when his blood pressure was just about to rocket off into the stratosphere. “What’s the real reason the Aurors are with you?”

There was a beat of silence as Sebastian’s dark brown gaze sifted from one stern Auror to the other. “With everything that’s happening – the rise of the goblins and more poachers in the area – I’ve decided it would be prudent if I hired protection.”

“Son, did something happen while you were out with your friends this evening?”

Sebastian speared a look at the Aurors he was sandwiched between and shook his head. His voice rose several octaves higher than normal – a clear sign he was about to tell a whopper of a lie – as he shook his head and squeaked out, “no.”

“We caught your son attempting to Apparate from Manor Cape to Hogsmeade –” one of the Aurors began, only to be cut off by Emerys Sallow’s shrill voice shrieking at a volume that made all the men in the homestead wince.

“Apparate?! Sebastian doesn’t even have a licence for that! He won’t be sixteen until October, so he hasn’t even had Apparition lessons! Sit down! Right now!” Emerys glowered at her child, absolutely mortified that she had raised a stubborn boy who was so impulsive he acted without thinking about the short and long-term consequences of his actions.

Sebastian, contrastingly, had no shame; instead he threw the Aurors a cocky smirk over his shoulder and quipped, “thanks for the lift home. Just uncuff me and you can probably go now.”

The Auror with a scruffy beard, portly build and demeanour that was similar to Sebastian’s father’s but a touch more soured and jaded glared daggers at the cheeky bugger. The boy was far too intelligent for his own good and was using his intellect for mischief instead of fulfilling his potential, just like his father and mother had back in the day. “We’ll stay.”

“Why would you do that?!” Emerys groaned, burying her head in her hands as her fingers gripped her untamed mane of hair tight. Her boy had changed, and it was more than just puberty blues. Ever since Anne had been attacked and cursed, Sebastian had become more wilfully disobedient, more secretive, dealing in lies and half-truths to his parents to avoid having to face what was their new reality.

“Well, I got bored of flying so I just thought I’d try something new!” Sebastian glowered back at his parents, feeling even more nettled as the conversation went on. Didn’t anyone understand that the only way to feel like he was in control of his life was to push himself to extremes?! Especially since everything with Anne was so out of control at the moment. Pesky laws and societal rules weren’t going to stop him; he needed his release as much as he needed oxygen in his lungs. He’d go stir crazy otherwise and probably land up in Azkaban when he inevitably snapped. “You’re always telling me to try new things!”

“I meant vegetables and the like, not criminal activity!” Emerys clarified as though it should have been obvious.

“After a short pursuit, we apprehended your son in possession of a number of suspicious items.”

If Emerys had any, she would have clutched at her pearls at the revelation.

“Officers, what were these suspicious items?” Silas interceded; he could see that Emerys and Sebastian were gearing up for a fight. They had always clashed, too similar in all the wrong ways and too blinded by their emotions to step back and put themselves in each other’s shoes.

Each Auror dumped a Nab-Sack on the Sallow’s dining table, one on Sebastian’s left and one on his right. “Tell your mother and father what we’d find in this Nab-Sack.”

Sebastian contemplated lying again – he had become so adept at it the words just rolled off his tongue - but he realised he was in enough shit and lying wouldn’t help his cause. It was time to come clean; he jerked his head to the left bag. “Ominis Gaunt, Poppy Sweeting, Samantha Dale, Garreth Weasley and Imelda Reyes.”

“People?!” Emerys exploded, waving her arms around as wild as a windmill as incandescent rage rained down on them. “You put people in a Nab-Sack?! What is wrong with you?! Are you seriously that stupid?! They could have been hurt; you could have suffocated them! You could have killed them!”

“I got their permission before they climbed in there; they knew the risks!” Sebastian blazed back, his temper firing up to match his mother’s perfectly. “It’s not like I actually kidnapped them! And in any other situation, you’d be lauding me for this, not berating me! I cast an Extension Charm so strong it can hold up to five people! Do you know how hard that is?! You’re looking at Scotland’s champion of fitting friends into a bag!”

“That is so far off the point it’s in another galaxy, Sebastian,” Silas snarled. Normally, he was the calm, rational one while Emerys was the passionate hot-head between them, but Sebastian’s flippant, cavalier attitude, and absolute shirking of his accountability for his actions after being brought home by the police was rubbing him up the wrong way.

“Why don’t you tell your parents what we found in your other Nab-Sack?”

Sebastian squirmed, the cold metal of the handcuffs chafing the skin on his wrists. He really didn’t want his parents knowing what avenues of recreation he was perusing to dull the pain of Anne’s diagnosis. They had enough to deal with and he was only a year and a bit away from being of age; what difference did it make if he was wasting his life and potential by drinking copious amounts of alcohol and smoking a blend of Mallowsweet and Alihosty now instead of next year?

Emerys had no such qualms; she wrenched the bag open, turned it upside down. Several empty bottles of Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, bourbon, gin and elderflower wine tumbled to the ground, glass shattering to the floor in a confession as damning as a baptism of stupid. Silas stared at the mess, mouth agape as realisation dawned on him. It wasn’t just Anne that was suffering, Sebastian was too; both he and Emerys had been too blinded by Anne’s curse that they had left Sebastian by the wayside. Both of his children had serious issues to contend with, and neither parent knew where to start in tackling Sebastian and his myriad of problems since it paled in comparison to Anne.

“Seb, how long have you been drinking for?”

“Well, not forever,” Sebastian hedged, hoping to evade a truth he did not want revealed. “Obviously my first few years were milk, and thank you for that.” He gestured towards his mother and graced her with the first real and genuine smile he had cracked in the months since Anne’s diagnosis and prognosis, the crooked smile that had one corner of his mouth lilting up while the other stayed flat. Emerys flushed at her son’s uncouth and brazen behaviour, covering her chest and staring aghast at Silas, hoping her husband would take their son to task over his inappropriate comment.

“Alcohol, Sebastian! How long have you been drinking alcohol?”

“I can’t really give you a day figure,” Sebastian smirked, although he could. The joy of a near-eidetic memory meant he could recall most things in technicolour vision at the drop of a hat. The day he started drinking was three weeks after Anne was cursed and he finally came to the realisation that his other self would not make it to adulthood. The alcohol burned in a way that was comforting and punishing as it trickled down his windpipe and settled into his stomach, a way for him to cope without actually coping, repressing everything down into a small box as the liquid numbed his pain. “But I’ve seen you and your friends down at The Three Broomsticks; you’re not one to talk.”

Silas was speechless. His mouth opened and closed, molars grinding down to dust as he fished for words to shift the balance of power in this conversation back to him and Emerys; the darker side to his son was being able to use words and charm to manipulate a conversation to his will, and Sebastian had always been able to excel and best his parents in that regard.

Emerys circled her son, heels clicking a staccato beat against the dark timber floorboards, a predator unnerving their prey as she used her senses to take him in. She could smell the smoke, the telltale signs that Sebastian had not only engaged in underaged drinking, but was also partaking in illegal and illicit substances. She couldn’t suppress the growl that escaped her lips and Sebastian knew he had been rumbled.

Time for some more damage control.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Sebastian began, knowing the words he said next was, ironically, like playing with fire. But he had always been reckless, always tempted fate, pushing his parents to breaking point to see just what he could get away with and where the boundaries really lay. “Instead of using confringo to keep ourselves warm out near the coast – which is frankly downright dangerous – we had our own little incendio sticks that we'd smoke to warm us up from the inside out.”

Silas let out a humourless laugh – a cross between a chuckle and a groan – at what his son considered dangerous; they had very different ideas on that front. But before he could take his son to task, a blood curdling scream ripped out from Anne’s room. Both he and Emerys barbed each other with their gaze, eyes wide open in panic as they darted up the staircase to aid and comfort her.

The Auror on Sebastian’s right couldn’t help but observe the change in the boy as his parents left. The cocky, outspoken façade crumbled and exposed the cracks and vulnerability of a teenaged boy that was always shunted into a corner, always placed on the backburner because something bigger than him and his transgressions took priority. He watched the smile slide off Sebastian’s face like Stinksap, gooey and slippery all at the same time. The shutters in what was once warm brown eyes rolled down and little piece of the boy curled up and died inside of him, never to be seen again.

The Auror sympathised – he recognised the look of being overshadowed by a sibling because he had seen that exact expression on his face when his younger brother surpassed him in every way possible – and with a sigh, he unlocked the handcuffs that had shackled Sebastian’s wrists together. Sebastian stared at the Auror, quizzical, but he also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth; he wasn’t sure he’d like what he found.

“You have been cautioned for your misdemeanours this time; next time you may not be so lucky.”

Next time I won’t get caught, Sebastian thought cockily, but outwardly projected a veneer of sincerity. “Of course not, Officer. May I?” He pointed upstairs to where he knew Anne was suffering – he could feel his intestines cramp and twist like snakes - and scarpered before the Aurors could stop him.

It had been a long night, but the day wasn’t over for Silas Sallow; he still had the Aurors in his living room and his delinquent son to deal with. With an ache that settled in his bones, Silas trundled down the stairs, feeling much older than forty years old, but no wiser than when he was fifteen. He heaved out a hefty sigh when he saw the Aurors that had brought Sebastian home making themselves at home on his sofa.

“I’m so sorry about my son, Officers. Rest assured, Sebastian will face consequences for his poor choices.”

The two Aurors glanced at each other, the more senior of the pair flicking his head to dismiss his partner and get them waiting outside.

“Consequences aren’t the only answer, Silas,” the Auror grumbled, rising to his feet so he could stare his younger brother in the eye. “I was able to talk my supervisor down and convince her to give Sebastian a caution so he doesn’t face the Wizengamot, but I will not be able to do that if he continues to reoffend. The boy needs help, more than you can give him. Otherwise he’s on the path to Azkaban.”

Silas stiffened, muscles tauter than a coiled snake ready to strike as he heard a truth he did not want to acknowledge from a person he thought he knew but had now become a stranger to him. “Don’t speak as if you know my son or what we’re going through at the moment, and don’t pretend to be his saviour, as if your benevolence is keeping him out of serious trouble! You walked away from us, Solomon, not the other way around!”

“Against my better judgement and my personal feelings towards you and yours, I’m trying to help, Silas! Look past your own nose so you can see the face of your son, your child who isn’t coping with the cards life has dealt him!” Solomon rose to his feet and stormed to the door, wrenching it open so aggressively the door nearly came off its hinges. “You’re his father; make it easier for him. That’s your job; otherwise I’ll have no choice but to do mine when the time comes.”

“If the time comes,” Silas retorted back hotly.

“No, Silas.” There was a flicker of empathy behind Soloman’s eyes as he regarded his little brother evenly. “I’ve seen this many times before and it only ends one way. Unless you get him help to process and deal with this, and soon, it won’t be a matter of if the time comes.”

Silas chewed his lip, canines piercing through flesh so hard he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth as he considered the message his brother was really sending him. With a stiff nod, Silas closed the door to his home.

The Sallow’s Aranshire homestead spread across a makeshift two storeys. The ground level contained the living quarters; the heart of the home was the hearth of the home, and tucked away behind it was the kitchen that the family would gather in every night to share a meal together. The living room, with its comfortable but worn sofa, in built bookcases that lined the walls that housed books and photo albums was testament to the warmth, love and connection the family once had. Off to the side was the oversized master bedroom; when Emerys had discovered she was pregnant, they had decided to partition the room into two, one room for them and a nursery for their child. They had only wanted one child to shower all their love and attention on and no-one had been more ecstatic than Silas when the Healers informed them they were going to have a girl.

The Healers were right; their little girl was born only after their surprise son had pushed past her so he could be born first. Sebastian’s birth had thrown a spanner in their plans. Emerys had been shellshocked at having two newborns – even though twins ran in her family – and Silas had to rush back to Aranshire to duplicate all the baby supplies he had bought and magic up a mezzanine, high up in the rafters so both their children had somewhere to sleep as they grew from babies to toddlers to children and teenagers.

Sebastian flopped onto his bed – the one that was too small for him after his last growth spurt; Silas had promised to transfigure the toddler bed his son used to fit into a double bed, but Anne had been cursed and anything to do with caring for Sebastian and meeting his needs was left by the wayside – and pulled the covers over his head. The dark and the cool matched his mood perfectly. He hadn’t bothered to go into Anne’s room to witness her discomfort; he hadn’t needed to when he could feel her pain. He had always been able to feel her pain, sense when she was sick even before she knew herself. Even as toddlers, he would alert his parents to Anne microseconds before she started crying. It was a way of life for him; he didn’t know anything else.

For Sebastian, the extra-sensory perception was the world’s worst superpower.

The gnawing feeling he had in his abdomen slowly crept up into his pleural cavity, a gnarled hand grasping at his lungs and squeezing all the air out of him. There was a twinge in his chest, the same feeling he always got when he reflected on his behaviour and realised just how challenging he was being, especially when his parents had enough to be going on with. A furious flush crept across his face, blood rushing to his cheeks in a mask of shame. He didn’t enjoy playing second fiddle to his sister – just once in a while, he wished his parents wouldn’t regard him as an afterthought once the chaos of Anne had subsided – be he could understand why that was the case. Things were tense, had been tense for just over six months – ever since Anne had been diagnosed as terminal, and his mother had resigned from her post at Hogwarts to make the most of what little time Anne had left – and everyone’s temper was fraying around the edges. Money was dwindling and they barely had two Galleons to rub together – Silas would take odd jobs here and there to boost what money they could spend on treating Anne when Anne was having a good day and would shirk off money when things were bad so he could maximise the time he spent with her – and Emerys would forgo food in favour of her children eating as two growing children needed nutrition more than her. The neighbours would help out where they could, but the Sallow matriarch and patriarch had firmly established that they didn’t want or need charity from people who were more fortunate than them.

Sebastian wanted to find a way to ease all of their suffering, and to do that, he needed to do better. He needed to be better, if not for himself but for Anne.

And to start being better, he needed to take accountability for his actions, and that meant going to his parents and grovelling for their forgiveness.

He kicked the covers to the ground, swinging himself upright and groaning when the top of his head smacked against the low angled roof of their house. You’re bending my roof, Silas had once joked with a touch of dark humour to Sebastian as he watched his son stoop awkwardly around the room he had outgrown. It’s bending my spine! Sebastian had retorted back but he understood the rebuke and resorted to crawling around on his hands and knees, arms swiping away the clutter and the dirty laundry he had littered all over his floor. Organised chaos, he called it; he could find whatever he needed in the piles of junk that decorated his haven, but heaven help anyone else that wanted to find things.

The stairs creaked, whining under the weight of him as he crept down them, his shadow on the wall marching alongside him for company, and he came to a stop outside his parents’ room. The door was closed but he could hear angry, hushed whispers being traded between them.

“ – don’t know what we’re going to do about him! I knew having more than one child would bring us nothing but trouble!”

“Emerys, he’s our son! As taxing as he is at the moment, he’s still our son.”

“I know that!” There was a note of askance and annoyance in his mother’s voice; he recognised it as it often carried in his own voice. “I will never not love him; I just don’t like him very much at the moment! We have bigger worries to prioritise than him behaving like an attention-seeking missile!”

From where he stood outside the door, Sebastian burrowed his face into his hands. He had suspected his parents distaste of him over the past six months, but to hear confirmation of what he had always thought was jarring.

There was a beat of silence from the room. Sebastian could hear the mattress springs sag as his father collapsed heavily onto the bed with a sigh.

“Solomon thinks the boy needs more help than we can give him.”

“And what would your estranged brother know of our son?! He hasn’t seen any of us since we told him I was pregnant and he told us to abort the children and not to throw our lives away in such a fashion!”

“He’s not wrong!” Silas’ voice cut through Emerys’ rant quite sharply. “This is the second time Sebastian’s been brought home by the Aurors in three months; clearly he has some need we cannot meet, given our circumstance.”

Time, Sebastian thought desperately as he pressed his ear against the door, blood pounding through his veins as it bubbled ferociously underneath his skin. Just give me a smidgen of your time and attention! That’s all I want! Just tell me I matter to you as much as Anne does!

“Perhaps we need to send him where he’ll have that need met.”

The blood that was thundering through him froze instantly. He straightened his back, drawing himself up to his full height and his hands curled into fists, fingernails biting tightly into his skin.

Send me away?! Is that how little they think of me?! Is that how inconsequential I am to this family?!

Red haze clouded his vision, the irises of his caramel coloured eyes darkening so much that it blended seamlessly with the black of his pupils. A flush rose across his skin and he scowled at the revelation, freckles joining together in a milk-chocolate smear across his face. If that was how his birthgiver and sperm donor really felt about him, fine. He’d acquiesce to their desires, but he’d beat them to the punch and do so on his own terms.

Long legs carried the fifteen year old up the stairs and he slammed the door to his room closed. He hurricaned around, gathering a handful of clean clothes, his textbooks and Quidditch gear so he could stuff it into the Nab-Sack that hadn’t been confiscated by the Aurors so they could return all his friends to their dwellings. He hesitated when he reached a photo frame his mother insisted he kept on his bookcase. It was the last family photo they had taken before Anne had been cursed; Anne had her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she hugged him tight and he rolled his eyes fondly as she ruffled his already mussed waves. Standing behind them, Emerys and Silas had their arms wrapped around each other, eyes glued on each other. Silas tenderly swiped a lock of dark chocolate hair away from Emerys’ face, tucking it behind her ear and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Sebastian grabbed the photo frame and flung it violently against the wall. What was the point of having hopes and dreams when they all turned to ash? What was the point of pretending to be one big, happy family when it was nothing but lies?

The sound of glass shattering on the ground strengthened his resolve in his choice. All he did was cause pain, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, pain that he didn’t want to inflict on the ones he loved most. He opened the window, tossed his Nab-Sack down to the ground and with one last look around what was once his happy, family home, he jumped out of the window, landing in the garden with a soft thud before grabbing his Nab-Sack and scurrying away to the nearest Floo Flame.

Chapter Text

Amelia Calloway was a consummate liar.

Unlike most young ladies her age, she was not a pampered princess, getting ready for her debut for the social season so she could marry and fulfil her womanly duties by popping out baby after baby. She hungered for knowledge in a way that the Sisters at the orphanage disapproved of; they were worried that being too intelligent would cheapen her prospects of being married to a man that could lift her out of the impoverished conditions every girl at the orphanage lived in. At fifteen years old, she was ready to meet prospects for her intended so she could be engaged by sixteen and married at eighteen. That was the life plan the Sisters at St. Calloway's Orphanage charted for all their charges.

To that end, Amelia had attired herself in one of the hand-me-down dresses that she shared with three other girls; the once-vibrant purple had dulled down to mauve and her auburn hair had been pulled into a low, tight bun at the nape of her neck which made her pale skin appear even more washed out. She sighed at the unappealing reflection in the pocket mirror she had borrowed indefinitely from her arch nemesis and pinched her cheeks hard to bring a blush of colour to them. The Sisters were under the impression that Amelia was meeting a potential suitor at a library in the centre of London, but it was a half-truth. She was meeting a potential suitor there – a man that was three years older than her and looked at her as if she was a piece of meat for him to devour – but she was using the date as a cover so she could peruse the forbidden fruit of mathematics, engineering, physics and natural sciences and other more manly fields of interest that tickled her fancy.

She sat demurely at one of the reading tables, blue eyes glacial as she scanned her surroundings. Society ladies milled around the shelves – she could tell they were upper-middle class from the ornate decorations on their day dresses; one day she hoped she would earn her place amongst them using her laurels instead of marrying into a higher societal class – a few children playing with a spinning top further down the hall. In the corner was a young lad, probably about the same age as her, inconspicuously turning pages of the book he was reading at lightning speed. She tilted her head, intrigued; she had never come across anyone that could read as fast as she could, let alone faster, and she stared as his eyes moved in a brown blur across the page, framed neatly by a pair of gunmetal grey reading glasses.

He had dark brown hair, falling into his eyes in a tangle of unruly waves and curls, as rich as the treacle pudding the Sisters’ had made for her fifteenth birthday at the start of the year, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He had rolled up the cuffs on the white, cotton shirt he wore, revealing muscular arms that were just as freckled as his face and coated in a fine layer of body hair. The forest green of the vest he wore complemented his complexion perfectly.

The boy must have felt the intensity of her stare as his eyes flicked away from his book and he shot her a small, crooked smile. Amelia blushed at being caught – her behaviour was so uncouth and unbecoming of a woman who was considering being betrothed to another man – and she turned, busying herself with her suitor, who had just sat down opposite her.

Time dragged on as her suitor droned on, prattling about his high societal standing, the inheritance he was set to receive upon his marriage, never once asking a question about her. He was so boring Amelia couldn’t help but tune out, nodding dumbly at regular intervals to keep up the pretence that she was listening to him, but she found her eyes kept drifting from the old man in front of her to the young boy who made her stomach flutter and quiver in a way she had never experienced before. There was something about him, an aura of quiet confidence, that kept her drawn to him.

Almost as if they were destined to be entwined with each other. Almost as though they were kindred spirits.

Amelia was drawn from her daze as her suitor noticed her coquettish gaze and grabbed her by the bun, jerking her up on her feet. She shrieked from the pain as she felt chunks of her hair rip from her scalp, blood blooming to the surface of her skin, and she twisted every which way to try and free herself.

“Let me go!” she demanded, glowering at the man she now despised. She could see the lad she had been fantasising over lower his book and pull his reading glasses off the bridge of his nose, a disgusted frown marring his handsome face.

“No woman of mine will make eyes at another man!” he growled as one hand clawed at her, talons tightening around her so her breath strangled in her throat. “Not when you’re going to be mine and mine alone!”

The sound of a chair scraping against wood echoed around the library, footsteps reverberating around the room as serious as thunderclaps as the boy approached the pair, reaching into the pocket of his black pants for something. He pulled out a thin strip of white wood, sharpened to a point and brandished it as though it was a fencing sword.

“The lady said to let go.” His voice was quiet but held a very coercive note to it, a promise of worse to come if his instruction wasn’t heeded. “I suggest you stop this caddish behaviour and do so, otherwise I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

The man sneered and snorted in derision. What could the runt of a man before him actually do to him other than utter empty threats? “Run along, little boy. This doesn’t concern you; this is a matter between me and my intended.”

The boy seemed unfazed by the revelation and Sebastian tilted his head in contemplation as he faced Amelia. A thick, bushy eyebrow quirked upwards and she shook her head.

Don’t leave me, she mouthed and he very subtly nodded.

“I will give you until the count of three to reconsider your stance,” Sebastian continued as if nothing was out of the ordinary, pressing the tip of the wand to the Muggle's throat. A trickle of ruby red seeped out from the surface of his skin. “One… two…”

But before he could say three, a blinding blue glow emanated from Amelia’s fingertips. She shimmied and twisted and jabbed a finger into her ex-suitor’s eye. He howled as the burning sensation travelled through his optic nerve and into his brain but still didn’t relinquish his hold on Amelia’s throat. She jabbed again, this time getting the cartilage of his nose, enough of a movement to distract him so she could wriggle out of his grasp. She recalled a Biology book she had read recently and knew that there was a particular piece of male anatomy that was incredibly sensitive, so she drew her knee up as sharply as she could into his groin. He gasped, rolling around on the floor with his hands clutching at the bruised and battered appendage between his thighs.

“Don’t you ever come near me again!” Amelia raged, pointing her finger down at the man. There was another flash of ethereal blue; when the proverbial dust had settled, all that was left was a chicken flapping its wings and pecking at the ground.

Sebastian couldn’t stifle his chuckle quickly enough as Amelia whirled around to face him, a look of shock interspersed with horror on her face as her hands trembled.

“You won’t send me off to the asylum, will you?” she choked out in a hushed whisper. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t mean to do it, I thought I had it under control!”

Sebastian stepped closer to her, his hands holding her wrists steady. The looked rough and calloused, as if he had seen years of hard labour, but his touch was surprisingly warm and gentle. “Can you trust me?”

Amelia didn’t hear him, still staring at her hands in shock, staring at where he was holding her. “You’re not scared of me, after seeing that?”

“No, I’m not.” He squeezed her wrists, lightly to draw her back to the present. “Do you trust me?”

And even though they were complete strangers, Amelia did trust him and his reassuring presence.

“Good.”

There was a beat of silence as the pair heard the doors to the library burst open, a multitude of voices filtering through the air to them. Sebastian grimaced as he heard some of the words being thrown around – underage magic, violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, Wizengamot sentencing and cells in Azkaban – and with his current criminal track record and him being the only registered wizard or witch in the vicinity, none of that bade well for him. There was only one option left for him to take and his brown eyes met her blue ones.

“Run.”

Chapter Text

The material of her dress caught underfoot as the brunet stranger tugged her along impatiently. There was a ripping noise as Amelia stumbled over her heeled boots and she swore quietly under her breath, flushing and hoping that the boy who was leading her away and astray hadn’t heard her. The Sisters at the orphanage would make her wash her mouth out with soap every time foul language slipped past her lips; Amelia shuddered as she remembered the bitter, slimy yet waxy coating that caked her tongue and caused her to froth at the mouth like a rabid dog.

“Are you alright?” He held her in his arms as she caught her balance and nodded with grim determination. She had to be alright; there was no other option for her.

“Just a little further,” he wheedled, pulling her along again, albeit at a more sedate speed.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe. Trust me.”

And even though Amelia didn’t know the lad from a hole in the ground, even though everything she was currently engaged in went against the ethos the Sisters’ had hammered into her, Amelia did. He wasn’t scared of her after he had seen what a freak of nature she truly was; in fact, he seemed sardonically amused by it, and that certainly piqued her curiosity about him.

They had scuttled out of the library, darting through throngs of milling crowds as Sebastian sidled through darkened alleyways, surreptitiously shooting glances over his shoulders to make sure they weren’t being followed as he dragged his new charge behind him. It was a task harder than he had anticipated; strangers on the street were outraged that they were being pushed to one side by a wayward teenager who was dragging a young lady behind him, and their vocal disapproval of his actions followed behind them like a trail of breadcrumbs for the Aurors to follow.

One of the benefits of having a Muggleborn mother who was a Professor of Muggle Studies was that Sebastian was familiar with London and the ways of traversing across the city. He knew exactly where to go to lose the Aurors following them, and how to navigate around the city without using magic as he headed towards Baker Street Station. The lift doors to the Underground platform were just closing as Sebastian and Amelia darted into the enclosed area, gripping onto each other and breathing heavily as their exertion caught up with them. As the lift descended into the depths of the ground, their breathing slowed and morphed into laughter, quiet chuckles at first before growing into full blown hysterics.

“I’ve never taken the twopenny tube before,” Amelia revealed as Sebastian guided her into a windowless carriage, always the gallant gentleman towards the young ladies in his care.

“Never?!” Sebastian was shocked. Even he had been on a tube before, and he lived in Scotland for most of his life. He could tell from her accent that she was a Londoner, born and bred in the city.

“Never had two pennies to spend on the tube before.”

“Neither have I,” Sebastian grinned with his trademark, roguish charm. “But it hasn’t stopped me!”

Amelia mock gasped at the revelation that Sebastian was a chronic fare evader, but somehow the idea of him being an errant ruffian suited him. She smoothed the creases out of her ripped dress as she sat down on the seat someone had vacated for her.

“Will you at least tell me your name, or will I forever have to call you Mr. Mischief-Maker?”

“All in due course, and only if I have the pleasure of learning your name,” Sebastian smiled, once more offering her his hand as he led them off the carriage that had pulled into Embankment. Daylight streamed down on them as they emerged from the Underground and Sebastian took it as his opportunity to really take in his companion’s appearance – his previous glances at her had been rushed and hurried as they escaped their predicament.

Her hair was falling loose from its bun, wild and frizzed auburn strands glinting with the hint of copper that graced his own curls when he was in the sun. Eyes that were glacial and dead held the spark of intelligence and resilience and skin that appeared washed out and sickly in the gloom of the library had a golden hue to it. Her posture had changed as well; instead of remaining hunched and turtling into herself, she threw her shoulder back and stood upright as she moved through the streets with him. The subtle power that radiated out from her piqued his curiosity and he wanted to know more about her.

“Amelia,” she murmured, so soft he had to strain his ears to catch it.

“Do you have a last name, Miss. Amelia?”

“Just Amelia.” There was a note of finality in her tone that implied she wasn’t going to discuss it further. Years of growing up annoying Anne and inevitably having her temper erupt at him had honed Sebastian’s ability to know when to back off.

There was a beat of silence. Amelia arched a thin eyebrow in his direction and rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Sebastian.”

“Do you have a last name, Mr. Sebastian?”

“Just Sebastian.” The same note of finality that was in her tone was in his too.

She glowered at him, eyes narrowed into slits as she recognised the way he had taken her words and weaponised it against her; much to her chagrin, he had the audacity to laugh at her askance expression.

“Well, Miss. Amelia, may I be of assistance to you? Could I, perhaps, escort you back to your residence and ensure you don’t encounter any more boorish or caddish men?”

“No.” Amelia spat the word out as if it was bitter poison before she could stop herself. This afternoon was the most alive she had felt her whole life; instead of having to hide part of her from the world, she had been able to unleash all sides of her and had found someone who wasn’t terrified of all of her and she did not want to lose her new-found freedom. She wanted to know more about the enigmatic yet eccentric boy she was with and the only way to do so was to spend time with him.

Sebastian tilted his head to the side as he observed her. She was unlike any Muggle he had ever met, and yet, she wasn’t part of the Magical community even though she had most likely had bursts of magic leak out of her; the community was so small everyone knew of everyone else and yet no-one knew about her. She was a risk to exposing their world and a delight to all the rules he wanted to rebel against.

“I cannot in good conscience leave you on the streets on your own.”

“I can look after myself!” Amelia protested, but deep down she knew that she really couldn’t, not if her freakishness rose to the surface and bubbled out of her again when she lost control. Sebastian seemed particularly adept at wriggling them out of trouble and it seemed like he would be a prudent ally to keep around.

“Aye, you’re most certainly self-sufficient, I’ll give you that.”

Amelia chewed on her lip, uncertain. “If you cannot in good conscience leave me on the streets alone, perhaps you shouldn’t leave me.”

Sebastian smiled, his genuine smile that was crooked, the left side of his mouth lilting upwards in a gentle curve while the right side stayed flat. He nodded slowly, understanding what Amelia was saying without saying and outstretched his hand to her again, and just like she had all those times before, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her away to their next destination.

Night had fallen and the city below thrummed to its own frantic beat. From where Sebastian and Amelia stood, elevated on the roof of an apartment block overlooking the banks of the Thames, it was a world away. Their troubles and their worries remained below where people the size of ants carried themselves around the sprawling streets of the city and they remained unencumbered by the reality that they were both outlaws now. Amelia would have the police after her, considering she had assaulted a man and turned him into a chicken and they would no doubt lock her up in bedlam; there was no logic that could explain how she had done what she had done. Sebastian, she had sussed out, seemed to be running from demons of his own; what they were, she didn’t know, but she recognised his inability to be idle because it was something she had seen in herself.

Behind a chimney stack was a small tent. Amelia raised her eyebrows so high they were in danger of climbing off her forehead and Sebastian shrugged. The tent was the best he could snatch from his parents place and stash in his Nab-Sack before he jumped out of his window and left. Guilt knotted his stomach when he thought of his parents and how devastated they would be when they realised he had disappeared like a thief robbing a home in the middle of the night, but then he remembered that they were planning on sending him away and he had done them a favour by leaving of his own volition. He pressed his hand against his abdomen, wincing as he could feel his stomach acid rise up his oesophagus and he thought of Anne and her suffering, but then he realised that Anne’s suffering was the cause of his own and the guilt and remorse that he was feeling evaporated into thin air.

“You can enter,” he murmured as he rummaged around in the cupboard in the kitchen to procure a bottle of wine. He had caught her staring at the tent as he sauntered out and turned his gaze up to the sky. Stargazing and astronomy while he skulled from a bottle was the way he’d pass the time when he stayed out all night in Aranshire. He had thought London would be too polluted for him to see the constellations in the sky, but his luck had held out and the sky was cloudless and clear.

Amelia followed his instruction as she ducked her head down and entered the tent. A strangled gasp left her lips as she blinked rapidly. Her eyes were playing tricks on her; there was no way a tent as small as the one she had seen on the roof could contain a kitchen, a living area complete with a bookshelf filled with books, a large, roomy, unmade bed with rumpled sheets and a small dresser next to it. She made a hasty retreat and paced around the outside of the tent, trying to find a logical explanation to the seemingly unfeasible.

“This can’t be!” Amelia’s head was pounding and she massaged her temples with two fingers.

“It’s just… bigger on the inside,” Sebastian smirked as he sipped from his wine.

“It’s impossible!”

“And yet you’ve empirically observed it and experienced it, which means it must be true.”

For the first time since they met, the trust that Amelia had placed unwaveringly in Sebastian started to dissolve. The adrenaline, recklessness and rebelliousness from their afternoon together was wearing off and fear was overtaking her. She realised just how alone the two of them were, just how isolated she was from the rest of society and just how difficult it would be to find anyone else to help her up on the roof of the building Sebastian had led her up. Had she really dodged one insane man for another bullet of absurdity?

Sebastian could see the uneasiness scrawl over her face, her once happy expression masked by a visage of indifference. He noted the way her posture changed, muscles in her shoulders taut and her back curved ever so slightly as she shrunk back into herself, an invisible armour gliding back over her as a protective shield.

“Come sit down,” he urged as he lowered himself to the ground, legs dangling off the precipice of the building.

“I’ll stand,” Amelia muttered tightly, the shutters in her eyes winding down as her eyes hardened and turned glacial once more.

“I can explain everything that happened today.”

“Yes, I think you should.”

Sebastian sighed. He had said that he could explain everything, but the reality was he was a fifteen year old boy with very little understanding of anything that had happened today. How could he explain to someone that had grown up in the Muggle world that they were most likely Magical? More importantly, how had someone Magical slipped through the cracks of their world? How could no one in the magical community not know of Amelia and her gift?

“You turned a man into a chicken today,” Sebastian stated as though it was the most natural thing in the world to happen. “You also said that you thought you had it under control and that implies that this has happened before.”

Amelia opened her mouth, searched to find the words to deny what Sebastian had pieced together but couldn’t and her jaw snapped shut.

“Tell me, ever made things happen that you couldn’t explain when you were angry or scared? Things that defy all sense of reason and logic?”

He took her silence as a yes.

“Amelia, Just Amelia, you’re a witch.”

Amelia could feel the muscles in her face pull into a scowl as her fists balled. Excluding the last five minutes, she had been nothing but pleasant and polite to the lad and he was calling her all sorts of names. How rude of him!

“How dare you!” Amelia began, voice raising in a rage at his impertinence, but Sebastian merely flicked a dismissive hand in her direction and she was silenced.

Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he thought ruefully as he realised he was underage and he had just used magic. Wandless magic, which was an impressive feat for any witch or wizard, let alone a boy still learning how to control his talent, but magic all the same. They’ll add it to the list when the Aurors inevitably catch up to me and the Wizengamot charge me for all my petty crimes so far.

“You have magic running through your veins, just like I do. You’re a witch and I’m a wizard, and we have capabilities that this world – the Muggle world – simply cannot comprehend.”

Amelia tried to object against his claim – and find out what the hell a muggle was – but her voice box was still paralysed. She crossed her arms over her chest and stomped her foot, reminiscent of a toddler having a tantrum and glowered once more when Sebastian laughed at her reaction. With another flick of his hand and a muttered counter curse, he released her voice so she could speak.

Amelia let out a humourless laugh, panic making the noise sound all jagged and rough. She speared a glance over the edge of the roof; it was a long way down but it was also the quickest way down. “You’re certifiably psychotic, and I’m leaving!”

“Really?!” He matched her humourless laugh with one of his own, brandished his wand in her direction and accio’d her back towards him. “If I’m psychotic instead of magical, how could I have done that?”

She squirmed in his arms, arms that held her tight and wouldn’t let her go, no matter how much she struggled against his muscle.

“You need to learn how to control your magic,” Sebastian continued, grunting as Amelia’s elbow slammed into his ribcage. “I can help you with that. Please, trust me and let me help you.”

The wistful, earnest note crumbled Amelia’s resistance to him and even though it was against her better judgement, she softened so that her head rested against his chest and she nodded.

“Good girl,” Sebastian murmured, holding his hand out to her to shake to seal their alliance, his genuine, crooked smile replaced with one that was far more charming and disarming at the same time.

In that moment, Sebastian’s motives weren’t all that altruistic; he had recognised that Amelia’s untrained power held more untapped potential than he had ever encountered before and having her as an ally could mean that he could use her to cure Anne, and by extension, help him too.

Chapter Text

The City of London was an ecosystem that tended towards entropy, thriving on chaos, panic and disorder. It was the perfect place for a teenaged, miscreant boy to run wild, and Sebastian was taking full advantage of it. He had spent the night on high alert, every neuron in his brain firing rapidly to keep him awake and alert for any Aurors that were on his tail because he had accio’d Amelia to him and silencio’d her as well. Underage magic use in the Muggle world was more than just a misdemeanour – it went against the very Constitution of the Wizarding World – but as he had discovered in his previous adventures up in Scotland with Garreth Weasley, the Aurors were too short staffed and too stretched thin to pursue their indiscretions when the rise of illegal poaching and Dark Magic following was more pressing for them to quash.

The night bled into day and blended back into night again. Sebastian breathed a bit easier as each hour passed by and he remained a free man, but just to be sure, he and Amelia kept a low profile; they had packed up the tent and stuffed it into Sebastian’s Nab-Sack and descended from their rooftop sanctuary into the hustle and bustle of the streets below.

Sebastian used his fortunate looks and endearing nature to procure some food for them; he would lean casually against the wooden tabletop of a stall, working his silver tongue to charm and distract the ladies manning the shop as he surreptitiously swept loaves of bread, cheddar cheese and handfuls of apples, pears, plums and cherries into the Nab-Sack Amelia was conveniently holding open for him. He would grasp Amelia by the wrist to tell her he was done and they would say their goodbyes before disappearing into the crowd. By the time the shopkeepers had realised they had been fleeced by the unassuming teenager, Sebastian and Amelia were long gone. They would traipse the streets of London to while away the hours until they reached Regents’ Park. With another artless smile shot Amelia’s way to put her even more at ease with him, Sebastian would fish around in the Nab-Sack and pull out a blanket that he would lay down on the grass near the lake that courting couples would row on so Amelia and he could sit and feast on the food they had stolen earlier in the day. The more time Amelia spent with Sebastian, the more she learnt that allowed her to make some astute assumptions of him.

Based on how adept he was at working the streets, she wondered if he was an orphan, just like her. Swallowing nervously as her fingers braided blades of grass together, she voiced her question, not daring to look at Sebastian so he didn’t see the look of vulnerability and despair on her face as she thought about her own orphan status.

Sebastian’s face tightened into a dark scowl when he heard her question. The knots in his stomach twisted uncomfortably and unconsciously, his right hand crept over his abdomen, the way it always did when Anne was having an attack. He wondered if his disappearance had worsened Anne’s condition and if his parents had even realised he had been missing for over a week. On reflection, Sebastian didn’t think that was likely – after all, his parents were going to banish him from their life because they couldn’t cope with him – they would most likely revel in and celebrate the respite he had granted them.

“For the purpose of this conversation, I suppose one could argue the point,” he eventually muttered, ripping chunks of grass out from the ground. Amelia must have seen the discontent written all over his face; her hand entwined with his, her slender fingers curling over his and she squeezed his hand in solidarity. Sebastian could only offer up a small, sad smile as he squeezed back. “But that’s not something we should talk about now.”

Amelia could only nod in agreement; her parentage – or lack thereof – was not something she wanted to explore. She knew Sebastian was tenacious enough to wheedle the truth of her situation out of her, and she knew from experience that everyone’s interaction turned from impressed to pity when they realised she was so unlovable her own parents dumped her at the gates of an orphanage the moment she was born. They didn’t even bother to give her a first name, let alone bestow her with a surname so she could eventually find them. The Sisters at the orphanage had named her after the patron saint of pain and all Amelia could think of was how fitting that was; even though she had only known Sebastian for just over a day, she could detect the twinge of suffering and sorrow in his voice when he answered her.

Sebastian tilted his head to one side, eyes roving over Amelia’s appearance. Her shoulders had tensed, shrugged up so high they sat under her ears, she tugged auburn locks over her eyes, a curtain to hide her from the world. She pulled her hand away from his and tapped a frantic concerto against her thigh as she nibbled at her bottom lip. In the short time they had been acquainted with each other, Sebastian had learnt that these were the signs that showed Amelia was uncomfortable and was retreating within herself.

She abruptly stood to her feet and started to walk off; Sebastian hurriedly packed up the blanket and scuttled after her, wondering what had happened to change her demeanour.

“Amelia?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“That’s your name!” Sebastian was completely befuddled by the turn of events. “If I can’t call you that, what should I call you since you won’t tell me your last name?”

There was a beat of silence as Sebastian started to put pieces of the puzzle that was Amelia together. She was a bona fide orphan – that was why she was asking about his parental status – and didn’t want him to know her last name. She most likely didn’t have a last name since she had been abandoned; from what his mother had told him when he was younger, it was a practice that was more prevalent in Muggle society than it was in the Magical world. Her last name was most likely the name of the children’s home she had been dumped at.

“It’s not my name!” Amelia cried, a keening note in her voice imploring him to understand what she was saying without saying. Ethereal blue glowed from the tips of her fingers and Sebastian hastily covered her hands with his, barring anyone but him from seeing her magic leak out of her, wincing as the heat of her magic scorched his skin. She pulled away and darted into the nearest public facility, leaving a resigned yet bewildered Sebastian in her wake.

Like all witches and wizards, Amelia’s magic was tied to her emotions and her name seemed to be a very sore point. Overwhelming, tempestuous flits of temper seemed to trigger the magic he had never seen before and he knew that his first order of business with her would be learning how to ensure that she remained in control of her emotions so her magic didn’t reign over her and cause a catastrophe. To do so, he had to find a name he could call her without her having predisposed, negative connotations associated with the moniker.

His companion eventually emerged, face as red as her hair as she realised how quickly and easily she had lost her composure and directed it at the boy who had shown her nothing but kindness. Sebastian, for all his grace, glossed over the event and simply held out his arm so she could slip her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“I think it’s time for us to vacate London, Mia,” he stated, tone brokering no room for argument as he stepped up from a stroll to a power walk. “As delightful as the city is, it serves no purpose for what we need to do next.”

“Mia,” Amelia repeated dumbly. “You called me Mia.”

“Well, I can’t very well call you by a name that causes you pain and makes you burst into tears every time you hear it. I simply chose a name that will, hopefully, do the opposite for you.”

“What does it mean?”

Sebastian stopped and stared at her, tilting his head to the side in quiet contemplation, as he always did when he wanted to consider how to – or if he answer a question. The breeze teased his wavy hair and pushed the curls down over his eyes, obscuring his intent from her. He simply smiled, his slow, crooked smile; the meaning behind her name was for him to know and her to find out when the moment was right.

For the first time all summer, a quiet calm settled over Aranshire. Anne’s debilitating curse had plateaued – her health wasn’t fantastic, but her rapid decline had slowed so much it was almost inconsequential – and that loosened the tension that underscored all emotion in the Sallow household. The number of ‘good’ days Anne had was overtaking the number of ‘bad’ days, and Emerys and Silas were able to breathe a little easier knowing Anne was not going to kick the bucket in the middle of the night.

Sebastian’s absence had been a welcome relief too for Emerys – not having the Aurors deposit a child she could see was suffering but didn’t know how to help on her doorstep practically every other night certainly helped lighten the situation – but after nearly two weeks of radio silence from him, she was starting to worry.

Sebastian disappearing for long stretches of time wasn’t out of character for him; when the children were younger, Silas and Emerys had encouraged them to play outside with each other from dawn till dusk, exploring and experiencing the world around them. The hamlets were safe enough, and the Highlands Magical community was small enough that everyone knew everyone; someone would look after the Sallow twins if they found themselves in a sticky spot and drop them back home. Sebastian and Anne used the time to strengthen their sibling bond in a way that made Silas and Emerys proud – they fought with each other like there was no tomorrow, but they were also fiercely protective of each other – and as he watched their bond grow closer, Silas wished the divergence that had formed between him and Solomon would stitch itself shut.

As Anne and Sebastian grew from children into teens, their interests began to diverge. Starting Hogwarts had allowed them to find their own personalities and talents. They were still close, but instead of spending their summer holidays with each other, Anne would sit and gossip with the other girls she had met through her first year of school, giggling furiously as their respective crushes sauntered through the hamlet on days gone by; the experience was only ruined when Anne’s closest friend, Nerida, eventually revealed that she found Sebastian very easy on the eye, a revelation that made Anne shudder and throw up inside her own mouth.

Sebastian would roll his eyes at the inanity of it all as he climbed over his broom, Beater bat slung over his shoulder and he would kick off the ground with Imelda Reyes to play impromptu games of Quidditch against other hamlets. Anne would always return to her homestead for the night; Sebastian would owl and let his parents know that he was couch surfing his way across the South Coast with his friends. It never phased Emerys and Silas as everyone knew everyone in the Magical community, and Sebastian was responsible enough to always let his parents know where he was and who he was staying with.

With all of that in mind, the two week radio silence was disconcerting, to say the least.

“You haven’t heard from your brother, have you?” Emerys asked Anne as they sat down for dinner.

Anne shook her head, face pulled into a scowl. Anne hadn’t heard, nor did she want to. Her brother, as much as she loved him, was also driving her insane. Sebastian had his whole life ahead of him and he was squandering it, getting himself drunk and drugged almost every other night, whereas the only thing she had to look forward to were biweekly, incredibly painful treatment sessions at St. Mungo’s Hospital as the Healers tried to hold her curse in statis, and her inevitable death. Sebastian had the world as his oyster, and he did not recognise the gift that lay in his hands; Anne envied him and despaired at his ignorance of his freedom.

“He’s probably with Garreth or Amit or Andrew,” Silas commented, trying to assuage his wife of her concern. “When I was his age, I went out on camping trips with my friends through the Highlands all the time. Recent events aside, Seb does have a good head on his shoulders; he’ll put his toes over a boundary he deems stupid but he’ll never cross any serious ones. He’s a very capable wizard; he’ll be able to look after himself they come across poachers or other undesirables.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence, Silas.” Emerys scowled at her plate, her expression a perfect copy of her missing son when he scowled. Silas sighed and reassured his wife that he would owl the Weasleys, the Thakkars and the Larsons after they had finished dinner to see if they had any news of Sebastian. Emerys speared him a look, one that clearly read you make sure you do that.

“Emerys, you’re worrying too much. You’ve become so accustomed to worry about everything you can’t control that you’ve forgotten how to relax. Focus on the good that’s in our life at the moment; Anne is stable, I’ll be going back to Hogwarts in September and we’ll have a steady stream of income instead of living hand-to-mouth.” Silas was ever the optimist, and he hoped that his words would settle the realist his wife had become.

“Considering Sebastian is exactly like me when it comes to his personality, I’d argue that I’m worrying exactly the right amount. He’s a fifteen year old, impulsive boy who acts first, asks questions second and worries about the consequences once his ideas have bitten him on the backside! Do you remember what I got up to when I was fifteen years old, or should I refresh your memory?!”

Silas blushed, ruby red tainting his freckles. Emerys had been wild and unbridled – Sebastian definitely took after Emerys in that sense, but lately he had taken it to extremes – and Silas had always tried to reign Emerys in over summer. Trying to control Emerys once she had a bee in her bonnet was like trying to catch the ocean in a paper cup. More often than not, Silas would be caught in the periphery of whatever mischief Emerys would involve herself in, rolling his eyes and saying I told you not to when they both had to cop the punishment for Emerys’ poor actions.

“Not with Anne at the table, Emerys,” Silas warned, flicking his head in his daughter’s direction. There were some things their children never needed to know about their parents’ lives from before they were parents.

“Then don’t wait until after dinner; send the owls now! And if they haven’t heard from Sebastian in the past two weeks, we are calling the Aurors to find him before he does something so reckless he sends himself to Azkaban!”

The sun was setting over the banks of the river near the camp they had set up, the golden hour casting a soft glow over the branches of the trees. Amelia breathed the forest air deep into her lungs, sweet and earthy and so different to the pollution of London, and gazed at the scenery from the implausible tent she had finally wrapped her head around.

Sebastian had been right; it really was just bigger on the inside, and a far more glamourous way to camp instead of sleeping on bug-infested, leaf-littered, hard terrain. Not that she had ever gone camping before – the Sisters would never have allowed it, or been able to afford it – but she had read enough books to imagine what it would have been like.

She had taken up residence in Sebastian’s tent for the past five days while they camped in isolation, moving from one spot to another every night so they wouldn’t be caught by passers-by. It was both improper and proper all at the same time. Improper because as a young, unmarried woman, she was not supposed to be left in the company of men unchaperoned. It was made far more illicit when she considered that Sebastian was still a virtual stranger to her, no matter how gallant and charming he was. Proper, because Sebastian had been a perfect gentleman. He had asked Amelia to throw him a pillow and a cloak that he used as a makeshift blanket, choosing to sleep on the bug-infested, leaf-littered, hard terrain, while she reclined on the feather filled mattress of the double bed, and he did so with nary a complaint. After two nights of observing him stretch the stiffness and kinks out of his body every morning, she had uncomfortably offered up half of the bed to him, but he could see the discomfit written all over her face and declined.

Can’t watch the stars from inside a tent, Mia, he had said evenly, but they both knew he was using it as an excuse so as not to make Amelia uncomfortable. She had never experienced someone putting her needs above their own before in her life, and the more she thought about how Sebastian had treated her, always putting her desires and needs before his, the more she appreciated him and his company. The butterflies that she had felt when she first laid eyes on him quivered in her stomach and she swallowed nervously, quashing the thought that this would evolve into anything but close friendship.

Sebastian returned from downstream, food he had caught fisted in his hand. “Dinner is served, mademoiselle,” he drawled in a mock French accent, bowing low and presenting her with two decent sized trout.

“I have to cook it, Sebastian. We’re not eating it raw,” she laughed at his goofiness as she relieved him of their meal. “It’ll make us sick.”

Sebastian had no qualms in letting her cook. Truth be told, she was quite talented, more so than he was, when it came to domestic chores. The best he could do in the kitchen was burn ice-cream while she could cultivate delights that would tantalise his tastebuds and having him going back for more. While she fried up the fish, Sebastian hunted around the kitchen cupboards in the tent, pulling out some shot glasses and his finest vintage of Firewhiskey. It would be Amelia’s first foray into Wizard alcoholic beverages, and after a gruelling yet productive day of him teaching her how to control her magic and use his wand to cast lumos and nox – something she picked up on surprisingly quickly for someone who had just tapped into their magic – Sebastian thought it was warranted. He poured both of them a tipple – much less than he would usually drink in a night – but he was also finding that Amelia’s company was preferable to drowning his sorrows in a bottle. She listened to him, no matter how ridiculous his conversation was, laughed so hard at his dumb jokes that what she was drinking shot out of her nose and frothed around her lips and her giggled made his insides turn to jelly. When the sun set, she would brew them a pot of strong tea with a dash of milk – just the way he liked it; he hadn’t told her that but she had been observant enough of him to pick up on it as they spent their days together – and lie down outside on his makeshift blanket and observe the stars with him.

It was nice to be noticed, it was nice that someone gave him the time of day and recognised him as a person that had thoughts, feelings and interests that weren’t intertwined with his twin sister’s impending demise. It was a welcome relief to be free from the burden of Anne and to experience life as every other fifteen year old would. Escaping reality would always be a pleasant vacation for him, especially since his reality was bleak and undesirable to go back to. What did he have to look forward to; his parents thought he was an oxygen thief, so much so they were ready to cart him away without a second thought, and his sister was dying a slow, painful death from a curse that he could feel ravaging and savaging his insides whenever she had an attack.

Amelia called out to Sebastian as he had set the dining table and walked to the banks of the river to wash up before settling in to enjoy their meal of fried trout, cheese and a fruit platter Sebastian had cobbled together. There was a charming domesticity between the pair of them, the illusion of playing house with each other because it was more palatable than what they actually had; Sebastian raised his glass in a toast to her before downing the drink in one easy swallow. His warm brown eyes watched her as she drank, screwing up her face as the whiskey burned her mouth and throat and he had to suppress a chuckle; his first taste of whiskey had garnered the same reaction, but he had acquired the taste for fermented wheat and now he found it agreeable.

“How can you stomach that?!” Amelia gasped, clutching at her throat and scraping at her tongue as Sebastian poured himself another glass. “It’s wretched!”

Sebastian laughed outrageously at her outraged expression. “It grows on you, Mia. You just have to give it more than one chance.” He laughed once more as she vehemently shook her head and summoned a bottle of Butterbeer to the table. “Try this. It’s called Butterbeer and it’s a lot sweeter and a lot lighter.”

Dinner was demolished and Sebastian handed Amelia his wand. She took the aspen stick in her hand – it was comfortable but jarring all at the same time – and arched her eyebrow at him questioningly.

“No point washing up by hand when you could learn some magic to do it for you,” he grinned. Teaching, Sebastian had discovered, came quite naturally to him. He supposed it was because he was the offspring of two teachers himself, but he found he enjoyed watching the spark of wonderment in Amelia’s eyes when she mastered a skill he had shown her. It helped that Amelia was eager to learn, constantly asking him questions and seeking feedback on what she was doing; an eager student motivated him to teach her more.

He stood behind her, tentatively stepping closer than what would have been considered proper and appropriate for two teenagers of the opposite sex. His hand closed around hers and he guided their hands in a soft up and down motion, drawing a semi-circle shape in the air.

“That’s the motion for the spell. Try it without me,” he instructed, beadily staring at her as her hand sliced through the air. He winced at the harshness of her motion, the angular shape she drew in the air.

“Loosen up your shoulder and elbow a bit; it’ll help make your arm move smoother. And curve your wrist a little more as you draw the arch.”

Amelia tried again and Sebastian nodded in approval, the corner of his mouth lilting up.

“Much better. The charm that goes along with the motion is scourgify. Performed correctly, scourgify can be used to clean dishes, clothes, and even a potty mouth.”

“Speaking from experience, Sebastian?” Amelia smirked. He had been nothing but chivalrous to her, but she could sense that he was tempering the more uncouth side of him.

“Well, Mia, experience teaches,” he admitted, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment at the revelation. He flicked his head at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and Amelia took it as permission to try casting the Scouring Charm.

Bubbles blossomed over the sink and cascaded to the floor of the tent while a scrubber vigorously attacked the China plates, scrubbing so hard the delicate flowers that had been painted on the rim flaked off.

“A tad enthusiastic, but not bad for a beginner.” Sebastian took his wand back and muttered a few more charms to etch the decorations back onto the plate and slow the intensity of the washing up. He pocketed his wand and held out his arm to Amelia. She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to escort her to the makeshift blanket outside so they could indulge in their nightly ritual of stargazing.

The pair of them flopped onto the ground, elbows tucked under their neck to prop their heads up, quietly pointing out stars, comets and planets to each other, tracing their fingers in the air to join the dots between the stars to show the constellations they could see.

“The Moon and Mars are exceptionally large and bright today,” Amelia murmured quietly. “Do you think it means anything?”

If he was back at Hogwarts, Professor Shah would have instructed Sebastian to log the observations in his astronomy journal so he could chart the position and relative size of the Moon as it progressed through its lunar cycle. History had suggested that when Mars was more vivid red than usual, and the Moon was closer to the Earth, a large battle was looming on the horizon. It was not a thought that filled Sebastian with glee – he was, in many ways, already fighting multiple battles on multiple fronts – he did not think he had it in him to survive one more fight.

“Did you hear they opened a new restaurant on the Moon?” Sebastian diverted Amelia’s attention as her face left the sky and turned to him.

“What?”

“All the reviews said great food but no atmosphere.”

Amelia let out a noise from deep within her throat. It was a cross between a laugh and a groan. “That was terrible!” she chided, but she couldn’t stop her smile from creeping across the bottom half of her face.

“And yet you’re laughing,” Sebastian smiled back crookedly. He couldn’t explain why, but watching her smile made him smile too. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he still had some worth, could still bring happiness to someone he was starting to care for when all he did was hurt and infuriate all the other important people in his life. “I have a million of these; I could tell you them all night.”

“No more!”

“One more!” he wheedled, corners of his eyes crinkling in a way he knew she found hard to resist. "Indulge me!"

“Oh, alright. One more.”

“What do stars get when they lose a competition?”

There was a beat of silence as Amelia chewed her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. Her nose scrunched up in the way Sebastian recognised as her being in contemplation. She shook her head and gestured for Sebastian to continue.

“They get a constellation prize.”

“Stop it, these are awful!”

“They’re so bad, they’re actually good,” Sebastian defended himself, rolling onto his back and letting out a belly laugh, rich and thick like honey at her revolted expression. He stilled as he heard twigs snap from behind them, ears pricking up at the foreign sound. His hand flew to his pocket and he grasped his wand, ready to defend both of them from whoever was intruding on their space.

Amelia heard the noise too; her blue eyes widened in panic and she stared at Sebastian. She had only just started to learn how to use magic; she wasn’t sure how much help she could be in defending them both.

“Stay close to me, as close as you can,” Sebastian muttered to her, his voice lowering two octaves and holding a dark timbre in his tone. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Amelia was, after all, his charge, and it would be cowardly to make her fend for herself while he ran for the hills. Not to mention that if she died or was seriously maimed, he would be unable to tap into her powers to cure Anne. It would render everything he was doing to gain her trust futile.

She nodded as she rose to her feet too, her back pressed firmly into Sebastian’s torso. He gasped at the contact, once again, completely improper for two teenagers that were not engaged to each other, and Amelia frowned at him.

“Mia?”

“You said to stay close.”

That was true so Sebastian had no room to complain. He held his wand aloft and projected a pre-emptive protego over the pair of them. A purple haze encased the pair and Sebastian slowly pivoted, keeping Amelia pressed into him protectively. A posse of Dark witches and wizards emerged from behind the trees, their masks and their voices taunting them as they surrounded the pair.

“Bad spot for a date, lover boy!”

“Sorry to cut your evening with the lass so short, but we can’t have you running to the Aurors to tattle on our location!”

“My, my, she’s not a pretty lady, is she, boys? Guess that means we can go hard and rough without too much of a loss!”

Sebastian’s jaw locked into place, teeth grinding into dust at the thought of the Aurors finding him and Amelia, two outlaws on the run for using underage magic on more than one occasion, seething at the fact that they were dismissing his companion based on her appearance rather than her ability. Not a date, he thought belatedly, although his gaze petered down to Amelia to see how she reacted to the assumption. Her face was a blank slate, impassive as she stared at the intruders.

“Offence or defence?” Amelia uttered under her breath.

“You have to ask?” Sebastian replied, just as quietly before he cast a powerful confringo towards one of his opponents, followed rapidly by a depulso. The trees around them erupted into flames as one of the Dark witches was flung into the inferno. Amelia’s hands clamped around her ears to drown out the anguished scream of someone who was essentially being burned in effigy and she stared up at Sebastian, seeing him in a way that she had never seen before.

He was fire and ice, hot and cold, unchecked rage and frustration leaking out of him the way her Ancient Magic would leak out of her when she let her emotions get the better of her. He was as bright as the sun and as dark as the night, the duality of him complimented and contrasted in a way that enthralled her and paralysed her with fear. He had the potential to be her greatest ally and her greatest adversary all at the same time.

From out of the corner of his eyes, Sebastian could see another of his opponent open their mouth to hex them. He flicked his hand, wordlessly and wandlessly silencing them before brandishing his wand to levitate them up in the air, the way he had seen Professor Hecat levitate Leander Prewett to end one of their many unsanctioned duels in her classroom.

A high pitched cackle broke through the air, a chilling, macabre sound that sent shivers up Amelia’s spine. She could feel something wet and sticky against her skin, tacky to the touch and when she looked up, she could see a thin slice across Sebastian’s neck, blood weeping over the serrated edges of his skin. Instinctively, she pressed one hand up against the cut, applying just enough pressure to try and stem the flow of the blood. It was something she had read in an anatomy book she wasn’t supposed to have read, but she had ever been more grateful for her knowledge. Anger consumed her as her blue eyes turned glacial and narrowed into slits. She could feel the magic within her swell up like a tsunami and she focused on the Dark witch that had sliced and diced her companion – dare she say it, her friend – to pieces. Her hand thrust out automatically as a blue stream of light shot out from her fingers, wrapping itself around her foe, jerking them around like a puppet on a string until there was a sickening crunch and they fell to the ground, neck broken as the cause of their demise.

Amelia stared in horror at her hands, her breaths coming in strangled sobs as she realised she had taken a life. This was worse than turning a man into a chicken; she had actively killed someone. That person had wanted to eliminate her, sure, but she was now a murderer as well as an underage, unregistered witch running from whoever was chasing her. Resentment bloomed within her chest as she glared up at Sebastian. He had turned her into the grotesque monster she was; before he started teaching her how to hone and control her magic, the most she could do was turn humans into a Sunday roast and watch as eventually, they transformed back into a themselves with a puff of feathers exploding out of them.

“Good girl.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet but firm. “You did what you had to do. Good girl.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” he insisted as he lowered himself to the ground, blood loss and the exertion of battle making him woozy. “It was self-defence; if you didn’t do what you did, she would have killed you.”

“And you know that for sure?”

“There is no doubt in my mind that it was your demise or theirs.” He winced as he spoke, his vocal chords vibrating caused spears of pain to move through his throat and into his brain. It drew Amelia out of whatever daze she was in and she grappled with the flaps of skin that swayed in the gentle breeze.

“We have to control the bleeding; you’ll need to be stitched up. Is there a needle and thread in the tent?”

“Stitched up? As in sew my skin together?! Don’t be absurd; no-one’s skewering a rusted needle through me!” Sebastian drew a deep breath into his lungs, closing his eyes as water welled in his lash line, threatening to fall onto his pale, freckled cheeks. His normally olive skin tone had paled so severely it matched hers. “Go into the tent and look for a green phial on the kitchen bench and bring that to me.”

Time was of the essence, and Amelia sprinted off to do his bidding. She returned, quick as a flash, tilted Sebastian’s head backwards and poured the liquid down his throat. Before her eyes, his skin regenerated, as smooth as before; the only indication that he had been so severely injured was a faint, silver scar against his jugular.

“Are you alright, Mia?” Sebastian asked, eyes appraising Amelia to take stock of any injury to her.

“I’m fine.” A beat of silence as Amelia’s eyes danced over him, no doubt taking stock to see if he was injured anywhere else. “Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m hardly going to do a polka dance around our humble abode,” Sebastian snarked with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “But I’ll live.”

With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the tent. “We need to leave; it’s not safe here anymore.”

And after what they had just been through, Amelia was inclined to agree, and as she moved to follow him, she could hear a distinctive pop. She darted into the tent and stilled, her heart sinking as she prepared to go through another battle.

“Throw your wand out of the tent and walk out with your hands upon your head!”

Sebastian closed his eyes and winced, lightly smacking his forehead against one of the poles that kept the tent erect. He gestured for Amelia to stay in the tent; whoever it was, he would send them on their way as swiftly and as quickly as possible. Brown eyes peeked out from the flap of the tent, widening in a panic when he realised the law enforcement he had been so studiously avoiding had managed to find him. All his hard work was for naught.

The tip of his wand poked out from the opening in the tent, taunting the Aurors and subtly indicating that he was not going to follow their direction, nor was he going to go quietly.

“Drop your wand!”

His fingers curled around his wand handle so tight his nails bit into his skin.

“Do not defy an Auror’s order! You’ll only make it worse for yourself! Come out of the tent now, otherwise we will forcibly come in there and remove you!”

Well, that wouldn't do at all; they would find Amelia if they stormed the tent. Steeling his nerves, Sebastian walked out of the tent, tense and upright and never relinquishing his wand. Two Aurors jumped on his spine, slamming him to the ground and wrenched his arms behind his back. Another Auror prised his fingers open against his will, confiscating his wand and sealing it in an evidence bag. The handcuffs slipped onto his wrist, almost as comfortable as two old friends greeting each other after eons apart.

“Sebastian Silas Sallow, you are under arrest for multiple violations of the International Statute of Wizardry Secrecy Clauses, for performing multiple uses of underage magic in the presence of a Muggle and for attempting to defy Auror orders and resist arrest!”

Chapter Text

The dirt of the forest floor tasted like mushrooms mixed with dugbob urine, Sebastian realised, as the Aurors pushed his head into the ground. Considering he had spent his nights on the forest floor, he was surprised the realisation was hitting him now. He watched, helpless as the Aurors invaded the tent, eyes morphing from caramel to obsidian and narrowing as he saw them jerk Amelia roughly out of their little haven, throw her to the ground and wrench her arms behind her back to handcuff her the same way they had cuffed him.

He could see her tremors as she shivered violently, hear her choke back frustrated sobs at her predicament, feel her quelling stare slice right through him as her body tautened and she schooled her expression into a blank visage, her protective armour, as she always did when she guarded her personality and retreated within herself.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled wanly in a half-hearted attempt to reassure her that lying on a forest floor with law enforcement ransacking their little haven was a perfectly normal experience for him. “I’ll get you out of this.”

“How.” It was a question phrased as a statement, accusatory and unamused all at once and Amelia bored holes into him with hardened, glacial eyes. The warmth that was usually reserved for him had all but evaporated.

Sebastian squirmed. What was there to say in response to her? His mind was already racing towards the consequences; Amelia would most likely be released with a warning, considering this was her first offence but he would be charged and tried in the Wizengamot since he was a serial reoffender. There would be no more cautions for his misdemeanours and felony offences. Shame ran down his back, it felt like someone had cracked an egg over his head and the yolk was trickling across his skin, cold and sticky and cloying; his proximity to Amelia had dragged an innocent girl into his drama, and she didn’t deserve that.

Calloused hands pulled Sebastian up to his feet and the Aurors that cuffed him grasped his shoulders tightly, roughly pushing him to take one step after another as Sebastian tried to drag his steps out. Sebastian grimaced at the vice-like grip and squared his shoulders in an attempt to shrug off the ones who had apprehended him. “It’s my hands that are bound, not my legs. I’m perfectly capable of walking without assistance, thank you very much.”

“Stop resisting, Sallow! Stop moving your mouth and start moving your feet! You’re making this worse for yourself!”

“I’m not resisting!” Sebastian countered, once again trying to shrug off the Aurors that clung onto him the way barnacles would cling onto rocks. “I am moving, just not at the pace you want me to.”

Amelia stumbled beside him; instinctively he tried to pull his hands out to catch her before she fell but that reminded him that two metal bangles had shackled his wrists together and sent a jolt of pain through his arms.

“What’s happening, Sebastian? Who are these people and where are they taking us?” Amelia swallowed, not daring to raise her voice above a hushed whisper. Her eyes darted from left to right, looking for any weakness that she could use to break free. To hell with learning about magic, if this was what it was going to be like; she’d chalk up her little adventure and foray into magic as a lapse in her sanity, find a rich man to marry and pop out child after child, just like the Sisters wanted. It seemed easier, less convoluted to do that.

“These are Aurors,” he explained, just as quietly so as not to draw attention to the fact that they were talking to each other. “They’re the police of the Magical community and they’ll probably take us back to the Auror Head Office for processing.”

“Why have they arrested us?”

“Underage magic on my part, from the charges they read out. Not sure why they said the stuff about Muggles though; I haven’t used magic in front of anyone but you.” His eyebrows tugged into a frown, knitting together so tightly they became one monobrow. “I’m also not sure why they arrested you without cause.”

Oppressive silence fell between the pair and Sebastian’s footsteps faltered. The longer it took them to get to wherever the Aurors had kept their Portkey, the longer he had to come up with a distraction so Amelia could run. There was no way he was going to allow them to take Amelia down with him, not when she hadn’t done anything except come to accept who she really was.

Sebastian’s fingers scrambled for purchase, scraping against the cool silver of his handcuffs as he instinctively searched for his wand to occupy his hand. Being stripped of it made him feel vulnerable, as though he was walking through the forest naked even though he was fully clothed. Being wandless and defenceless made him feel helpless and alone, even though he was surrounded by Amelia and Aurors on all sides of him. He swallowed as his mouth went drier than the Sahara desert, the gravity of the situation crashing into him like a tonne of bricks. For the first time in a long time, he wished his parents were with him, guiding him through his monumental fuck up and supporting him to work his way out of it. A pipe dream, since they had made it abundantly clear that Anne was the golden child and he was the scapegoat, but it would have been nice all the same.

“Something wrong, Sallow?”

“Just thinking.”

“Perhaps if you had done more of that before, you wouldn’t be in this predicament now!” The Auror snarked with a dark chuckle and sadistic smile. Sebastian glared back; it almost seemed like the Auror was enjoying his quandary. “Don’t worry, boy, there’ll be plenty of time for you to think while you wait for your Wizengamot trial.”

There was no Portkey; instead, the Aurors had led them two a dark, imposing carriage with bars on the window and an anti-magic shield lined the carriage – there was no way for Sebastian to attempt to Apparate his way to freedom with Amelia. Thestrals whinnied from underneath the bridle around their snout and their wings beat so rapidly in the air it sounded like a cyclone had passed through the area.

“Sebastian, I’m scared.”

He was too, but it wouldn’t be chivalrous of him to admit that, so he did what he always did in situations like this. His nostrils flared slightly as both corners of his mouth stretched wide over the bottom half of his face, his smile charming and disarming at the same time.

“Don’t worry, Mia. I’ll get you out of this. Trust me.”

Night had, once more, fallen over the Aranshire cottage. Anne was fast asleep; while she had had a ‘good’ day, fatigue had burrowed into her bone marrow and she had retired to her bed shortly after dinner. For some reason, her wrists had started to ache and chafe and there was a gnawing, anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach; she had no idea why and it was taking a toll on her. There was a momentary panic – perhaps the curse had spread from her gastrointestinal tract to her musculo-skeletal system – and Anne had cried in her mother’s arms at the thought of the curse overrunning her body while her father performed some rudimentary diagnostic charms over her to see if that was the case. The diagnostic charms came back negative, much to Emerys’, Silas’ and Anne’s immense relief, and the parents encouraged Anne to relax, go back to her bed and get some rest. Perhaps rest and time would cure her latest ailment, and given how terrified they had been moments ago, they needed to return to a ritual they established in a simpler time. Just like they did when Anne was a little girl, Silas and Emerys tucked her up with her doona drawn tight under her chin and a kiss on her forehead, fingers carding through her hair to lull her to sleep.

Silas and Emerys sat at the foot of Anne’s bed, watching their daughter succumb to dreams, with a small, sad smile on their face. While Anne’s health had plateaued, they were both cognizant that at some point, they would have to bear the burden and pain of having to bury their own child. Neither parent wanted to imagine that, so every time the traitorous thought passed through their head they reverted back to practices they did with Anne when she was a child and curse-free. It was the only coping mechanism they had that didn’t hurt.

There was an insistent tap at the window; a tawny owl with an official looking letter in its beak demanded Silas and Emerys’ attention. Silas unlatched the window, and with a soft pat to the bird’s head, relieved the owl of the letter.

“It’s from the Ministry,” he muttered, sparing Emerys a sideways glance, eyes hardened and unreadable.

“Have they found a cure for Anne? I know their researchers are looking into how to break Dark Magic Curses.”

“Considering it’s from Auror Headquarters, I doubt it. I suspect this is about our other child.”

Emerys sighed, pulled at the roots of her hair in a frantic matter and gestured for Silas to open up the letter. Silas was already a step ahead of her; the envelope the letter came in lay on the floorboards, shredded beyond recognition. The parchment crinkled in Silas’ fists, his fingers contracting so tight they turned white as he read and his face coloured to an impressive shade of puce. The vein in his head protruded out from under his skin and throbbed prominently. Steam was practically billowing out from Silas’ ears; of that much Emerys was sure.

“Silas, on a scale of one to I-brought-our-son-into-this-world-and-I-will-singlehandedly-take-him-out-of-it-too, how angry should I be?”

“Closer to one end of the scale than the other,” Silas ground out, quietly stomping around the room, seething at the idiot child he had the misfortune of having to raise. Wordlessly, he passed the letter to Emerys so she could understand his rage and frustration.

Emerys snatched the parchment out of her husband’s hand. She, too, turned a magnificent shade of magenta as her blood pressure threatened to burst.

Silas let out a humourless chuckle at his wife’s outraged and infuriated expression. “We could let him sit in his cell and stew for a bit before posting bail.”

Emerys turned a laser-beam stare to her husband, unamused. Reaching into Anne’s wardrobe, she grabbed the closest travelling cloak she could find – Anne and her were the same size – before thundering her way down the stairs, wrenching the front door open so harshly the door snapped off its hinges and storming to the hamlet’s Floo Flame.

“Off on another – ?” Ignatia Wildsmith began, only to be stifled by Emerys clamping her hand down over the infernal statue’s mouth.

“Not the time,” Emerys growled, waiting for Silas to repair their front door and join her side. She could see him having a quick conversation with their neighbour. The McCleery’s were well aware of Sebastian’s run-ins with the law – they had seen him brought back by the Aurors – and were happy to watch over the house and Anne while Silas and Emerys visited their son in jail.

Chapter Text

6.30am
Thursday 29th October, 1874

Soft snores echoed gently around Silas and Emerys’ bedroom. Emerys’ snoring had become the soundtrack to Silas’ life, especially as over the past few weeks as Emerys became more and more exhausted with the work that she was doing. From where he was sitting on the floor, cursing the crib he was struggling to assemble – Emerys was insisting he did it the Muggle way, just like her father had built a cot for her; honestly, what was the point of being a wizard if his wife tempered his use of Magic? – Silas sighed, drinking in his wife’s appearance.

Nine months ago, Emerys had sat him down on the window seat of their bedroom. Silas was brimming with news; he had applied for the job of Professor of Ancient Runes at Hogwarts and had received news that he had been appointed to the position by the Board of Governors and the Ministry of Magic. He had expected Emerys to shriek with delight and celebrate with him, but she simply stared at him with a glassy-eyed expression, twirling a strand of chocolate brown hair around her finger, as she did when she was stressed or anxious. There was no doubt in her mind that her news would eclipse his.

“Silas, I’m pregnant.”

Emerys chewed on her lip, anticipating his not-so-pleased reaction. They had only recently started considering whether they wanted children and they had come to the conclusion that they did, but once they were more established in their life, perhaps in their early thirties, not now. One child was all they needed, one baby for them to shower all their love and attention on. No need to make the child feel like they weren’t enough for them by having another one later down the track.

Silas’ jaw dropped and he stared at Emerys’ stomach, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You’re pregnant?”

“I’m sorry, Silas! I know this is not the best time, and that –”

Silas silenced her by framing her face in his hands and devouring her lips with his. One hand slid down the valley of her neck and came to rest on her stomach.

“You’re pregnant,” he whispered again, a crooked smile that Emerys knew was his genuine smile, gracing his lips. “There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry about.”

“You’re not mad? We had a timeline and a plan and this throws off everything!”

“We’re having a baby! You’re having our baby!” Silas brushed the hair out of Emerys’ face and pulled her in for another searing kiss. Silas had thought he knew elation on the day he married his wife, but nothing could compare to the warm, content glow that was emanating out from the centre of his chest as he held his wife – and his baby, couldn’t forget that now – in his arms.

As the months went on, Silas revelled in the changes that took place in Emerys. He held her hair back as morning sickness forced her to spend most of her days with her head in a bucket, couldn’t keep his hands off her body that grew and changed to accommodate their child; it became a nightly ritual for him to talk to their baby and press kisses to her belly before they went to bed. Every appointment Emerys went to, Silas went too, and when the Healers had told them that they were expecting a little girl no one was as wonderstruck as Silas was. His dreams revolved around holding his little princess in his arms, swinging her over his shoulder and twirling her around and around in their garden under a dazzling sun.

From where she was lying, Emerys rolled into a sitting position, wincing as every joint in her body hurt and she rubbed at her back as ripples ripped through her lower half. “Silas?”

“Yes, my love? Craving some more smoked duck or apple pie? Or some Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans?”

“No, I think Anne’s on her way.”

Silas leapt to his feet, rushing to Emerys’ side so he could support her as he led her to the fireplace, intent on Floo’ing them to St. Mungo’s. “Your pains are coming? We need to get you to the hospital!”

“My bag, get the bag that has Anne’s coming home outfit in it!” Emerys groaned, hunching over as her water broke and another contraction tore through her. Silas winced; Emerys had told him where it was but he wasn’t listening to her at the time and had no idea where the small carpet bag was. He could hazard a guess as to where it was and headed towards their bedroom.

“You’re absolutely useless, Silas! I told you yesterday it was next to the bookcase in the living room so we could grab it and go!”

“Alright, my sweet, I’ll get it and we’ll go.”

A quick dart through their Aranshire cottage had Silas collecting everything Emerys would need – the small carpet bag, the Honeydukes snacks that Emerys craved throughout her pregnancy, reading materials for both of them because he had learnt that labour could last for days – and they were whisked away in a blur of emerald green flames.

Emerys was wheeled straight into delivery; Silas had been directed to the waiting room while ‘secret women’s business’ unfolded, as was tradition for menfolk, but Silas was a man that defied convention and insisted that he would be with his wife as they welcomed Anne into the world. He stood by her side, occasionally stuffing a Chocolate Frog in his mouth while Emerys scowled and cursed at him – she was starving but the Healers hadn’t allowed her to eat – and gasping as Emerys squeezed the life out of his fingertips, tears of pain welling in the bottom of his eyes, and murmuring quiet encouragement to her as she grunted and groaned through every contraction.

Healers flitted in and out of the room as one hour of Emerys labouring became two. The time doubled and doubled again, and after twelve hours, Healer Smythe knelt between Emerys’ legs and instructed her to start pushing.

“I can see the head, full of hair,” Smythe said, glancing up at the prospective parents. “Two or three more big pushes and your baby will be here.”

Silas moved from where he was, torn between supporting Emerys and wanting to see Anne take her first breath. Emerys let out a guttural scream, sweat matting her brown waves to her scalp, and a shrill wail brokered them into silence.

“Congratulations,” Healer Smythe smiled, holding up their wailing baby in her arms. The baby had Emerys’ olive toned skin, the Sallow smattering of freckles painted across their cheeks and nose, dark brown locks that were curled and matted in blood and a set of lungs that threatened to cry the ward down. Emerys and Silas stared at their offspring in shock and horror.

“Is that…?” Words failed Silas as he pointed between the child’s legs.

“Healthy baby boy, although a bit on the small side,” Smythe confirmed, wrapping up the tot in a warm sheet and passing Baby Boy Sallow onto another Healer while she took care of Emerys.

“No!” Emerys groaned weakly, grimacing in pain as the healer pressed on her abdomen. “No, we were told we’re having a girl.” She pointed at the baby she had just given birth to and scowled. “It’s not Anne Elizabeth Sallow! We’re ready for a girl; we don’t know what to do with that!”

“Perhaps your next baby will be a girl.” Smythe smiled weakly as her head burrowed back between Emerys’ legs. There was a twinge in Healer Smythe’s chest; she had seen this before and she silently winged a prayer up, hoping that Emerys and Silas could move past their disappointment and grow to love and care for their son as much as they would if he had been a she.

“No, that’s not possible since we’re only having one child.” Silas sat down heavily on the three-legged stool that had been brought in for him and buried his head in his hands. All the hopes and dreams he had for his little girl had smouldered into ash. To say he was devastated with the turn of events was to put things mildly.

“Emerys, Silas, your baby has different ideas,” Healer Smythe stated firmly, but not unkindly. “You’re having twins, and the next one is on its way. There’s no way around it; I need you two to focus so Emerys can push this little one out too.”

Time passed in a haze for Emerys and Silas. Neither of them looked at the small cot that contained their first child; to look would have been to make it real, and denial of having more than they bargained for was definitely more palatable. Their second baby was the girl they had hoped, dreamed and planned for, and relief washed over them when Emerys held out her arms for Anne Elizabeth Sallow, cooing and allowing her child to suckle at her. Anne had been born with the same head of dark hair as the other one had been born with, the same freckles, although she took after Silas in the snow white hue of her skin, and Silas ran his hand reverently over her chubby cheeks.

Now that the shock of their surprise was wearing off, Emerys shot a guilty look at the wicker basket the other newborn lay in, quietly whimpering for love, affection or just any human contact, before turning her gaze onto Silas. She thought of the crib that lay in pieces on her bedroom floor in Aranshire, the baby carriage that could only hold one child.

“We’re not ready for two, Silas. We can’t afford two children. Hell, we’re barely able to afford one. Two children will bring us nothing but trouble.”

“I know.” Silas swallowed painfully as he finally acknowledged that there was another baby – his baby – in the room with them. He had a daughter, one that he had connected with over the past nine months and loved with all of his heart, and he had a son that was a stranger to him.

“We have nothing. No clothes, no crib.” Tears filled Emerys’ dark brown eyes and she jerked her chin in the direction of Baby Boy Sallow. “How can I love Anne so much already, but yet feel nothing for it?”

“Him, Emerys. You feel nothing for him.” Silas swallowed, eyes dulled down as his fingers climbed his face to hide his shame. “I feel nothing for him too. How can I be a father that feels nothing for their child?!”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

“Silas, we don’t even have a name.”

There was another pregnant pause, which gave birth to more pregnant pauses.

“We could name him after my grandfather?” Silas suggested timidly and eventually, still reeling from the bonus birth but very quickly coming to the realisation that he had two children to provide for now. It was a Sallow family tradition; the firstborn son of the next generation of Sallows was always named after the father’s grandfather, and the middle name was always their father’s name. “Sebastian Silas Sallow.”

Emerys nodded slowly. She had no strong opinions either way on the matter; all she felt like doing was bursting into tears as the plans she had cultivated with Silas were uprooted by the birth of twins. Even though twins ran in her family, it was still a shock to discover that she had birthed double the number of children she wanted.

Silas held his arms out for Anne and Emerys placed their daughter in his arms. His lips pressed against the temple of her head and he breathed in the newborn smell, cradling her and rocking her until her whimpers subsided. He gestured to the cot in the room and indicated that he was going to place Anne in with Sebastian, to which Emerys, completely exhausted and emotionally strung out, simply nodded, shut her eyes and turned her head away from them.

Sebastian, startled by the movement of Anne being placed next to him, flapped his arm out from the swaddling of the sheet he was wrapped in. The newborn twins lay next to each other – Silas could accept that he had two children, but he found looking at the first baby and knowing that new life was his responsibility as well was a step too far for him to process, so he simply kept his gaze on Anne – and Sebastian’s arm lay protectively over his sister.

Perhaps with time, Silas thought to himself, Emerys and I can learn to love the boy the way we love and cherish Anne.

Sebastian Sallow was a man of many things. He was charming, quick-witted, athletic and intelligent. His brain had the ability to absorb new information like a sponge and regurgitate it at the drop of a hat, skills that served him well at school because all he had to do was read a book once and he would know the content of it. His easy smile and genial nature made him a confidant, and his presence commanded respect from everyone around him.

Unfortunately, he was also a man of many flaws. One of his flaws was lacking the ability to stay still.

He stalked the length of his holding cell – it was three and a half strides long by four strides deep – in his socked feet. His wand had been confiscated, as had his waistcoat, necktie, suspenders and boots - they all contained objects that could allow him to escape the Muggle way – so he was clad in nothing more than the thin cotton shirt he wore, black wool pants and threadbare white socks with a hole where his big toe was.

He could see Mia in the holding cell opposite him; she curled up like a cat on the small, wooden pallet that acted as a bench and a bed and studiously ignored him. She had been like this ever since the Aurors had informed him that his parents had been informed of his arrest and that he couldn’t be questioned without one of them present; the betrayed look she shot him cut him to the quick.

“You told me you were an orphan,” she muttered, an accusation that automatically presumed his guilt at lying to her. “I thought you were like me, thought you understood me.”

Sebastian tried to point out that he did understand her – that was why he called her Mia – and that he had never made the claim he was an orphan – that was an assumption she had leapt to – but that didn’t go down too well with Amelia and she iced him out, finding it far easier to pretend he didn’t exist than it was to admit that she had fallen for his wily, deceptive ways, hook, line and sinker.

“Your folks are on their way up,” the Auror that was tasked with guarding their holding cells grunted at Sebastian as he unlocked Amelia’s cell, hoiked her up by her elbows and pulled her away.

“Where are you taking her?!” Sebastian rushed to the bars of his cell, fingers curling around the iron bars, the cool of the metal contrasting sharply against the heat of his sweaty palms.

“Your accomplice can’t be here while your parents are. Once they’ve gone, she’ll be returned to her holding cell until the Officers are ready to question her.”

“Question her?! She has nothing to do with this! Let her go; you have me! I’m the one you were after; isn’t that enough?!”

“Well beyond my pay grade to make that decision, boy,” the guard muttered as he led Sebastian’s charge away from him. The hollow, gnawing feeling inside of his stomach swirled turbulently and he raked his hands feverishly through his hair as he tried to devise a plan to worm both of them out of facing the Wizengamot. His head smacked against the iron bars, a definitive thunk echoing around the cell and he leaned against the grated cell wall and he closed his eyes, hoping that blinding him to the visual stimulation of his environment would help convince him he really wasn’t detained. Footsteps clicked with urgency against the stone floor and Sebastian cracked open one bleary eye to see who was heading his way.

“Ma?”

Emerys hiked up her skirts and ran to Sebastian, Silas hot on her heels behind her. As she approached, Sebastian could see his mother’s face pinch into a tight frown; her lips were downturned and fine lines carved like granite around her eyes. Her nostrils twitched and flared as they always did before she lost her temper at him. Quick as a flash, Emerys’ hand slipped through the bars of the cell. Sebastian thought she was going to pat him on the cheek; instead, she reached towards him and cuffed him sharply upside the back of his head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Well, since your last growth spurt, your father’s too short to knock some sense into you so I took the liberty to do so on his behalf,” Emerys replied tartly, withdrawing her hand as the guard minding the cell stepped forth to intervene. There wasn’t meant to be any contact between visitors and those that had been remanded in custody; it wouldn’t be the first time a perpetrator had been slipped something to help them escape justice for their crimes.

“Ma, dad, I need you to listen to me! There’s a girl-”

But Emerys was too blinded by white-hot ire to listen and she directed her rage at the cause of it. “You threatened to expose the Magical community to Muggles and got yourself thrown in jail over a girl?! Your sister is dying and the most important thing in your life is dipping your wick?!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Sebastian fired back, flushing angrily at what his mother had implied he had done. He really was just like Emerys, two cataclysmic volcanos erupting with a ferocity that had the power to wipe out anyone that tried to intervene. Silas winced; this was why he managed Sebastian instead of Emerys – the mother and son clashed in all the wrong ways, both blinded by the need to be the one in the right which hampered their ability to listen to what the other one was saying. “And you’d know if you’d actually bother to listen to what I have to say! You’d know if I felt like I could actually come to you with problems and you’d know if you could acknowledge that I’m your child too! But since that’s been too difficult for you for the past fifteen years, why don’t you just post my bail and I’ll figure something out myself, like I’ve had to do most of my life?!”

“Post bail? Post bail?!” Emerys shrieked at a decibel that made dogs several neighbourhoods away howl and bark in the distance. “After everything you’ve put us through?! No! Jail is the safest place for you; you won’t be able to engage in any delinquency behind bars! You’ll stay here until your trial date with the Wizengamot rolls around! ” She turned on her heel and stormed away from Sebastian, throwing her hands up in the air as if to say I give up. As far as she was concerned, the judge could throw the book at him, and she hoped it would finally get through to Sebastian because Merlin knew she and Silas weren’t getting anywhere with him.

“You have my blessing to have at him without my presence,” she snapped at the guard, a parting shot between her and Sebastian.

Sebastian turned to his father in mute appeal. Face impassive and inscrutable, he shook his head.

“You know our circumstance, Sebastian. Your bail’s been set at over 130 Galleons. We can’t afford that.”

Sebastian stared mulishly at his father, eyes hardened and guarded, and muttered under his breath.

“What was that, boy?” Silas snarled, tone as acidic and accusatory as Emerys’ had been. Silas’ fingers curled into fists and he shoved his hands in his pockets. He was fairly certain he had heard Sebastian’s utters corectly but wanted confirmation that what he heard was what his son had said.

“Nothing.”

“No, Sebastian. If you want to say something, have the courage to say it to my face!”

“Fine! I said you’d find the money if it was for Anne instead of me! You always find the money for her! It’s all about her! For all of my life, it’s always been about her! When will it be my turn?! When will you actually give a damn about me?!”

Strangled silence filled the air as Sebastian realised the thoughts he had repressed and internalised over the past six months had cascaded from his mouth before he could stop himself. Silas tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he heard his son’s innermost feelings and the uncomfortable feeling of inadequacy settled like lead in the bottom of his stomach. Sebastian wasn’t wrong, Silas realised with a pang of guilt and regret. He and Emerys had been prioritising Anne over Sebastian, but that was only because Anne was terminal. They had been through a rollercoaster of a ride; just when they thought they had reached a flat level, the ride would dip and they would flail uncontrollably through a freefall. No parent should have to consider burying their own child, and yet that was his and Emerys’ reality; it was hard for all of them to come to grips with the impending disaster.

“It’s all about Anne because Anne won’t be around forever,” Silas stated firmly, voice lined with sorrow and devastation. “And it would do you well to remember that.”

Unconsciously, Sebastian’s hand crept over his abdomen, fingers clawing into the cotton of his shirt. He was cognizant of the fact that Anne wouldn’t be around forever; every time the curse decided to up the ante and ravage and savage her from the inside out, Sebastian could feel it. Not as intensely as Anne could, but he could feel the sting and the barbs of the curse shredding her to pieces. It was not something he wanted to remember; partaking in Alihosty and copious amounts of alcohol helped him to forget, even if it was temporary.

“Your trial’s in three weeks. We cannot afford a lawyer for you either. You got yourself into this mess; you figure out a way of getting yourself out of it, or you take the consequences of your actions on the chin with no complaint.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and the shutters rolled down over his irises, face schooled into an impassive expression. Figures, he thought bitterly. If I get sent to jail, then they can have the perfect family they’ve always wanted. Shoulders stooped, Sebastian slunk to the wooden pallet that passed for both a bench and a bed. Feeling much older than his fifteen years of age, he turtled into himself, head tucked into his chest while his limbs pretzeled around his torso.

His parents had written him off as a lost cause – why else would they leave him to rot in his holding cell for three weeks instead of trying to help him? – and his eyes slid over to the cell that Amelia was once detained in, but then he remembered that she had felt betrayed by him and his supposed lies – he still maintained that he never directly lied to her, he just never corrected her assumptions – and she wanted nothing to do with him either.

The cold, harsh reality was that Sebastian was alone in this world. He had no one to look out for him but himself. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been an orphan.

Sebastian was on his own.

Chapter Text

Amelia’s blue eyes skittered around the room, observing her surroundings for anything she could use to her advantage. The room was suspiciously empty; there was a solid wooden table that had two chairs tucked underneath it. A small, rectangular window was situated high up on the wall and let in a small amount of light that glared harshly down on her. On the wall opposite her, there was a mirror to give the illusion that the room was bigger and more spacious than it actually was. She squirmed in her seat, her corset feeling extremely tight and digging into her skin. It was pushing all the air out of her lungs, suffocating her and the sound of her own breathing echoed eerily around the room. Her fingers ached and trembled and she busied herself; one hand picked at a loose thread that was unravelling from the cuff of her sleeve while the other tapped a frenzied tango on the table top.

The door to the room opened and closed with a creak. Amelia stared at the reflection of the mirror, noting that a man with slicked back hair, irises so dark they pierced through her, scruffy beard, a black cloak to hide his limping leg and shiny gold badge pinned to his chest had entered the room. If his appearance wasn’t intimidating, his air of authority certainly was. On the inside, Amelia quaked; outwardly, she stared, unblinking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Who are you?”

The chair scraped against the concrete floor and the man sat down on one of the chairs opposite her. The chair groaned under his weight and he flipped open a notebook as he twirled a quill in his hand. Amelia said nothing although her fingers picked a little more ferociously at the sleeve of her dress. Silence, the Sisters had taught her, was a virtue. Mostly because men wanted to take a wife that would blindly agree with them and stay quiet when they didn’t, but silence was apt in this situation too.

“Cooperate with me, and I can help you. Refuse - ”he broke off and withdrew a small bottle with a colourless liquid in it. “Two or three drops of Veritaserum should loosen your tongue.”

Amelia had no clue what that liquid was, but it didn’t sound like it would bode well for her if she was subjected to it. She thought of the brunet boy she had been caught with, recalled his warm, enigmatic smile and burnt-honey eyes that convinced her to trust him every time he told her to and knew that he would have explained what it was to her.

But then again, he was also a liar. Who knew if anything he had said was gospel? More consummate at deception than she was; he had no tells that she could observe to know when he was lying.

What was the truth about her?

“Come now, child, make this easier on yourself and tell me your name.”

Amelia tilted her head to the left, hair falling into her eyes to hide her true feelings. “Only if you tell me yours,” she managed, voice steady for someone who was terrified on the inside.

“Aesop Sharp, Auror with the Ministry of Magic.”

“Amelia Calloway, patron of St. Calloway’s Orphanage.”

Aesop’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly at the newly gleaned information. It certainly made things easier. An orphanage would mean that she was a Muggle – orphanages didn’t exist in the Magical community since there was always someone that could take in an unwanted baby – and since most Muggle orphanages were overcrowded and run down, it was entirely possible that she hadn’t even been reported as missing.

“Tell me what happened in the lead up to your arrest. How did you meet your accomplice?”

“He’s not my accomplice.” She spat the words out like they were bitter poison, snapping the thread she had picked at between her fingers. Her eyes glared at the older man, glacial and unforgiving at his assumption that she had been a willing participant in his shenanigans instead of a victim that had been hoodwinked by his unnerving charm and Machiavellian personality.

“Alright,” Aesop said evenly, leaning back on his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. The Auror badge glinted under the harsh light, the weight that it held reflected around the room. “Tell me when and how you met Sebastian Sallow.”

“Marylebone Library. He was reading in the corner. White shirt. Green waistcoat. Black pants and grey reading glasses.” Each word was a barb that was drawn out of her tongue, chest tightening as she thought of how taken she was with him and how foolish she was to have not guarded herself against him. “I was there attending to a personal matter going sour and he intervened. That is how we met.”

Aesop scribbled down on his notepad. The honesty from her was refreshing; there had been a team sent to clean up the magical mess when the instance had occurred, which was no doubt when Sebastian had run and she had trailed behind him.

“Why did you follow him? Why not go back to St. Calloway’s Orphanage?”

Amelia’s head lowered to the floor as her fingers tapped once more on the table between her and Aesop Sharp. Retrospectively, that should have been what she did. The Sisters had always warned the girls of the orphanage about the dangers of running away with strange men, especially since the serial killer Jack the Ripper was on the loose and no-one knew who he was or where he would strike. For all she knew, the boy who had threatened the man she had once considered getting engaged to, with his mysterious air, could have been the Ripper himself, and what kind of danger had she willingly but unwittingly put herself in? It could have cost her her life!

But Sebastian had accepted her for who she was, freakish nature and all. He wasn’t scared of what she could do; in fact, he had done what he could to make sure that she could control herself and kept her as safe as he could. She wondered what other secrets he was hiding; if he could hide the fact that he wasn’t an orphan, what else had he not told her? Was he just as bad as the man he had saved her from, only wanting her for his own nefarious purposes?

Aesop eyed her beadily, boring holes so intensely into her that she could feel his gaze under her skin, waiting for her to respond, but that didn’t seem likely.

“He gave me a sense of freedom I had never had before,” she murmured so quietly Aesop had to strain his ears to catch it. “I thought I could trust him, I thought I knew him, that we were two sides of the same coin. I thought…” she broke off with a sad huff of a humourless laugh and a self-deprecating shake of her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought; nothing good in my life lasts. Why should this have been different?”

The breath caught in Aesop’s lungs and a shot of compassion darted through him. He, too, could remember what it was like to be fifteen and the pain of having his first crush ripped away from him was as visceral as the expression on Amelia’s face.

“What happened in the lead up to your arrest?”

“We were camping by the river in the Forest of Dean. Se-” she broke off before she could say his name. “He had caught some fish and I cooked it up for dinner.” She very conveniently left out that the feast they had gorged themselves on consisted of food they had stolen from vendors in London.

Aesop nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“He was alerted by a noise – people had popped up around us.”

“Did they Apparate in?”

Fine, auburn eyebrows tugged together in a puzzled frown. “Apparate?”

“Appear as if out of nowhere,” Aesop explained, hand moving so quickly it was a blur over the notes he was taking. She nodded at his explanation.

“Can you describe them to me? What did they look like, what did they do?”

She shook her head and explained that the people that had encroached on their little camp of domesticity had worn masks over their face, fashioned out of metal and bone, welded and hammered into the shape of a human skull. Their voices were hoarse with disuse, filled with venom and unflattering words and they attacked both her and Sebastian without provocation.

“Ashwinders,” Aesop muttered to himself, the gnarled and twisted features of his face pulling into something ugly at the thought of them. The word meant nothing to Amelia; she simply shrugged and carried on describing their skirmish in horrifying detail and accuracy.

“Potential allies for Rookwood,” Aesop grumbled, closing his eyes against the weight of the threat that beared down on the community he had sworn to protect.
Amelia’s voice petered out into thin air as her fingers tapped relentlessly against the oak of the table. She swallowed, her throat so parched from all the talking she couldn’t produce any saliva. Butterfly wings beat rapidly in her stomach as she watched Aesop Sharp with meticulous attention, wondering what his next move was.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop never sat well with her and she thrummed with anxiety.

“Thank you, Miss. Calloway. You’ve been very informative and very helpful.” Aesop sighed, placed the Veritaserum back in his pocket – he had no real intent of using it – and drew out an ebony wand from beneath his cloak. Amelia flinched ever so slightly at the movement, so minutely only she knew it happened.

“Unfortunately, we cannot have a Muggle running around the United Kingdom knowing about magic with no proper cause. It is with great regret that I have to do this.”

He aimed the wand at Amelia’s forehead, blank expression that somehow conveyed the gravity of the situation. Amelia instinctively raised her hands to her face, as if paled skin and quaking bones would shield her from what came next.

“Oblivi-!”

There was a blinding flash of ethereal blue, a clatter of a wand and a body hitting the floor, and the room fell disquietedly silent.

Light flickered across Sebastian Sallow’s cell and he flung an arm over his face, shirt sleeve shielding him from the sunlight that mocked his predicament of being caged in a musty old building instead of out exploring the world.

There were nine scratch marks he had clawed into his own forearm; nine days since his parents declared that they couldn’t afford to post bail for him and he would be remanded in custody until his trial. With a sigh, he dragged a fingernail that he had sharpened into a point across his skin, pressing so hard he drew blood and carved another tally into himself, marking the start of his tenth day in captivity.

The one benefit to having to defend himself against his charges since he had no lawyer was that he was permitted two hours out of his cell every day to go to the Ministry Library Archives to plan his defence. Wizarding Constitution outlined that since he was representing himself he had the right to access material so he could present the best possible case to the Wizengamot; it was a feature of a fair trial, and that was the feature of the Wizarding judicial system that Sebastian valued. His trips to the library were supervised; every book he wanted to peruse was vetted before he could scour through them at lightning speed and the more he read, the more he planned, and the more confident he was that he could beat the charges raised against him. He had a strategy that was sure to work.

He rubbed the sleepy-dust out of eyes that had darkened shadows underneath them – he hadn’t been sleeping well since he had been unceremoniously locked behind bars and it was compounded by the fact that Mia had been taken from the cell opposite him and not returned and he didn’t know what her fate was – and dragged himself up into a sitting position.

“What’s the time?” he croaked out to the guard that was tasked with watching and reporting on his every move. Not that the guard was doing a good job; he was more interested in riffling through his copy of The Daily Prophet to notice that Sebastian was using his time to hone in on his wandless magic; there was nothing else for the fifteen year old to do in his cell to keep him occupied.

“Half eleven.” The guard flicked the pages of the newspaper and shook his head. “Lunch will be here soon.”

Sebastian’s stomach growled in delight. He was starving since he had slept through breakfast. “Canapes will be served,” he muttered cynically. The meals he was getting in prison were designed to provide him the nutrition he needed, but they certainly weren’t as delectable as the feasts he had shared with Amelia. Nor was it as comforting as his mother’s cooking.

There was a twinge in his chest as he thought of his mother, his stomach cramped and blood rushed to his cheeks, a mask of shame. Ten days was enough time for him to calm down and reflect on how poorly he felt he had conducted himself the last time he and his mother were in the same room. How she had managed to rile him up and get him spilling the innermost thoughts and feelings he had in regards to them – ones he had vowed never to share with them because it would just upset everyone and one unhappy child was more palatable than an entire contingent of unhappy Sallows – he would never know, but the cat was out of the bag now. He should have remained calm, should have been more in control of his emotions, just like he was teaching Amelia to be more in control of herself, and not let Emerys Sallow worm her way under his skin.

And even though Emerys had been bellowing at him in much the same way he was raging at her, Sebastian could hear the hurt that had intermingled with her white-hot ire after he had said what he said. Knowing he was the cause of that hurt was like a knife twisting in his gut; for all her flaws, she was still his mother and the only mother he would ever have. He tried to put himself in her shoes, tried to imagine what it would be like to be a parent of one dying child and another one that was incarcerated, and realised that his mother was right; jail was the safest place for him so that she and Silas could tend to Anne without worrying about him. The delivery of the news could have been better, but Emerys had always been one to speak first and regret what she had said much later; a trait that Sebastian realised he had inherited from her.

As much as he looked like his father, he really was his mother’s son.

He wondered if his mother and father would visit him while he was in jail, but given how disastrous their previous encounter was, he’d wager not. If Sebastian was his own parent, he wouldn’t waste time visiting him either.

But perhaps he was wrong; movement caught the corner of his eye and he leaned forward from where he was sitting to see who it was. At first glance, it looked like Emerys Sallow was making her way down the hall to see him. Sebastian blinked and rubbed at his eyes once more. It was an Emerys Sallow clone, with one deliberate mistake; a smattering of freckles painted her face.

“Annie!” Sebastian rushed to the grate of his cell, hands outstretched through the gaps in the bar. Anne scurried to him, grasped his hands and squeezed them tightly. Her eyes raked over his appearance and she noted his sunken in eyes, the stubble that shadowed his cheeks and jawline and vined down his neck, his unruly waves and curls were standing up on end, indicative of the number of times he had pulled at it in frustration.

“No touching!” The guard yelled, rolling up his newspaper and thwacking it across the back of Sebastian’s hands. Sebastian dropped Anne’s hands like they were hot coals and withdrew his arms, holding them up in a surrender gesture.

“No touching.”

“No touching,” the guard repeated, albeit more gently as he swivelled his head towards Anne.

“No touching,” she agreed with a small smile of understanding, before turning her attention back to her incarcerated brother. “So, enjoying yourself in here?”

“Oh, yes, it’s an absolute blast in this five-star establishment!” Sebastian glowered at his sister and rolled his eyes sarcastically. “I get three meals of slop a day, infinite amounts of boredom and who can forget the ice-cold bucket of water they give me so I can strip off and shower with an audience?” He gestured to the guard who pretended to read to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping in on the sibling’s conversation.

“I can smell you’ve been making good use of that bucket,” Anne jibed, wrinkling up her nose and fanning the air.

There was a beat of strained silence. The humour of their sarcasm evaporated and they were left with the stark reality of their life. Anne didn’t know what to say to her brother; Sebastian had no words left to say to his sister that would change where they were and what they were doing.

“How’s home?” Sebastian managed, trying to break the awkward silence that settled between them.

Anne’s honey-burnt eyes narrowed as she contemplated what Sebastian was really wanting to know, but was too stubborn and too much of a coward to ask.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, a hint of resentment and acidity in her voice. “Mum and Dad have been working odd-jobs and side hustles day and night to earn the extra 75 Galleons that they need to get you out of here. They’ve been working so much that I’ve had the McCleery’s tending to me instead of them and I had to go to St. Mungo’s on my own today.”

The pointed barb was designed to make Sebastian feel guilty, and it worked. Anne’s biweekly treatments at St. Mungo’s were a source of torture for her. Taking Emerys or Silas with her eased the pain; there was something comforting about being soothed by her mother or being held by her father as the Healers needled and pressed and worked against the charm that was slowly decaying her from the inside out. Occasionally, Sebastian would go with her too, cracking jokes or reading to her to distract her from the pain, but those instances were few and far between; seeing and feeling his little sister in that much pain and suffering caused him distress too, which in turn, distressed her, and it became a vicious cycle of each twin’s upset upsetting the other. It was better for both of them that he wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry, Annie.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry; show me.”

There was another uncomfortable beat of silence as the realisation of how his actions had affected his sister and how his parents were doing what they could in their circumstance to help him weighed down on him. It was more than he deserved, given the trouble he had caused them and the uncharitable words he had spat at them in anger.

“So, tell me everything.” With a wince, Anne lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs so her elbows could rest on them while she held her face up in the palm of her hands. “How did you end up here?”

“What have Mum and Dad told you?”

“Nothing directly, and there wasn’t much I could pick up on when they were grumbling about you under their breath as they went from job to job when they thought I couldn’t hear them. There was a lot of concern over you and someone you had ‘dipped your wick with’, and if there would be any unintended consequences. Figured it’d be best to get the news straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Sebastian flushed as the words he hated slipped out of Anne’s mouth. Anne misread the embarrassed flush as guilt and she gasped.

“Did you?”

“No! Absolutely not! I’m fifteen, Anne, and so is she!” Sebastian was scandalised that his sister thought so little of him, but given his past behaviour, he supposed she couldn’t blame him. “It would be improper.”

“Nothing about you is proper, brother of mine.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“But there is a she,” Anne pressed, eyes roving over her brother’s embarrassed stance, noting that he hadn’t denied her company. He nodded slowly, and Anne gleamed in triumph at her newly gleaned information.

“Does she have a name? Or is she the cat’s mother?”

Sebastian’s mouth opened and he hesitated. She did have a name, one she despised and one that caused her distress so he was loathe to share it with Anne. But sharing Mia also left an acrid taste in his mouth; it was too intimate and too personal to share with anyone, even his twin. Mia was for him and him alone, and Sebastian was selfish and wasn't good at sharing things meant for him with others.

“She does, but she doesn’t like it so I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Well, that’s no reason not to share. I don’t like Annie, but you still call me that.”

“I call you Annie because you don’t like it. Big brother prerogative and all.” Sebastian waved a dismissive hand at his sister’s objection and Anne scowled, face screwing up so tight she was a conglomerate of frown lines and wrinkles. Sebastian laughed at her expression, the first real laugh he had in days, and the corner of his mouth lilted up into his crooked smile.

“So, what’s this mystery girl like?”

Sebastian sighed; trying to find the words to describe Mia’s qualities, the ones that intrigued and delighted him, was like trying to rope the wind. A next to impossible task, but he would do his best.

“She’s brave, fierce, intelligent, amusing, really good at cooking, a quick learner and curious. And she has these eyes!”

“Most women have eyes, Sebastian. It’s not exactly a unique trait to her," Anne interjected with a laugh that tinkled around the cell. Sebastian stuck his tongue out at her to show her what he thought of her teasing.

“Amelia is…” Sebastian huffed out a laugh and trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck, fully aware that Anne would be reading more into this than was necessary; the grin and teasing twinkle in Anne’s eye told him everything he needed to know.

“You like her!” Anne crowed, delighting in her brother’s embarrassment of how smitten he was. She watched as his cheeks glowed ruby red at her words, the way he shifted uncomfortably at the feelings he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge and she could see the cogs in his mind turning as he worked out how to deflect Anne’s truth away from him.

“As a friend! Or at least, I hoped we could have been friends, but that’s long gone now. Annie, I need your help. I need you to find her for me; I need her as a witness for my trial. I cannot do it without her there.”

The teasing, jovial tone that had fostered between the twins shifted to a more sombre, serious timbre. Sebastian leant against the bars of his cell, the iron cool against his burning cheeks. It was a welcome feeling; he didn't know why thinking and talking about a girl that now detested his very existence was making him react in a giddy fashion, and given his current predicament, figuring out why wasn't too high on his priority list.

“Anne, my whole life is on the line here. Everything hangs on a knife’s edge and she is key in making sure I’m not skewered. I can’t do anything from in here, so I need you to work your magic and find her.”

Anne nodded; there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her brother, but there was a massive flaw in his plan of using her to find his star witness. “Seb, I need more than her first name. Amelia’s too common, and in a country the size of the United Kingdom, trying to find her would be like trying to catch smoke.”

Sebastian nodded, conceding that Anne had a point. He racked his brains, scouring his memory to see if she had said anything or done anything to help identify her.

“Does she have a last name?”

“I’m sure she does.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed and darkened in disapproval as she glared at her brother beadily. “You don’t know her last name?! You cavorted around town without getting to know one of the most basic pieces of information about her?! What is wrong with you?! Seb, how am I supposed to work with just ‘Amelia’?”

“She’s an orphan.” Sebastian gestured for Anne to lean in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper so the guards couldn’t hear him converse with his conspirator. “And she has magic. That should narrow down the search field for you.”

Anne digested the two pieces of information and rose to her feet, stretching out the muscles that had cramped from sitting on the ground for too long. She shot one last look at her brother as she headed down the hallway away from the holding cells and nodded resolutely, a silent promise that she would do whatever she could to locate Amelia.

Chapter Text

The world was spinning, a kaleidoscope of colour and noise and pain.

Her head throbbed, her palms ached, fingertips turned to stone, and nausea rose up her throat like a king tide. On her hands and knees, she heaved, vomit and bile splattering out onto the floor in front of her, stomach cramping until there was nothing left inside of her to bring out.

Water dripped from underneath her eyelashes and she hastily rubbed at her eyes, mouth falling agape as she looked at the destruction she was surrounded by. The wooden table she had been sitting at had been blown to smithereens, splinters of oak lying like confetti all over the floor. There was an ebony wand on the floor – so different to the one she was used to using when she was with him – and her fingers inched towards it, encircling the thin strip of smooth wood in her hand. It was a stranger in her hand – so unlike when she had held his wand; that had felt like she was entwined with an old friend – and the weight and resentment of it burned. She grimaced and let the wand fall to the floor, unwilling to hold onto it any longer than she had to.

The owner of the wand lay on the floor, a pool of blood coagulating on the ground beneath him, black cloak blanketing his body, still and unmoving. Amelia let out a strangled noise, a cross between a scream and a gasp, a high pitched frequency that echoed around the room.

She had done it again, only this time it was worse than when she killed in the Forest. That had been out of self-preservation under a very real threat; this was cold-blooded murder, and the realisation shivered through her body, an ice-grip clawing its way through her and freezing her insides. She scrambled away into a corner of the room, collapsing in on herself as sobs wracked her body. Her knees drew up to her chest and she folded herself in half, arms shielding her eyes from what she was culpable for.

Aesop Sharp groaned, hand creeping up to the gash in his forehead, skin wet and tacky from all the blood that was coming out of it. Everything was a haze; all he could remember was a flash of blue light, a cacophony of sound and an explosion that threw him to the ground. His vision was blurred and he staggered to his feet, arm outstretched as he stumbled towards where he knew the door was, stiffer and rustier than the Tin-Man who had been left out in the rain too long. His head pounded as if there was a stampede of angry wildebeest moving through it – worse than when he was hungover – and he flitted on the tightrope of painful consciousness and blissful serenity. Out of the corner of his obsidian eye, he could see the girl – Calloway – huddled into herself, a blur of dark red hair and pale skin entombed in a frayed, faded, navy blue dress. She was distraught, quivering at what she had caused, and somewhat uncharitably, Aesop thought it was best that she was terrified of herself since he was now extremely cautious of her, so much so that he locked the room and cast several Anti-Apparition wards around the door so she couldn’t escape.

The girl was not a Muggle; she was a witch with power he had never seen before and couldn’t even fathom.

I need to speak with Osric, he thought desperately, flurrying around the Auror office to gather what he needed to visit The Department of Mysteries. She could be exactly what he’s looking for.

Eleazar Fig watched the waves crash onto the shoreline from his beachside shack and quietly contemplated the circle of life as he observed the grains of sand churn between the water and the land. Twilight was the perfect time for quiet contemplation.

Life was bittersweet, a constant oscillation between bliss and despair. He and Miriam had been intertwined for so long, supporting each other, fighting for each other and with each other, loving each other more fiercely than they had ever thought possible that he now felt bereft with her loss. She had only been gone a few months, and there was a gaping hole in his heart that he did not think would ever be filled.

No children for them to carry on the Fig legacy, although it wasn’t from a lack of trying. It just wasn’t in the cards for them; each time Miriam was with child, she would miscarry in the early stages of pregnancy. The tragedy of their children would drive Miriam further into her work to mask her pain; it was easier to focus on unravelling a mystery that had confounded Magical society for eons than it was to grieve the loss of a dream. The miscarriages drove a wedge of distance between them, so much so that when Eleazar was offered the role of Professor of Magical Theory at Hogwarts, he accepted without a second thought. Miriam still carried out her research, travelling to far flung corners of the country and sending back to Eleazar for him to analyse and synthesise into research papers. In the most ironic fashion, the physical distance between them bridged the emotional gulf and brought them closer together again.

But her research had cost Miriam her life, her life force slashed and sliced out of her during the uprising of the Goblin Rebellion while he had been sleeping soundly in a feather-filled mattress, safe in the confines of Hogwarts, with no knowledge she was desperately needing him in her time of dying. The memory always made an uncomfortable, prickly heat sear his skin and brand his heart, so he was conscious to not let his thoughts stray to that event for too long. He focussed on the good instead, on Miriam’s bravery, her passion and compassion, her generosity to everyone her path crossed with, whether they were an elf, human, mermaid or goblin and he knew that she would rather give her life than defend herself to the point of killing; she would never have forgiven herself to have bloodshed on her hands. The knowledge that Miriam had remained true to herself, right up until the end, made him simultaneously sad and proud of her all at the same time.

But now Eleazar Fig needed something of purpose to help him rebuild a life without Miriam.

A pop disrupted the calm quiet of the coast and drew him out of his reverie.

“Eleazar, there you are!” The reedy voice of George Osric cut through the air like a knife. Eleazar rose to his feet at the intrusion, face brightening as he saw his old friend. “No time for pleasantries, I must talk to you urgently! There may be a new development in the research Miriam was carrying out.”

“Oh?” It was a gasp of surprise intermingled with pain at the thought of his late wife.

George twirled his wand in the air and a small side table with a floral chintz tablecloth and two chairs upholstered in the same material materialised between them. Another flick of his wand summoned a plate of Ginger Newts – they were Eleazar’s favourite biscuits, not too sweet and with a hint of heat and spice for flavour – and a pot of French Earl Grey tea to complement their afternoon snack. He sat down on the edge of his chair and gestured for Eleazar to do the same.

“Aesop Sharp came to see me a few hours ago in regards to the Sallow arrest.”

Eleazar raised on bushy eyebrow as he regarded George and sipped from his dainty tea cup. He had read about the arrest of Sebastian Sallow in The Daily Prophet and had reached out to Silas Sallow, a colleague he held in great esteem, to see if there was any support he could offer. Silas, understandably, had been too preoccupied with the problems of both of his children to do more than send off a response, just for decencies sake, but Eleazar knew that the offer was genuine and still stood for when Silas and Emerys needed it.

The news of Sebastian’s arrest surprised Eleazar, and at the same time, he was not surprised at all. When the twins were younger – too young to be left home alone for long periods of time when the McCleerys couldn’t watch them – Silas and Emerys would bring them to Hogwarts in the summer holidays so they could plan for next year. All faculty members would take an hour or two out of their day to entertain the two youngsters. Eleazar could remember Sebastian as a small boy, torpedoing through the labyrinth of corridors in Hogwarts as he made quick work of the Arithmancy doors dotted around the school; the boy had clearly inherited his father’s ability solve mental arithmetic algorithms at lightning speed. Anne would trail behind him at a more sedate speed, just as bright as he was, and she would find all the little nooks and crannies and secret passageways hidden around the school. It would drive Silas and Emerys to distraction as they would inevitably drop the work that they had planned on doing to reign in the wayward behaviour of their children. Eleazar could distinctly remember finding a nine year old Anne and Sebastian curled up around each other behind the statue of the One-Eyed Witch one summer evening. They were fast asleep, Sebastian protectively holding Anne close to him, with the tell-tale signs of them feasting on Honeydukes chocolate tattooed around their lips. Eleazar had gently shaken them awake; Anne was the first to rouse out of her slumber and guiltily wiped at her mouth.

“It was my idea,” she whispered to Eleazar, and anticipating and trying to head off his anger at them for getting caught up where they shouldn’t have been. “Sebastian wanted to stay in the library and practice his reading with Madame Scribner, but I told him that he wasn’t brave until he lost his temper and he came with me.”

Eleazar simply nodded, held out his hand to hoist Anne to her feet and piggybacked a still asleep Sebastian back to his parents. He knew that the children weren’t going to do anything malicious (Emerys would have their guts for garters), but boredom, curiosity and a wealth of spare time were a potent combination in all of the Sallows. He smiled, gently, and nodded his head, a promise to keep their confidences to himself, on the proviso that they never did it again.

“What about it?” Eleazar asked George.

“Well, the boy was arrested with someone the Ministry assumed was his Muggle accomplice. Only it turns out she’s not a Muggle; she’s magical.”

“But that’s impossible!” Eleazar breathed. “All Magical children have a Trace on them. It activates once their powers come in!”

“The Trace works on all magic that we can conceive,” George corrected, munching on a Ginger Newt that he had dipped into his tea. “The way Aesop described it, this girl harbours a powerful type of magic, well beyond what we understand. He described it as a blinding white-blue light that she shot out of her hands.”

Eleazar leant forward in his seat, knees resting on his elbow. “Ancient Magic? The magic Miriam was studying? The Trace gets masked by that; no-one would know she’s able to wield magic unless we see it with our own eyes.”

George smiled sadly at the mention of Miriam Fig and nodded.

Here it was.

Purpose.

One last adventure, a way to reinvigorate and give Eleazar life a new purpose but still remain connected to his wife.

Eleazar jumped to his feet, feeling younger and more vitalised than he had in the months since Miriam’s loss. “What’s her name?”

“Calloway. Amelia Calloway.”

Eleazar’s face remained impassive; no spark of recognition at the name lay in his eye.

“George, take me to Miss. Calloway. I think it’s important for me to be the one to impart knowledge about her Ancient Magic to her.”

Amelia had cried so much she thought she was so dehydrated she would shrivel up and dry out. She sniffled, wiping her snotty nose on her sleeve and peeked out from where she had knotted herself tight together. The same devastation was there; the oak table lay shattered beyond repair, and instead of sunlight streaming through the small window at the top of the room, a sliver of moonlight bathed the room in a silver glow.

The body that had scared her had disappeared and she wondered if she had hallucinated it. Maybe she had hallucinated everything; perhaps she had been carted off to an asylum after her disastrous time in the library and her brain was creating this world of make-belief to protect her from the harsh reality of being deemed deranged and deadly.

She gathered her wits with as much difficulty as she gathered her breath and stood on shaky feet, pinching the webbing between her thumb and her palm to ground her and remind her that this was actually her reality.

Her eyes darted around the room once more, as erratic as her racing heart, and this time she focussed in on the window; if she tightened her corset to the point of not being able to breathe, she might just fit through it and escape to her freedom. She moved swiftly towards it and jumped, fingers outstretched as she tried to grab onto the ledge and pull herself up, but she was three inches shy of succeeding.

The chairs that she could have used to stand on and boost her height so she could reach the window ledge had been all but decimated, smouldering piles of ash on the ground. She moved from the window to the door, rattling the doorknob that remained steadfastly shut.

It was hopeless.

She was trapped.

Amelia could have screamed in frustration, but she didn’t. She closed her eyes, massaged her pounding head and tried to plan her next move. They couldn’t keep her trapped in the room forever; at some point someone would walk in to give her food or a drink and she would use their folly to fight for her freedom. She grabbed a solid oak table leg off the ground and wielded it like a club in her hands; it was certainly hefty enough to cause some damage if she was able to strike a blow with some strength behind it.

It wasn’t a solid plan, but it was the only one she had so she stood next to the door and flattened herself against the wall, waiting for an ideal moment to strike. Time trickled by and eventually the door opened with a creak. Amelia’s breath hitched in her chest as she closed her eyes and swung blindly at the intruder.

“Arresto momentum,” a deep, gravelly voice called out, waving a wand in the direction of her arms, and her movement slowed down to a comical speed. Amelia watched on, expression outraged as the newest intruder into the room sidestepped to dodge her attack. Her eyes narrowed and hardened as she observed the newcomer, shoulders tautened and muscles stiffened, face schooled into a blank, impassive expression.

He was older, much older than anyone she had ever come across, with grey sideburns and whiskers on his cheeks. Lines etched into his face carrying tales of laughter and sorrow, the hallmarks of a life well lived. Eyes that were dull, had seen far too much before their time but still somehow radiated an intense warmth through his irises.

Blue robes swished around him as he walked with confidence into the centre of the room. Wand raised, he literally drew up some chairs and gestured for Amelia to sit on one of them. Amelia didn’t move, preferring to stand in a position of power than sit and be submissive to a stranger.

“Amelia Calloway?” he asked, leg crossing over each other as he sat down in a chair.

“That depends on who’s asking,” she ground out, jaw so tight her molars were turning to dust.

“My name is Eleazar Fig. I am a Professor at Hogwarts, a school for children with special needs.”

And there it was. Proof positive that Amelia had gone insane and the Sisters had relinquished her care to an asylum. Growing up, ‘special needs’ was code for any young woman that had been deemed certifiable by a doctor, whether it was through uncontrollable hysteria, dementia or other reasons to be shipped off to bedlam, never to be seen of or thought of again.

“It is a school of Magic, and I’m sure by now you’ve realised that you can perform astounding bouts of magic, especially for someone untrained in it.”

Once more, Amelia remembered that silence was a virtue and chewed on her lip to keep herself quiet. It was in her best interests for the man to keep on talking; he would reveal his hand and she could then decide how to manouvre herself to extract herself from this and go back to the mundane life she had known.

“Now, normally the Ministry of Magic would be charging you and bringing you to trial for your use of magic in front of Muggles – non-magical folk,” he clarified at her confused glare. “But Wizarding Law states that you cannot be held responsible for your magic until you’ve been assigned your first wand. As that hasn’t happened yet, no charges can be brought against you; from a legal perspective, you are completely innocent. However, it is important that we start honing in on your magical skill, training you up so you can reach your full potential.”

Eleazar’s eyes roved over Amelia, noting how stiff her posture was, how uncomfortable she seemed. Almost as if she had gone down this road before and it hadn’t ended well for her.

“Amelia, my wife and I studied Ancient Magic; I can help you navigate your way through your magical journey.” He held out his hand for Amelia to shake and waited to see what her move was. She glowered at his hand as though it was a poisoned chalice and promptly shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her dress.

Not entirely trusting of him, but with nowhere else to go and no-one to rely on, Amelia nodded tightly at Eleazar Fig, and together, they walked out of the Ministry of Magic.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp flicked through the manila folder that lay on his desk. Ever since he had interrogated Amelia of St. Calloway’s Orphanage, he had been placed on medical leave as the magic Amelia had used against him had resulted in a severe concussion. Unfortunately for Aesop Sharp, his life was empty without his work and idling never sat well with him.

His interrogation with Amelia had been troubling him; George Osric was as close-lipped as a man could be after Aesop Sharp revealed Amelia’s power to him and he was left wondering how a magical child could have remained hidden from the Ministry Registry for fifteen years. Worse still, Osric had pointed out that the Auror had no grounds to hold Amelia indefinitely for questioning and had released her into the care of an Eleazar Fig. There was even a stipulation that said any magic the teenager did with Fig would be excused – Fig was more qualified than a fifteen year old boy with more intelligence than common sense and a penchant for mischief to educate her in the ways of the Wizarding World – and she would not face prosecution by the Wizengamot until she had commenced formal education at Hogwarts.

In light of all the extenuating circumstances, there had to be something about Amelia Calloway that made her different to all the other child miscreants he had the misfortune of arresting.

Aesop had used his badge to question multitudes of people to find out about Amelia’s parents, but he had not had much success. Everyone he had asked had no clue of a baby that had been abandoned fifteen years ago.

With that dead end, Aesop pivoted his approach. Amelia had mentioned an orphanage. St. Calloway’s Orphanage was a charitable orphanage, run by nuns and specialising in the education and raising of young girls into ladies. He had penned a letter pretending to be a Muggle police officer that was investigating the disappearance of Amelia Calloway, struggled to figure out Muggle Post – he could have asked the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts for advice, but as far as he knew, she was on sabbatical leave to tend to her ailing daughter, and to call a spade a spade, Aesop had too much pride to ask his unrequited love for help, especially after she had chosen to fall in love and build a life with his estranged best friend over him – and waited on tenterhooks for a response from the Sisters to see if they would meet with him.

He glanced in the mirror and pulled at the starched collar on his shirt, straightening his tie and tugging on the waistcoat he wore to make it fit better. He flicked open the pocket watch that was attached to his vest and glanced at the time.

Half eight in the morning.

His meeting with the sisters was in an hour, and after Apparating to Diagon Alley, he would have to use Muggle means of transportation to traverse the city to get there on time.

He gulped at his cup of Ceylon tea, choking on the leaves he hadn’t strained out of the teapot and grimaced at the bitter aftertaste in his mouth. There was an anxious feeling in his stomach, a swarm of butterfly wings flapping around in there; Aesop’s Auror instincts kicked into gear when something was about to go wrong.

With a tedious sigh and trepidation at what to expect, Aesop Sharp stalked out of his home, intent on uncovering the mystery of Amelia Calloway.

Anne Sallow sat at the dining room table of her Aranshire home, books spread out in front of her as she scanned tomes that outlined every family’s lineage in the Wizarding World. Based on what Sebastian had said, there had to be a tiny clue that could point to who Amelia’s parents were.

But then again, if Amelia had been left at an orphanage and grown up as a Muggle, the chances of finding something to connect her to the magical world were slim to none.

The candle that Anne had been burning throughout the night had melted down to the nub and she yawned, kneading her fingers into her eyes to stave off the extreme tiredness she felt. She yawned and glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece above the fireplace. It had just gone past eight thirty in the morning; Anne had been up all night and she was feeling the effects of it now.

Still, there was no time to dwell on that now.

Her appointment at St. Mungo’s Hospital was in one and a half hours and she needed to get ready for it.

The front door opened with a creak and Anne watched as Silas and Emerys slumped in. Exhaustion draped around them like a heavy cloak, the fatigue settling deep into their bones. Dark shadows circled their eyes; both parents had a dull, glazed over look in their irises. Silas had been working so much that he hadn’t even had time to shave; scratchy stubble that didn’t suit him, especially since Anne could only ever remember him clean-shaven. Emerys’ tanned skin had sallowed, pale and washed out, her cheeks were hollow and she was more skeletal than she had ever been as she and Silas had been skipping meals to ensure that Anne could eat and they saved as much coin as possible to bail Sebastian out as soon as they could.

The sight of their daughter warmed their weary heart; they greeted her with a quick hug and a kiss to her forehead, and Anne wrapped her arms around them, glad to finally see them after days of passing each other like ships in the night.

“You’re up early,” Silas mumbled, reaching for Anne’s stone-cold, half drunk cup of tea and gulping the dregs of it down in two easy swallows.

“I had to get ready for my appointment.”

Emerys and Silas shot each other a wearied, guilty look; in their quest to get their son out of jail, they had completely forgotten about their daughter’s ailments and treatments. Silas tilted his head to one side and Emerys nodded tiredly.

“I’ll just change and wash up and I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes,” Emerys promised, pushing aside her extreme exhaustion for the benefit of her daughter.

“No, Ma, it’s okay. You and Dad rest up; I can go on my own. I’ve done it before, and it will be fine.”

“Are you sure, Anne? I don’t want you suffering; you’re our baby too and your needs are just as important to us as your brother’s.”

“I can bear it. You need your rest. I’ll owl Ominis to see if he can come with me.”

In a strange role reversal, Anne bundled her parents off to bed, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks while she pulled the doona over them. Emerys and Silas were so tired that they were dead to the world the moment their heads hit their pillow.

Anne smiled as she closed the door behind her. She was counting on her parents not going with her to her appointment today, and she was counting on Ominis to keep her secret since she had no intention of going to her appointment. She fished around in the pocket of her dress, unfurling a scrap of parchment she had compiled. On it was a list of orphanages that she needed to investigate to see if she could locate Amelia.

As she thought about the mammoth task that lay ahead of her, Anne realised that she would quickly run into a problem; other than saying she had eyes, was an orphan and was magical, Sebastian hadn’t given her much of a description of Amelia. Was she blonde or brunette? Tall or short? Willowy or portly? She had eyes, but what colour were they? Anne tried to think of her brother’s preferences for the fairer sex, but on reflection, it seemed that Sebastian didn’t have any; if she breathed charisma and had a personality, he was interested. It was entirely possible that Anne would find an Amelia, but it wouldn’t be the same Amelia that her brother needed.

Honey-burnt eyes scanned the list she had made, focussing specifically on orphanages that housed teenagers; from what her mother had said, most orphanages kicked children out once they were able to work full time, and in the Muggle world, that could be as young as seven and then the orphans were expected to live rough on the streets.

St. Albans’ Orphanage.

St. Agnes’ Orphanage.

St. Calloway’s Orphanage.

The Foundling Hospital.

St. Mary’s Orphanage.

They were all located in the fancy part of town; Anne knew her brother well enough to know that when he had abandoned his homestead, he’d try and find rich people to swindle to give him coin to survive. That or he’d just straight up steal what he needed. The gift of the gab her brother had was well suited to the middle and upper class members of Muggle society than it was to the working class; they would have most likely punched his lights out had he tried to fleece them.

With the map of Muggle London she had procured on one of her previous trips to St. Mungo’s secured in her pocket and her hit-list of orphanages in her hand, Anne strode out to the hamlet’s Floo Flame, prepared to leave the confines of Diagon Alley and the Wizarding World to help free her brother from the charges that lay against him.

Sister Catherine McAuley sat opposite Aesop Sharp. Her stern habit would have intimidated lesser men, but Aesop Sharp simply sat with one leg crossed over the other, ankle resting on his knee as he stared back and regarded her evenly.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Sister,” Aesop began, pouring himself and the Sister a cup of tea. He had transfigured his Auror badge into one of the Muggle Metropolitan Police to add credence to the letter he had sent and had promptly been invited into the Sister’s office for their meeting. “As I mentioned in my correspondence with you, I’m here to gather some information about Amelia Calloway.”

“Of course, Officer. I can only hope that the Ripper hasn’t got to her.” Even though St. Calloway’s Orphanage held more children than they could realistically look after, and none of the Sisters would notice when a child disappeared – there were simply too many girls to keep track of – Sister McAuley was still appalled at the thought of one of her girls being mauled by a savage beast of a man.

“When did you notice she was missing and what were the circumstances that led up to her disappearance?”

“We had received a letter from a young suitor wanting to know about her future prospects. He was from a well-to-do family, had a secure job. You must understand, Seargent Sharp, an opportunity like that for our girls is rarer than hen’s teeth. The Sisters and I discussed the proposition; it was Amelia’s best chance at escaping a life of hard labour and poverty otherwise. Even though she’s a beautiful soul on the inside, she’s not the most dainty of girls; her finding a suitable husband that can overlook her appearance is more challenging than one can imagine.”

Aesop smiled gently and nodded in understanding, trying to ease some of the distress Sister McAuley was emitting. “I’m sure you had her best interests in mind. Please, continue.”

“We had set up a meeting between Amelia Calloway and her potential husband; Amelia insisted it be at Marylebone Library and he acquiesced to her wishes. We dressed her in the finest gown we had that fit her and sent her on her way. She never returned.” The Sister fretted, wringing her hands and twisting her fingers anxiously.

“Tell me about this young man,” Aesop pressed, leaning forward and pulling out a notebook so he could write down important points. His obsidian eyes darkened; he was sure enquiring about this mystery man was a point worth applying pressure on. Something was there, he could feel it in his waters. “Did you ever meet him?”
Sister McAuley nodded, and Aesop’s sharp eyes didn’t miss how her normally intelligent expression melted into something vague. Her irises occluded, a sure sign that someone magical had attempted to alter the memory she had of them.

“Describe him to me,” Aesop commanded, his obsidian eyes holding the Sister’s cloudy ones. He bored into her, trying to break through the fog that shrouded her mind and release the memory he knew was hidden there.

Sister McAuley’s head was a mess; every time Aesop came close to visualising this mystery man, the Sister would whimper in pain. Aesop’s compassion meant that he would withdraw his probing to give her time to recover, but the walls that he had broken down had built back up again and were reinforced; he was unable to break through them again. All he could get were snippets of a whole image; a top hat, purple coat, scruffy beard and a voice that was charming and obsequious but still held a note of malevolence to it.

“Thank you, Sister, that was most illuminating,” Aesop murmured, massaging his temples and encouraging the nun to take a sip of tea to steady her nerves. Legilimency was as taxing on the person performing it as it was on the recipient, and Aesop’s head throbbed with the effort he had expended. “I wonder if I could trouble you for some more information about Amelia.”

The Sister waved her hand as if to say go ahead.

“What were the circumstances around her arrival at the orphanage? Did her mother give birth to her here? Was her father present?”

Sister McAuley’s eyes narrowed; this was certainly an odd line of questioning from the police officer in front of her. “Forgive me, but I fail to see how that information is pertinent to her disappearance.”

“It adds to her character and personality.”

“We came into possession of the baby late at night on Monday 4th January 1875; we heard the wails outside the gate. Sister Doray and I rushed out to see the commotion; by the time we were suitably attired whoever had dropped her off was long gone and left nothing for her. No name, no letter from her mother or father, not even a blanket to keep her warm. She was a naked, newborn baby and we had to help her. We don’t even know if 4th January is her actual birthday, or if she was born a day or two before.”

There was a pause as Sister McAuley regarded Aesop Sharp. Almost as though she was assessing whether he could be trusted with the next bit of information she was about to divulge.

“She had a glow about her, a shimmering blue aura that dissipated when Sister Doray wrapped her up in her habit.”

Aesop’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly at the information.

“She was an unusual child,” the Sister continued, sipping once more at her cup of tea. “Tempestuous at times; it seemed as if thunderstorms would brew every time she was in a bad mood. Probably just a coincidence – after all, who can control the weather – but it stood out to me. And when she felt threatened or angry and she directed her ire onto someone, whoever was watching would hallucinate a chicken replace her victim. We’d blink, rub at our eyes, and when we attempted to take Amelia to task, her victim was back as though nothing had happened.”

And there it was. Proof positive that Amelia Calloway was indeed Magical – that her little explosion in the Ministry of Magic wasn’t a fluke – as she had instances of magic leach out of her from the time most young witches and wizards came into their power.

Now all Aesop Sharp had to do was figure out why The Trace didn’t activate with her when her powers activated too.

The gates towered over her, metal poles narrowed to a spike to enclose a dim, drab building. Anne clutched onto Ominis’ arm as she stared at the gates with disdain. There were girls her age – and younger – in the courtyard, scrubbing the pavers off the soot and other grimy deposits, and Anne’s heart twinged; children should have been out and about exploring the world around them, like she had done with her brother, not worked to the bone. She observed the children; their clothes were obviously hand-me-downs, more patchwork than original material, but they still looked well-cared for, and she glanced down at the dress she was wearing and the three piece suit Ominis had donned. They were well out of place, standing outside the gates of the orphanage.

“Which orphanage are we at now?” Ominis asked, a dark undercurrent of reluctance in his voice. He had been more than amicable to keep Anne company for her appointment at St. Mungo’s, but had become more and more sour and anxious when she declared that she had no intention of going and was wasting her time on a wild goose chase for Sebastian. Expressing his views had not gone down well with Anne; she had snapped at him and was adamant that she was going to do this, with or without his help. Ominis sighed and nodded; he’d rather he was with Anne in case something happened to her rather than go back to his home and twiddle his thumbs, wondering what happened to her while he hid from his parents and his brother.

“St. Calloway’s Orphanage.”

“And?”

“I don’t know if this is the one.” Anne pushed the gate to the compound open, the rusted hinges squeaking in protest. Steeling her nerves, she marched through the compound, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply with every step she took. The girls looked up from where they were scrubbing on their hands and knees, mouth agape at the power Anne projected as she walked towards the building.

Act as if you belong, Sebastian had once told her when they were much younger. People won’t question you if you can fake confidence well.

Anne could hear Ominis’ cane tapping away behind her as he frantically followed. His wand, which was hidden within his cane, vibrated strongly, and it only did that when it sensed traces of magic it wasn’t used to. “Anne, slow down. Something isn’t right here.”

“There’s a lot of things not right here,” Anne snapped back, gesturing at all the young girls who had a bleak, desolate experience with life so far. Never before had Anne realised how lucky she was in life, to have two parents that loved her to the moon and back, and a brother that would do anything to protect her and her virtue. Her stomach gnawed and bit at her as she thought of Emerys and Silas and how they had spent their life savings on treatment she was choosing to neglect today, and she winced, her hand flying to her abdomen as she hunched over with a soft cry.

“Anne!” Ominis exclaimed, kneeling down by her side as the children stopped their cleaning to gawk at Anne and him. His arm wrapped around her waist – a scandalous move in Muggle London for two unmarried people of the opposite sex – and he braced her with his torso.

Anne smiled weakly and patted Ominis’ hand in a vain attempt to reassure him that she was okay, but Ominis knew better than to relinquish his hold on her. A heartbeat later, Anne’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her legs gave out underneath her as she went boneless in his arms, succumbing to the darkness that swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

Saturday 14th November 1874

Silas Sallow winced at the sharp rap on his door. Exhausted brown eyes swivelled to the bassinet where Anne and Sebastian lay and he held bated breath, wishing fervently that the babies stayed down. After hours of fussing and wailing and crying like there was no tomorrow, the twins were finally down for the count and he had swaddled both of them up in a soft, woollen blanket.

With as light a footsteps as he could muster, he traipsed across the ground floor of his home and opened the door. His parents, Samuel and Sophia Sallow stood on his doorstep. Samuel was short and stocky, a boxer’s physique hidden under the shirt and knitted vest he wore. His dark eyes were warm with the anticipation of holding his first grandchild and his genial smile reflected his jovial personality. Sophia was just as short as her husband, but where Samuel was built like a brick house, Sophia was willowy and lithe. Her green eyes shone with love for her son and the family he was building and her whirlwind of a personality made up for her lack of stature. Sophia strutted her way into her son’s home, instantly clamouring to hold her newest granddaughter while Samuel trailed in her wake.

“Please come in,” Silas muttered futilely; Samuel and Sophia had already brushed past him and made themselves at home as they settled into the cushions of the sofa. Samuel used his wand to stoke the fire that was dwindling in the hearth. Sophia flicked her hand to boil the kettle and unpack the bundle of meals she had made for her son and daughter-in-law; even though her sons were now adults, she could remember the sheer exhaustion she had felt when she was looking after a newborn. The sleep deprivation alone was enough to overwhelm her, not to mention the cocktail of emotions she had swirling through her after the birth. She had been eternally grateful that her in-laws had done little things like make meals for her to reheat when she simply didn’t have the energy to stand and cook for her boys and it was something she wanted to pass down to her son.

“Where’s my newest, little granddaughter?” Sophia cooed, arms outstretched for Silas to deposit the tiny scrap of humanity in her arms for her to shower love and affection on.

“About that,” Silas began as he reached into the crib and gently lifted Anne out of it, cradling her delicately as he moved to hand his daughter over to his mother. “There was a bit of a surprise at the birth.”

Samuel raised his eyebrows as he sipped from his cup of tea.

“This is Annette Elizabeth Sallow; Anne for short,” Silas introduced, running a hand reverently over her cheek before heading back to the bassinet. He lifted his son and cradled him close to his chest, lips brushing against the fontanelle of the boy’s skull. “And this is Sebastian Silas Sallow.”

The teacup that was Samuel Sallow’s hand plummeted to the ground in shock as he choked on his cup of Russian Caravan tea. “Two babies, Silas?”

“Twins.” Silas nodded, letting out a bubble of laughter at the astounded expression on his mother and his father’s face. Sophia passed Anne from both arms into the crook of her right arm as she leapt to her feet, demanding to hold her grandson too. Silas shook his head and cradled Sebastian just that much closer to his chest. Sophia’s eyes narrowed; there was something Silas was ashamed of when it came to Sebastian. It was the only explanation as to why Silas was so possessive over his son, as if he was trying to make up for his past actions.

“Surprise second baby?” Samuel asked, tone sardonically amused as his lips tugged upwards. As pleased as he had been when Silas and Emerys had informed them that she was pregnant with a girl, he couldn’t help but feel elated that the Sallow name would carry on for a another generation.

“Seb came first,” Silas corrected, shifting and rubbing gentle circles on Sebastian’s back as he stirred and mewled. “But yes, quite the surprise.”

“You didn’t handle Sebastian’s birth well, did you, Silas?” It was phrased as a question, but both Silas and Sophia knew it was more of a statement. “You’ve never coped when things don’t go to plan; you are so like your father in that sense.”

Silas looked down at his son cradled against his chest, eyes dimmed and face schooled into a neutral expression to mask his shame. “No, I didn’t, and neither did Emerys.”

Samuel rose up from the sofa and extracted his grandson from Silas’ lax arms. Sebastian stirred, a quiet murmur escaping him during the transfer and Samuel held the baby tight, gently rocking and shushing him.

Sophia could see the guilt and the pain etched on her son’s face and it melted and broke her all at the same time. She patted the empty seat on the sofa next to her and shifting Anne in her arm, she wrapped her baby boy up in the other. “Talk to me, Silas.”

“I felt nothing when he was born. I was so connected with Anne and I knew I would love her from the moment she was born, but then he appeared and he was a stranger. On some level, I guess I knew that he was my son, but I just didn’t know him. I felt so guilty and incompetent as his father; how could I have showered all of my attention on Anne and none on him while Emerys carried them? How did I not notice Emerys was carrying twins? Am I that dense and self-absorbed as her husband? And there was a bit of anger too.”

“Anger?”

“Not at Seb, never at him. He couldn’t help being born,” Silas clarified, once more running his hand over his baby’s cheek. “But anger that he wasn’t picked up on at any of Emerys’ pre-natal appointments. They assured us she was only carrying one when we told them Emerys’ family has a history of twins; we only heard one heartbeat. It was robust and we asked about the possibility that there were two, but the Healers were adamant. One baby girl, and she was going to be strong. We would have been better prepared had we known he was on the way too, we would have coped. For the first two days, I couldn’t be near him; I didn’t want my anger and shock to flow from me into him. I didn’t want to damage him that way.”

“What changed?”

Silas emitted a small laugh as his father handed his son back to him, once more brushing his lips over Sebastian’s dark head of hair. He gestured at his mother to hand Anne over too and he held his son and his daughter close to him as they slumbered against his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart lulling them to sleep.

“One of the Healers insisted that I hold him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. And as soon as I had him in my arms, he spit up on my shirt. It was the smartest thing Seb could have done; the Healers stripped off the shirt, telling me that they could launder it and return it but it would be beneficial for both of us to have some skin-to-skin contact. They rested him and Anne on my chest and that was it. The connection that I knew I had with Anne started to grow with Seb too.”

“And Emerys? How is she coping?” It did not escape Samuel’s notice that Silas hadn’t mentioned his wife much at all. Silas’ face pulled into a grimace, sadness and despair creeping across his expression. The babies murmured on his chest and his hands moved over their backs, trying to comfort them as best as he could.

Silas shook his head and chewed on his lip. There had been complications for Emerys after the birth and that precipitated a longer stay in hospital than they had anticipated. It was beneficial for Silas as he was able to start bonding with Sebastian, and terrible for Emerys, who was struggling to adjust to life as a parent to not just one, but two babies. He had thought that returning home would have improved Emerys’ disposition but she seemed to decline even further. She was not sleeping and every little thing either made her explode in a rage or crumble in a waterfall of tears. She had no emotional attachment to Sebastian – she wouldn’t touch him, wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence, that was Silas’ domain – and she was withdrawing from Anne and him, just doing the bare minimum to keep both children alive at Silas’ constant cajoling. Summoning the energy to roll out of bed and have a bath was too much for Emerys and ever since coming home, she spent most of her time curled up in bed, burrowed underneath the blankets, the stench of desperation and depression settling deep into the fabric of her being.

Every attempt Silas had made at trying to break through to Emerys had failed; the helplessness gnawed away at his insides as he could only watch as his wife retreated and became lost within herself and he couldn’t help her. Emerys had gone as far as suggesting that Silas would be better off without her, that he was a better parent than she could ever be and what was the point of being if that was the case? Silas’ anxieties skyrocketed after hearing that and he was perpetually afraid that Emerys would make good on her words and leave him widowed with the twins to raise.

“The Healers warned us that she would have mood swings for the first week or so after the birth,” Silas worried as he chewed on his lip so hard he drew blood. “But this is more severe than mood swings. It’s like a little self-deprecating voice has trapped her in malaise and nothing can bring her out of it.”

Sebastian stirred, little whimpers coming from him as he squirmed and tried to latch onto Silas’ chest. Silas recognised the signs; Sebastian was hungry and if he didn’t get fed soon, he’d scream like a banshee and let the entire hamlet know how unhappy he was. When Sebastian was malcontent, Anne soon followed and she started to cry too. Silas sighed as his eyes slid to the closed door of his and Emerys’ bedroom.

Sophia Sallow squeezed her son’s hand in compassion and empathy and gestured for Silas to hand over Sebastian. The steely glint in her green eyes had Silas complying with her unspoken order instantly and as she made to move towards their bedroom, Silas followed.

“Stay here and comfort your daughter,” she said. “I think Emerys and I need to have a chat on our own.”

The sight that greeted Sophia Sallow broke her heart. Her daughter-in-law was curled up into herself, a mere shadow of the woman she had come to love as her own. Stifled sobs and sniffles came from the nest of blankets on the mattress. The bedroom looked like a tornado had ripped through it, with dirty laundry thrown on the floor, nappies and half-drunk baby bottles scattered around the room, a far cry from the neat and orderly – almost neurotic – room Silas and Emerys used to have.

“Emerys?”

Emerys’ head poked out from underneath the blankets. Her eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed with tears, her face looked like she hadn’t washed it in the four days that she, Silas and the babies had been home. Her brown hair was knotted and there was baby vomit clumped in her chocolate strands. She rubbed at her eyes, saw her mother-in-law with a baby in her arms, blanched and tried to avert her eyes by turning away from them.

“Look at me, Emerys.”

Emerys Sallow was resolute and stubborn, but not as stubborn as Sophia Sallow. It was a battle of the wills, but eventually Emerys caved and her eyes – eyes that were blank and empty and dead on the inside – met with Sophia. Emerys was expecting to see derision, disgust at the way she had treated her children and she was met with empathy and compassion and she had no idea what she had done to deserve it, which just compounded the feeling of self-loathing that was eating her up inside.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

From Sophia’s arms, Sebastian gurgled and squirmed, sensing his mother’s distress but all it did was make Emerys dissolve into more tears.

“I’ve ruined everything! This was not the plan!”

“Well, Emerys, life doesn’t always go to plan. If my life went to plan, Silas wouldn’t exist and neither would your children. It doesn’t mean you’ve ruined anything.”

Just to remind everyone in the room that he was his mother’s son, Sebastian let out a deafening wail, one to rival the cries coming from Emerys. Emerys flinched at the high-pitched keening and dissolved into a fresh batch of tears and covered her ears with her hands.

Sophia cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowing and softening in contemplation.

“I keep thinking about the ‘what-ifs’ and the ‘whys’. I overheard one of the Healers reviewing the birth; magical charms and diagnostics can only detect babies that have dormant magic in them. If they didn’t pick up on him, is that because he’s non-magical? And if he’s non-magical, why, when his sister isn’t? And what if it my fault he’s like that since I’m the Muggleborn between me and Silas? Will Silas forgive me for that? And what do we do if he’s a Squib? What happens to him when he can’t access our world? Do we drop out of it and deny a part of ourselves and Anne for him or do we make him suffer and feel less-than to benefit her?”

“Emerys –” Sophia began as she rocked her screaming grandson in an attempt to soothe him, but Emerys was in full flow as she spiralled and voiced all her concerns.

“And I feel so incompetent and guilty because I didn’t know that I was carrying him! What kind of mother am I?! Silas and I connected with Anne while I was pregnant because we talked to her, we read to her, he kissed and caressed her and we starved our son of all that!” There was a pause and Emerys contemplated whether to confess the fear and concern that had been plaguing her mind ever since she had processed the fact that she had the daughter she had dreamed of, as well as a son.

“What if we lose him because of me? When Anne was born I loved her instantly because I had gotten to know her while she was in me. What if I can’t love Sebastian the same way?”

“You already do, Emerys.” Sophia smiled sadly, wiping the tears away from Emerys’ eyes and bundling her daughter up in a hug. “If you didn’t love him deeply, you wouldn’t be ruminating on all of this, and you wouldn’t be tearing yourself to shreds over something that was beyond your control. You did the best you could with the information that you had at the time, and until he was born, you didn’t know about Sebastian; from the sounds of it, no-one knew.”

Emerys sniffed, wiping her snotty nose on the sleeve of her unwashed nightshirt.

“You can spend your whole life worrying about the ‘what-ifs’ and questioning the ‘whys’ but when you do that, you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

Silence blanketed the room, save for the baby’s wails and Emerys’ suppressed sobs.

“Emerys, the maternal bond being instant with all children is a myth. Merlin knows I struggled to connect with Solomon when he was born. But as this little man in my arms grows up, he will know that there’s no bond between the two of you unless you make the effort to forge one with him now.”

Sophia shifted Sebastian in her arms and made to pass him over to Emerys, drawing her arms up into a cradling position. “Hold him, Emerys.”

Emerys had never been able to say no to her mother-in-law, and she held her son so he could nurse from her. As he nursed, Emerys slowly traced her finger over her son’s features, outlining his almond shaped eyes, his button nose, tracing shapes in his freckles, and she realised just how much like Silas he was. Tentatively, her finger stroked the back of his hand, and as if it was instinct, Sebastian’s tiny fingers curled around Emerys’, as if he was absolving her of all her faults and guilt towards him.

Rain lashed against the windows of Silas Sallow’s bedroom and he groaned as he swung himself out of bed and into a sitting position. The bed was empty but warm; Emerys must have gotten up just before him.

The past week and a bit had gone by in a blur with some welcome surprises and marred by some declines too. There had been a frantic owl from Ominis Gaunt, Anne and Sebastian’s best friend, to tell him and Emerys that Anne had collapsed while they were out and about in town. For some reason, Anne and Ominis had been at an orphanage. It was a stroke of luck that Aesop Sharp had been there too; he had transported Anne to St. Mungo’s Hospital and that act had precipitated the reconciliation of him and Emerys with their childhood friend and confidant. Silas was well aware that Aesop had withdrawn from them to lick his wounds after Emerys had chosen him over Aesop, but he had not expected Aesop to remain distant for so long.

Emerys, Silas, Aesop and Ominis had worried over Anne as the Healers treated her with urgency until her condition stabilised. The good news was that she could stabilise; the bad news was the curse had taken another substantial leap in claiming Anne’s body as its own. The Healers had predicted that Anne only had a year, maybe two, left. Apart from keeping her comfortable and attempting to maintain stasis, there was nothing else they could do.

Ominis had excused himself from the Sallows and Sharp when the Healers had delivered the bittersweet news, preferring to process his emotions at the news in private instead of in front of an audience. Emerys had sunk to her knees, wails echoing around the waiting room they had been sequestered in as she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, fingers white-tipped as they grasped at her hair. Silas buried his face in his hands; the only sign of his overwhelming emotion were his shoulders moving up and down in a jagged motion. Aesop had placed a tentative but steady and comforting hand on Silas’ shoulder; Silas collapsed on Aesop’s shoulder, a trail of wet tears and a leaky nose staining his suit.

Anne, contrastingly, had taken the news in her stride. She nodded, almost as though she was expecting it and explained that she could feel the curse strengthen within her. The Healers wanted to admit Anne into the ward for observations, but Anne had steadfastly refused; no amount of poking and prodding was going to change her prognosis. If she was dying, albeit slowly, she wanted to do it in the comfort of her own home, with her own bed and her friends and family close by, not on a hospital ward that smelled of ammonia disinfectant and Wiggenweld Potion. And so Anne discharged herself against medical advice, came home and Emerys and Silas did what they could to maximise the time they had with her while also working to get Sebastian out on bail.

Not that the latter mattered any more.

His eyes trailed to the calendar that Emerys insisted they kept pinned on their bedroom wall; there was a big, red circle around today’s date. It was the day that Sebastian’s trial in front of the Wizengamot would start.

“Emerys? Love?” Silas moved around the ground floor of his house, focussing in on the ruckus that was coming from the mezzanine level of the home.

“Upstairs, Silas. Sebastian’s room.”

Silas took the stairs two at a time, footsteps thundering as he moved, and before he went to Sebastian’s room, he popped his head into Anne’s room. It was neurotically neat – everything had a place and purpose in Anne’s room. Had Silas not been present when the devastating news had been delivered, he would never have guessed that his daughter had less than two years to live. She was lively, vivacious and refused to mope around; her attitude had fortified her parents’ and they vowed to celebrate the happiness and light of everyday, despite how dark life seemed.

Anne was dressed in her finest, hair brushed so much it shimmered like acorns in the sun. The make-up she had applied to her face masked how wretched and decrepit she actually looked; Silas could look at her and pretend his daughter was healthy and had her whole life ahead of her.

“Morning, Daddy,” Anne said, critically appraising her appearance before swiping some more rogue over her cheeks. “I’ve made breakfast; scrambled eggs, toast and jam are on the dining table.”

Silas nodded in appreciation, kissing his daughter atop of her head so he didn’t ruin the illusion of her and murmured that he would eat after seeing what Emerys was up to in Sebastian’s room.

On a normal day, Sebastian’s room was chaos. There were piles of books stacked on the floor since the shelving above his bed was overflowing, dirty laundry – mostly socks, underwear and the occasional shirt – that he hadn’t bothered to put in his hamper trailed from his wardrobe to his bed. One of his Beater bats – the one that had splintered down the centre after using it for six years straight – lay near the door, along with the Quidditch padding he had outgrown. To Silas, his son’s room was a mess, but there seemed to be some order to it that only Sebastian understood; if he asked Sebastian to locate his Transfiguration homework, Sebastian would know exactly what pile of paper to search through on the small table that passed for his desk and would pull out the requested parchment in under a minute.

Emerys’ presence was making the chaos worse and Silas winced at it; just like Anne, he believed everything had purpose and place. She had thrown his wardrobe door open and was flinging clothes off the pegs as she rifled through her son’s clothes.

“No, not this shirt, it’s too small for him.” The shirt was thrown to the floor. “This one isn’t formal enough for court.” The next shirt hit the floor as well. “This one would work if it weren’t for the fact there’s holes in it.” Emerys let out a snort of annoyance as the third shirt joined the relatively small mountain of clothes she had already assessed and discarded.

“Love, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Silas?”

“It looks like you’ve finally gotten sick of nagging Sebastian to sort out the clothes that he’s outgrown from the ones that fit him and you’re doing it for him,” Silas quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Emerys glared at Silas, dark eyes narrowed in an unamused fashion. “I’m trying to find something suitable for him to wear to court. Can’t have him turning up dressed like a street urchin; that would be the wrong first impression to send to the Wizengamot, and he’ll only have one opportunity to make a first impression. Merlin knows he won’t do anything with his hair to make himself presentable so we have to rely on sartorial elegance to succeed where genetics have failed.”

Silas nodded slowly, reached past his wife and pulled out an ensemble that he thought was appropriate for facing the Wizengamot. It was a simple white shirt with an overly starched collar and cuffs, a dark brown, satin waistcoat that matched his eyes and black woollen pants with a crease down the front. He held it up for Emerys’ approval.

“Well, that would work if it weren’t for the fact that the trousers are too short on him since his latest growth spurt. He’ll show at least three inches of ankle if he wears that, and we know how scandalous that is.”

“Easily remedied, love,” Silas grinned, and with a flourish of his wand, he unhemmed the cuffs of the pants. “Is that better?”

Emerys nodded tightly, and with a wave of her wand, the clothes that had been thrown on the floor with wild abandon sailed back into Sebastian’s wardrobe, organised in a much neater fashion than the fifteen year old would ever manage.

“Anne’s made breakfast for us; it’s on the table.”

“I’m not hungry,” Emerys ground out, swallowing audibly while crossing her arms over her chest while her fingers tapped a frantic concerto against her skin. Silas could recognise the signs; Emerys was hungry – he could hear her stomach rumbling like there was an earthquake going on inside – but her extreme anxiety over her son’s trial meant that there was a lump in her throat that she couldn’t shift.

“You have to eat, Emerys. Anne’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it for us. Please try, for her sake.”

Emerys glowered at her husband’s ability to use their daughter into coercing her to eat and she nodded. “Tea and toast. That’s all I can manage before I go see Sebastian before his trial starts.”

Silas quirked one bushy eyebrow and tilted his head to the left at Emerys’ disclosure. Are you sure you’re the best person to see him, considering you ripped a brand new orifice into him with your words the last time you were there?

Emerys stared back, expression stony and unmoving. My ripping him a brand new anus is a mother’s prerogative. And yes, I will be going to see him; who else can deliver him his court clothes and ensure he’s presentable? Besides, someone needs to stay with Anne; she doesn’t need to go to a holding cell, not in her condition.

Silas huffed out an unamused breath, but conceded that Emerys had a point. He stood on tiptoe – Emerys was head and shoulders taller than him – and let his lips brush against her cheek. That was always how he let Emerys know she had made her point and she had convinced him to agree with her.

“Breakfast first, Emerys, and then Anne and I will see you at the Ministry.”

Emerys nodded, her chin resting atop of Silas’ head and she breathed in the aroma of him. The musk of ceder wood, cinnamon, freshly shampooed hair and tanned leather soothed her weary soul; Silas was always a calming balm for her.

“Breakfast first, Silas,” she agreed, holding out her hand towards him and letting him lead her down the stairs.

Sebastian sat in his underwear on the wooden pallet bench that passed for his bed. As was tradition by now, he carved his twenty-first tally into his arm. Blood blossomed against his skin, the sting of the mark as sharp as being bitten by a Chomping Cabbage, but he didn’t care; he simply raised his arm to his other hand and applied pressure until the bleeding ceased.

The tray of slop that was his breakfast and the ice-cold bucket of water that was his shower got dumped in his cell by the guard. “Best use it today, boy. The Wizengamot despise anything rank.”

Sebastian sniffed at himself and felt the clothes that were lying on his cell floor; slightly cold and damp, but not unwearable. After spending day in, day out in his clothes, he realised they were starting to get a bit whiffy, and no-one in his family had thought of providing the prison guard a spare set of clothes for him to change into. His non-verbal, wandless scourgify hadn’t done much to launder his clothes – he hadn’t practiced it enough to get the hang of it – and he had sacrificed his shower bucket two days ago to wash his clothes instead. He had attempted a non-verbal, wandless Hot-Air Charm to dry his clothes quickly, but after watching the collar of his shirt smoulder and burn, he decided against it. Such was his proclivity for fiery spells that instead of drying his clothes, he had subconsciously decided to char them instead. There was nothing for it – he resigned himself to having to wait for his clothes to air dry naturally – and he had spent the previous two days trying to maintain some semblance of dignity and modesty while he was locked in his cage in his underclothes.

His knees were weak, his arms were heavy as he stumbled to the bucket, kneeling so he could dunk his face in the water to wake him up properly. With a cursory glance over his shoulder towards the guard – mercifully gone back to completing the crossword in The Daily Prophet – Sebastian stripped down until he was left wearing nothing but the skin he was born in and hurriedly splashed water over himself, scrubbing at his skin until it was red and raw, the guard’s advice ringing in his ear. He shook himself off to rid himself of excess water and stripped his makeshift bed off a cotton sheet he had been given to cover himself at night so he could use it as a towel and patted himself dry.

A whirlwind of a personality stormed through the doors to his holding cell; the guard let the paper and quill he was holding drop to the floor.

“Now, hold on a minute! You can’t just barge in here…” the guard began, faltering as Emerys’ glare turned on him with the intensity to incinerate him.

“Of course I can; I’m his mother!” Emerys declared, pointing at Sebastian as though that solved everything.

Sebastian yanked the sheet over him, flushing as his mother walked in on him in his state of undress. He rubbed at the back of his neck uneasily. “Ma, what are you doing here?”

Emerys stared at her son, expression inscrutable, as her eyes slowly took in the changes she could see in her son. He was thinner, not by a lot, but he had definitely lost some of his muscle and bulk, his cheeks were patchy with stubble and hair after not shaving. But the biggest change was in his eyes; a light that used to be present had burnt to cinders and when he looked at her, Emerys knew it was with the cool understanding that she was no longer a staunch ally of his. The trust that they had built up over fifteen years had corroded in a matter of weeks. Sebastian squirmed, ever cognizant of the fact that he wore nothing underneath the threadbare sheet he had wrapped himself in while his mother appraised him.

“Could you at least wait outside while I dress?” he asked, cocking his head to the door, voice flat and monotone. Neutral to disguise the myriad of emotions flooding through him so he could remain in control, just like he should have done the first time his mother was here.

“Sebastian, you came out of me; there is nothing about you that I haven’t seen before.”

Sebastian groaned in disgust at his mother’s words; Emerys ignored him, instead focussing in on the marks on his forearm. She reached through the bars of the cell, quelling the guard’s “no touching” protest with a snarl, and tugged at his arm so she could look at it in close detail. There were twenty-one lines, each one pointed, deliberate and deep. The older ones had scabbed over, raised welts while the newer ones continued to bleed, tainting the air with a metallic tang. Emerys could only conclude that her son had made the marks on his own, a way of tracking time and punishing himself for his own shortcomings. Her heart contorted painfully at the realisation of what he had done, and why, and she tapered down on the momentary flare of temper. Punishing him for his transgressions was her job, not his, but when she looked again, she realised he had taken his self-flagellation further than she ever could.

“Don’t you ever do this to yourself again,” she murmured, the heat of her anger not quite overpowering the hurt she was feeling on behalf of her son, that he thought so little of himself that he had to harm himself.

“I’m not the one that couldn’t bail me out,” Sebastian parried back, a dark undercurrent of resentment blooming in his tone as he turned away from her.

“I’m not the one that put you in here in the first place,” Emerys replied before she could stop herself, hand slapping to her mouth when she realised she couldn’t take back the words she had spoken. She breathed in deeply, the way Silas had taught her to when they were younger and her temper would start to get the better of her, and breathed out slowly. She wasn’t here to fight with Sebastian, although that was all they seemed to do lately, two fiery personalities that clashed in all the wrong ways, neither willing to back down and concede that the other one had a valid point too.

Sebastian opened his mouth, a retort hot on the tip of his tongue, before he swallowed his words. His mother was right – he had come to that realisation a week ago – and there wasn’t anything he could say to counter her point. She hadn’t put him in here, he had. He was culpable for everything that transpired and trying to manipulate the situation so he was a victim of circumstance wasn’t going to work anymore; it was time for him to step up and take responsibility for his actions.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he muttered, angry façade crumbling down into quintessence of dust and he let the quiver in his voice be heard. He let his mother in instead of blocking her out like he would have done previously. “I messed up and I’m sorry! I’m sorry for everything!”

Emerys pulled her baby boy into her as tight as she could, given that there were wrought iron bars between them and brushed her lips against his hairline, clumsily patting him on the cheek, as though the outcome of his trial didn't matter and she was absolving him of all of his faults.

Chapter Text

Amelia’s eyes snapped open to attention and she stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed she was in. The guest room of Eleazar Fig was somewhat spartan; the only furniture in the room was an armoire with a delicate, flame like filigree pattern carved into the maple wood of the door, a washbasin and the bed she was currently lying on. In some ways, it reminded her of how little she had at the orphanage, and that little bit of familiarity was a comforting embrace to her in a world that had been thrown asunder.

Fig had taken her to his home, shown her the room he had said was hers – but that was an odd thought because she had never had anything that was solely hers before so it was easier to pretend it was temporary – and had left her to slowly acclimate. For nearly a week, she had isolated herself in the guest bedroom, trying to process everything that had happened since she had turned the man into a chicken in Marylebone Library. Fig had been understanding, leaving her to her own devices, only knocking on the closed door of the room to let her know there was a meal waiting for her outside the door. She would open the door and see, what to her, was a three course meal. Accustomed to eating a meagre serving of mashed potatoes, gravy that had been bulked out with copious amounts of flour, and the occasional treat of tinned mystery meat, Fig was feeding her a veritable feast of fresh vegetables, a slab of mutton or salmon and roast potatoes. Amelia was tentative, but when she came to the realisation that Fig was treating her with utter kindness and expected nothing sinister in return, she dropped her walls and began to interact with her benevolent benefactor.

She pottered over to the small sink and splashed water on her face to freshen up before pulling on her faded purple dress and twisting her hair up into a low bun, just so that she was presentable before she headed down to Fig’s dining room to have some breakfast. This would be the second day she was venturing out of the room and she curved her head around the door frame to see if the coast was clear; when she had ascertained that the hallway was empty, she stepped lightly on the spongy carpet of the hall. She moved sedately, eyes taking in her surroundings to allow her to gain more of an understanding about the man who had taken her under her wing.

Photographs lined the crimson and gold striped walls; Amelia imagined that was what people with homes and families did – she wouldn’t know – but what perplexed her and intrigued her was the photos moved of their own volition. As she observed, she noticed that the photos told a story; the first photo she saw was of a young girl – perhaps eleven – in a black cloak with vibrant yellow lining and a yellow and black striped tie. She had a short bobbed haircut, strands that were too short to be tucked behind her ears cast shadows over her eyes. She was holding her arm out to whoever was wielding the camera and glaring at them, but the heartfelt, genial smile that stretched out across her face showed that she wasn’t really angry at whoever was immortalising her in photographic film, she seemed to delight in being wanted enough to have her photo taken. While Amelia didn’t know who the person in the photo was, she could tell that their personality was warm, loyal and caring.

Traitorous thoughts strayed to Sebast – Amelia caught herself just in time – him. She remembered how alive and free and how normally he treated her. If anything, she was just as happy and carefree with him as the girl in the photo was, and Amelia craved that. She craved normalcy, she craved affection, she craved the feeling of being wanted by someone, to know that someone cared about her so much that they would drop whatever they were doing because she was so important that they had to take a photo of her.

But it was a pipe dream, and it never served her well to dwell on dreams that had no hope of coming to fruition, so she banished the thought of him from her mind. It wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again anyway.

Her eyes scanned to the right; this time the same girl was there, now about the same age as Amelia was, maybe a year older than her. She was dressed in finery, a golden floor length ball gown that glittered ethereally under shimmering lights. Her hair was longer and styled in an intricate half-up, half-down do. Red roses that looked like their petals were made of velvet were pinned at her collarbone; her arm was threaded through the crook of the elbow of a young man who wore a buttoned-up frock coat in the same shade of red. He had sharp, piercing eyes, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips every time his gaze fell on his companion and he tenderly raised his hand so his palm stroked her cheek.

She stepped along the hallway. Another photo, the same woman and man from the previous photo, but now older. Their faces were more defined, sharper, they had lost the childish fat of their teenage years. He held her in his arms, swept her up in a bridal carry, face more delighted than Amelia had ever seen, the piercing eyes from the previous photo had morphed into pools of warm, melted burnt butter as he drank in his bride. She was resplendent in white, a lace train and veil billowing out behind her in the breeze as he spun them around in circle after dizzying circle.

A collage of their travels together; they stood in front of the Pyramid of Giza in Egypt, the Taj Mahal in India, the wooden Junk boats that sailed the harbour of Hong Kong, each of them gathering more fine laugh lines around their eyes as they grew older.

And then the pictures of their travels stopped as she moved down the hallway towards the stairs. There were four frames, white and blank, and even though they were empty, Amelia could feel immense pain and sorrow and loss leach out from them. It hurt to look at nothing after so much joy and elation radiated off the walls, so Amelia tore her eyes away reluctantly and traipsed down the stairs.

“Good morning, Amelia,” Eleazar said, glancing up from where he was reading The Daily Prophet. “I trust you slept well.”

Amelia nodded politely, wincing inside at hearing her name, and took her seat opposite him. She reached for a plate of smoked ham, eggs and toast, and with a cursory glance up at Fig to make sure his attention wasn’t on her, she began to eat, relishing in the feeling of being full. The feeling of being satiated was new; there was never enough food for everyone at the orphanage and hunger was Amelia’s only friend there. Her eyes scanned the headlines on the front page of the paper, narrowing as she read.

Immediately below the headline was a photo of him; she recognised it as the mugshot that they had captured when they had been arrested and processed at the Ministry before being transported to their respective holding cells. His fingers clenched around the board he was holding with his surname, first initial and his inmate number and his hair fell in its usual untamed manner over his left eye. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach clenched as his eyes in the photo found hers; he was dead behind the irises, such a stark contrast to the light and verve she was used to seeing in his person.

“May I see that?” she asked quietly, greatly daring, pointing at the paper. Eleazar nodded, folded the paper in half and pushed it towards her.

Appetite evaporated, Amelia pushed her plate away from her, busying herself with the article. Her eyes darted across the page, a smear of blue as they moved left to right and as she read more, the heavier her frown got and the tighter her lips pursed together until they flattened into a thin, unamused line.

Fifteen year old Hogwarts student, Sebastian Sallow, is set to stand trial after being accused of violations of the International Statute of Secrecy by using magic before reaching the legal age of seventeen; the consequences of such action can result in a hefty fine to a sentence in Azkaban. The trial, which starts today, comes three weeks after Sallow was arrested by a team or Aurors tracking Dark Witches and Wizards in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, England.

The Ministry of Magic has chosen to prosecute the case as this is not Sallow’s first offence; The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that Sallow had been arrested twice previously for similar offences. On those occasions, he was released without charge but cautioned against his actions. While the specific details of the prosecution remain undisclosed, a Ministry source indicates that the magic used was far beyond the capabilities of a student his age, and incredibly dangerous in the hands of someone that is still in magical training.

Sebastian Sallow, who is known for his rebellious nature and strong curiosity about magic, has always been a student that questions authority. “Sallow’s always in detention for breaking Hogwarts rules,” Leander Prewett, a classmate of Sallow’s told The Daily Prophet. “Forever arguing with Professors about not being able to learn more than what they deem important. His arrest for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy and cavorting around with a Muggle while revealing our world to them does not surprise me at all.” Sallow has been known to spend hours study magic beyond the scope of the courses he is enrolled in, and while some teachers praised his natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge, others were concerned about the dangers of him practicing advanced magic without adequate training, guidance and supervision. It appears that his thirst for knowledge led him down a risky path, for which he is facing jail time and other severe consequences.

The Sallow family have denied to comment publicly regarding the trial, although sources that are close to the family indicate that they are deeply concerned about the situation and extremely anxious over Sallow’s upcoming Wizengamot appearance. Silas and Emerys Sallow, 40, are longstanding, respected members of Aranshire. The Hogwarts Professors have reportedly denied to provide their son with legal representation. It remains unclear if they will take a more active role in defending their son during the trial.

Many are watching this landmark trial closely to see what precedent the Wizengamot will set in this novel trial. Legal experts suggest that the verdict of this trial could have significant impacts on existing legislation and significant implications for future cases of underage magic, particularly in how strictly future violations are treated. The Daily Prophet remains dedicated to bringing you updates of the trial as they occur.

“What will happen to Sebastian –” it hurt to spit out his name, a barb of poison wrapped in velvet on the tip of her tongue, but Amelia forced herself to do so. Guilt was a powerful motivator, and she definitely felt the weight of it on her shoulders as she realised she had gotten off scot-free while he was taking the fall for her magic. “What will happen if he’s found guilty?”

Amelia had no idea how a Wizard court worked, but she assumed it was similar to a Muggle court. In the world she had grown up in, if one was found guilty of a crime, one could face potential execution. The thought of Sebastian having to march to his own death after he had saved her from peril burned from the bottom of her stomach up her oesophagus, hot and sour, and she sipped at her water to try and rid the image of him swinging from the end of a rope, body limp and unmoving, from her mind.

“Well, the severity of his consequence could range from a fine to magical probation to a sentence in our magic prison, Azkaban.” Eleazar Fig couldn’t work quickly enough to school his face into a neutral expression; his distaste for the barbaric conditions prisoners faced on that fortress of solitude was clear as day. “It depends on how lenient the Wizengamot is to his extenuating circumstances.”

Amelia’s face pulled into a tight frown at Fig’s reaction; things in the Magical world were obviously just as harsh and rough as in the world she grew up in.

“But we don’t have to worry about that,” Fig smiled, gently, trying to change the subject to stop her from learning of the more horrific side of the Wizarding World. Amelia’s introduction to magic wasn’t ideal – the bouts of using Ancient Magic that she didn’t understand (yet) along with being caught up in a duel with Sebastian without many means to defend herself and then being arrested and interrogated – had no doubt traumatised her.

“We should focus on getting you more comfortable and accepting of your magic,” Fig continued, misconstruing the glare on Amelia’s face as one that expressed distaste for magic instead of guilt over Sebastian. “The more accepting and trusting that you are of your magic, the faster you’ll be able to hone it and control it.”

He reached into the house robe he was wearing and pulled a thin, knobbed strip of wood from his pocket. The wood wasn’t smooth, it had knots and bumps and it arced slightly to the right; the ash-brown seemed warm and inviting, but when Amelia picked up the wand it felt as unfamiliar as Aesop Sharp’s wand had felt in her hand. She grimaced, once more wishing Sebastian’s wand was the one she could use, but that was long gone since his wand had been confiscated when they had been extracted from their tent and remanded in custody.

“Your own wand will feel more natural,” Fig reassured her, understanding her reluctance and discomfit at the borrowed wand. “And the magic you produce with your own wand will be more powerful and more attuned to you. To that end, we should start by learning the proper stance for casting spells and focus on your grip on the wand. Newton’s Third Law applies to magic too – every action has an equal and opposite reaction – and powerful magic cast through a wand can repel against the wand-wielder; proper grip and stance will reduce the likelihood of you getting hurt.”

Amelia nodded slowly and pocketed the wand, eyes trailing back to the article about Sebastian. He had already shown her how to grip his wand properly, a task made slightly more challenging as she was right-handed and he was not, but he seemed to relish the additional difficulty that little bit more. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but gaze at the picture of him emblazoned on the front page. The guilt at the thought of him taking the fall for her chewed away at her and she gnawed at her lip.

“Not today,” she parried back to Fig, feeling strangely emboldened. Her fingers tapped at the headlines on the newspaper and Fig understood. He nodded slowly, more than understanding that Amelia needed to see how her adventure with Sebastian would end; she needed closure to be able to move on, to quell the what-ifs that were floating around in her head, unspoken and unacknowledged.

“Tomorrow, then. Today, we go to court.”

Despite outward appearances, Sebastian Sallow was shitting himself – not literally, he had been housebroken for fourteen years and he wasn’t about to change that today - but metaphorically. His knees were weak, his arms were heavy. Palms leaked sweat and he had already thrown up twice from nerves.

Not that anyone would be able to tell; on the surface he was calm and ready, something that surprised the Aurors that were escorting him to his trial.

“Arms out, Sallow,” the Auror said, leaving no room for argument. His arms frisked over him, patting his torso down to see if he had been slipped anything that he could use as a weapon in court after the unauthorised visit from his mother. They swept over the outside of his legs before moving right up his inseam.

Sebastian squirmed – ticklish – but he knew it wouldn’t end well for him if he inadvertently kicked at the Auror so he contented himself with a slightly off-colour quip as his hands moved further and further up his thigh.

“You could at least buy me dinner first.”

The Auror glowered from where he was and Sebastian held out his hands in mock surrender.

There was a time and a place for a smart mouth, and Sebastian belatedly realised that this was neither the time nor the place. He tapered down on his tongue and chewed his lips to keep them closed.

“He’s clean,” the Auror stated to his partner, and in tandem, they wrenched Sebastian’s arms behind his back and tightened the handcuffs around his wrist so hard that the skin pinched between the cool metal.

Flashes of lightning blinded him, each photograph taken of him a snap of thunder to his ears as reporters from The Daily Prophet and other international newspapers captured him in what could be his last moments as a semi-free Sallow. Sebastian glared and squinted at the lights, the noise, the general cacophony around him; after three weeks in near isolation, the stark contrast was grating. He wished he had his mother with him, but the guards had promptly sent her on her way after they had somewhat reconciled and she had dropped off his court clothes. Emerys had vehemently objected, claiming that her son was her little boy (even though, at five foot eleven, he was two inches taller than her) and that she was going to stay by his side and walk with him into the courtroom. But Emerys’ objections had fallen onto deaf ears and she had to be threatened with being arrested for interfering with police in the course of their duties before she reluctantly left Sebastian, realising that her being arrested wasn’t of any benefit to him.

“Sallow, over here, can we get a comment on your strategy for your trial?”

“Did you retain a lawyer in the end or are you defending yourself?”

“How will you plead, innocent or guilty?”

The questions flew out of the reporters’ mouths thick and fast; before Sebastian could even register that someone had asked him a question, another one came his way. He considered protesting his innocence – such as it was – but then he realised that he could potentially jeopardise his defence if he did that so he decided that it was in his best interest to keep quiet. There were more flashes of light, a supernova explosion in his eyes, as he and the Aurors that were escorting him to court waited for the lift. Sebastian wished he wasn’t handcuffed so he could shield his face with his hands, but this was just another outcome of a choice he had made and he was fast learning that he was free to make his choices, but he couldn’t run from the consequences of it; he gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes into slits at the reporters hounding him.

The doors to the elevator opened so excruciatingly slowly that Sebastian considered darting off to the left to take the stairs – anything to get away from the press that were consuming his discomfort in the same way vultures would devour a carcass – but the talon-like grip the Aurors had on him prevented that. There was a brief respite when the Aurors dragged him into the lift and the doors closed with a clang. Sebastian sagged in relief, but that too was brief, as the realisation that he was about to enter court to fight for his freedom smashed into him like a tonne of bricks. He swallowed audibly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down as the only outward sign of his worries.

The lift descended, lower and lower until it reached the bowels of the Ministry of Magic’s dungeons. The air was chilled, the hair at the nape of Sebastian’s neck and ears curled and frizzed with the permanent damp that clung to the floor and the walls. The stench of desperation permeated the stale air; it was as if the Ministry hadn’t aired the basement out since the last Wizengamot trial. The Aurors beside him shuddered involuntarily; Sebastian could understand the sentiment as the unsettling and imposing atmosphere cut through him like a knife too, sharp, serrated and scratching at him so he bled on the inside.

“Here we are, boy,” one of the Auror’s muttered, releasing his vice-like grip from Sebastian.

The doors to the courtroom loomed over them, casting a dark shadow over Sebastian’s future. Sebastian shot a glance at one Auror – the one that had frisked him and then studiously ignored him – and then at the other, jangling his hands so his cuffs rattled.

“They stay on, boy, until you walk in and the bailiff sees fit to remove them.”

“What?!” Sebastian exploded, face and skin flushing to match the ire of his temper. “That’s completely prejudicial! How am I supposed to get a fair and impartial trial if I have to walk in there chained up like some criminal?!”

The Aurors shrugged in the most unsympathetic manner; questioning pre-established protocol was well beyond their paygrade.

“You are a criminal and you should have thought of that before you broke the law.”

Sebastian swallowed tightly at the words that were spat his way as the Aurors retreated back to the lift. He was being trialled and judged and presumed guilty before he had even had a chance to explain his side of what happened. The prospect of him being found guilty by the members of the Wizengamot bloomed to the forefront of his mind and his knees quaked; if he lost his case, spending a long time in Azkaban would be all there was for his future.

Alone and isolated in the dank, musty corridor, Sebastian shook his head to clear himself of any doubts, breathed in deep and breathed out slow – the way Silas had taught him to do so when his emotions were overwhelming him – and steeled his nerve.

Remember to stay calm, no matter how aggravated the prosecution tries to make you; that’s what they want, he thought to himself. People won’t question me if I can fake confidence well, and I know I’m a good liar. I need to use that to my advantage.

Using his torso to nudge the door open, Sebastian strode inside, head held high so people focussed on his presence instead of the handcuffs around his wrists, and he took his place in the dock, ready to meet his fate.

Chapter Text

“Please state your name, date of birth and place of residence for the record.”

The words reverberated off the marble walls of the courtroom, echoing in Sebastian’s ears. His dark brown eyes, hardened and resolute, slowly appraised his surroundings. The dock in which he was standing in was in the centre of the room, and from where he stood, he felt incredibly small and insignificant as the seating area for the members of the Wizengamot loomed intimidatingly over him, spread out over three levels of tiered seating. The news reporters were on his left, Quick-Quills levitating over notebooks to record how the proceedings went. Members of the public sat off to his right; he could see his mother, father and sister in the front row, their eyes trained on him. Anne’s knee bounced in an irritated fashion, Emerys was chewing at her lip while Silas absentmindedly played with his pocket watch and picked at the skin around his fingernails; Sebastian recognised it as the signs that his parents and sister were anxious for him and he hoped he could defend himself well enough to squash their nerves. He glanced over the sea of hair; he could have sworn he saw a flash of auburn and a swirl of purple sidle through the crowds, but he blinked and when he looked again, it was gone. It was wishful thinking to hope that she turned up; after all, she was of the mindset that he had betrayed her in the worst way possible. Why would someone as intriguing as her waste her time on some miscreant like him?

He cleared his throat and stared evenly up at the Wizengamot as a bailiff uncuffed his wrists. “Sebastian Silas Sallow, of 8 Godric Way, Aranshire. Born 29th October 1874.”

“Sebastian Sallow, you have been charged with resisting arrest in direct contravention of Auror orders, violations of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy Clauses, to wit, performance of underage magic beyond the realms of educational purposes, and performance of underage magic in the Muggle community. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Chief!”

A gasp of shock ricochetted around the room and Sebastian had to stop himself from rolling his eyes so hard they disappeared into the back of his head. What were they expecting? For him to plead guilty? He might as well have confessed to the Aurors when they first questioned him if that was the case.

“Not guilty, Chief Wizengamot!” The Chief pulled himself up to his full height and peered over the bench at Sebastian, face pulled into something ugly at the teenager’s disregard for his proper title. The Chief was a thin, wisp of a man with thinning hair that had been swept into a bad combover to hide his bald spots. Glasses perched on the end of his hooked nose and his lips pressed into a thin line at Sebastian’s impertinence. “I will have proper decorum in this court and that includes the defendant addressing the Wizengamot with the utmost respect!”

Sebastian swallowed the exaggerated sigh that was about to escape him – he had always been more practical and had never much cared for pomp and circumstance – and tried again. “Not guilty, Chief Wizengamot.”

“Interrogators for the Sallow Trial are Thomas McLaggen, Chief of the Wizengamot; Bernice Goyle, Head of the Improper Use of Magic, and Justus Pilliwickle, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

There was a pause to highlight the gravitas of the interrogators titles and high ranking roles within the Ministry of Magic and Thomas droned on once more, outlining who was taking the minutes of the trial, other members of the Wizengamot and listing all the witnesses the Ministry had managed to procure against Sebastian in their prosecution of him.

“We call witness for the prosecution, Solomon Sallow, to the stand.”

The door to the courtroom slammed open. Solomon Sallow strode into the room, Auror badge pinned to his cloak gleaming with the weight of his authority. Sebastian tuned out the formal proceedings as Solomon listed his name, address and credentials, once more casting an eye over the public gallery to see if the trial starting had eased some of his parents and Anne’s nerves. Silas was glaring at his brother, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as his heart throbbed underneath his ribs, hardly able to believe that his brother was testifying against his son. Solomon felt the intensity of Silas’ stare on him and stared back evenly, expression deadpan.

“I told you; you had to do your job as his father to reign him in, otherwise I would have no choice but to do mine when the time came. You reap what you sow, Silas.”

The Chief Wizengamot cleared his throat to divert Solomon Sallow’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“Tell the court about the circumstances under which you arrested and cautioned Sebastian Sallow on the evening of Thursday 17th July, 1890.”

“Sallow had been observed behaving in an erratic manner. He was approached by myself and my partner, upon which he decided a high-speed Apparition chase would be the appropriate course of action. He was apprehended upon a failed attempt to Apparate from Manor Cape to Hogsmeade.”

“Apparate?! At fifteen?! And without Splinching himself?” An impressed whisper leaked out from the upper echelons of the courtroom and Sebastian’s head swivelled in the direction of the noise. Half the Wiengamot were suitably impressed and amazed by his accomplishments; the other shook their head in disapproval at him.

“Sallow had a number of suspicious items on him when he was apprehended. These items were confiscated.”

Another mumble rumbled around the room; this time, the Wizengamot were united in their disapproval of him. Sebastian inwardly winced; that was going to hurt the impression the Wizengamot had of him. If the Wizengamot couldn’t see him for who he really was – thanks to the picture his so-called uncle was painting of him – then the chances of him wriggling his way of this with minimal to no consequence decreased exponentially, especially since Anne hadn’t been able to locate Amelia. Not that it was her fault that she couldn’t find the one person he needed; Sebastian had been told the devastating news of Anne’s projected life expectancy and that took precedence over him. It had been like that since Anne was cursed; nothing was going to change.

“There were copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in one of the Nab-Sacks procured from Sallow; the other one had an Extension Charm so strong it held five of his peers in there.”

There was another astounded gasp from members of the Wizengamot. Emerys didn’t know whether to be proud of her son’s shocking magical achievements or despair at his recklessness. Silas, too, was facing the same dilemma his wife was; he struggled to suppress the small grin that tugged at his lips, only succeeding in hiding his smile when Emerys subtly whacked his bicep and shook her head at him. Anne had to stifle her chuckles at her parents interaction and news of what her brother had done in all his evenings away from the Sallow homestead.

“And this was Sallow’s second arrest?” A shrill voice from the second row of Wizengamot seating cut through the damning silence of the court room.

“Yes, this was his second arrest. My supervisor was informed and was satisfied to release him without charge, but with a formal caution. However, he continued to escalate and two weeks later, he was arrested in the Forest of Dean for performing magic in front of a Muggle.”

Sebastian’s mouth dropped open at the words. That wasn’t what happened at all; he and Mia had been attacked! Without cause or provocation too! And how could he have performed magic in front of a Muggle, when the only people present were him, her and the Dark Wizards that had been dispatched by her extraordinary magic.

“That’s not true, Chief!” he burst out, unable to keep the bubble of words inside of him, leaning as far as he could over the dock, imploring the Wizengamot to allow him opportunity to explain himself.

“Chief Wizengamot!” McLaggen growled, red sparks shooting out of the end of the wand that was in his grip as a warning that his temper with Sebastian’s impudence was waning.

“Fine! That’s not true, Chief Wizengamot!” The stress on the last word was said with gritted teeth.

“And the defendant will only speak when questioned, boy,” McLaggen scolded, imperious in his manner. He had very clearly assessed and judged Sebastian to be guilty and was treating him accordingly.

“How am I to defend myself against these egregious charges if you won’t let me speak?!” Sebastian retorted hotly, pacing in the dock in a feverish way and running a hand through his hair, a sign that his stress and anxieties were getting the better of him. McLaggen flushed and stuttered, not used to being challenged by anyone, let alone a rascal of a fifteen year old boy. There were murmurs on the tiered seating as the Wizengamot couldn’t find fault in Sebastian’s words.

“You will have your turn, Mr. Sallow,” the Wizengamot identified as Bernice Goyle said, reedy voice cutting through the crowd reassuringly.

“I will,” Sebastian agreed, frigid pleasant tone lulling the Wizengamot into thinking they had placated him. He breathed in deep, remembered the litany he chanted to himself before he entered the room.

Stay calm. You’re a good liar so you know how to spot others lying. Find the hole in his veneer of truth and chip away at it.

“Auror Sallow, did you actually see me use underage magic in the Forest of Dean in front of a Muggle, or is that an assumption that you’ve made?”

“It was the only reasonable conclusion to be made; there were traces of magic that we followed and you were the only wand holder present when we turned up and found you and your Muggle accomplice, in your tent, together and unchaperoned. Who else could have cast those spells?”

The question was rhetoric, but Sebastian knew it was because the Auror couldn’t categorically say that he had seen Sebastian practice underage magic. Bluster and pointing out the salaciousness of him and Mia being alone in the woods together was smoke and mirrors to distract from the fact that the Aurors had made a wild assumption about the situation in the forest and had gotten it wrong. No-one wanted to eat humble pie – Sebastian knew that well – and it was even more embarrassing if a Ministry department had messed up so colossally that a minor had been remanded in custody because Aurors weren’t able to do their jobs competently.

“Did you question my so-called accomplice and myself after our arrest?” Sebastian pressed, grinning as his uncle became more and more flustered, knowing that the answer was no. Aesop Sharp had questioned him, and Sebastian had delved into Auror procedures while he was preparing his defence to know that the same detective had to question anyone implicated in a crime. It stood to reason that Aesop Sharp had also questioned Mia too, but Sebastian didn’t know what line of questioning Aesop Sharp had taken with Mia; calling him as a witness for the defence could backfire, but it was a gamble Sebastian was willing to take.

Solomon growled at the boy and reluctantly shook his head. His skin was mauve with embarrassment and anger – the nephew was just like his father – always outshining him and pointing out his flaws and inadequacies. Both of them were too smart for their own good, too cocky to truly understand the consequences of their actions and the impact they had on others.

“So can you, without doubt, state that I used underage magic in front of a Muggle? Can you account for the alleged Muggle that I was allegedly found with?”

The silence was deafening. Sebastian smirked and quirked his eyebrow towards the public gallery, once more trying to see if he could find the auburn and purple he thought he had hallucinated earlier.

He held his breath as sable eyes scanned the crowds and he hoped.

Chief Wizengamot McLaggen had called for a recess after Sebastian somewhat decimated Solomon Sallow’s and other prosecution witnesses testimony. The public gallery had been cleared out to grab a spot of lunch, as had the media; Sebastian was not allowed to leave and he remained in the dock. A plate of food magically appeared on the railings of the dock and Sebastian wolfed down the spam sandwich that had been provided to him. After upchucking his breakfast, the sandwich was more satisfying than anything he had eaten in the past three weeks.

Hunger satiated, Sebastian mentally ran through the questions he wanted to ask Aesop to answer. All of them revolved around the Auror’s questioning of Mia, but the only thing Sebastian was sure of was that Mia was questioned by him. Sebastian would have to pursue his line of questioning on the spot, adapting to what Sharp had to say.

A jab to his back had him pirouetting stupidly on the spot, and he brightened as he saw Anne laughing at his expense.

“Annie!” he cried out in delight, holding his arms open so he could hug his sister. After three weeks with minimal contact, he relished in the weight of her – such as it was – against him.

“Your case seems to be going well,” Anne commented, resting her head against his shoulder. “Heard the media talking; they’re certainly impressed with your running rings around the stuffy lawmen and women.”

“All part of the strategy, Annie,” he laughed, and she frowned as she heard the despised name. “Confuse and confound them all. No-one will know what the truth is then, not even me and I was there.”

Anne laughed too, a tinkling, lilting noise that died out as soon as her brother sobered up from his mirth. He appraised her, eyes lingering over the expanse of her face; even through the make-up, Sebastian could see that her freckles had faded, her skin was yellow and jaundiced, a gleam that lightened her irises to their customary caramel colour had burnt out and she was decaying on the inside.

“How are you, Anne, really?”

Anne sighed and sagged against the solid, muscular torso of her twin, jealous of the life and vitality he was guaranteed. She shrugged impassively; nothing she said could change her fate and she had accepted that a long time ago. “It comes and goes, as do I.”

There was an awkward, stilted pause between them as Anne pulled away from her brother.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find her for you, Seb.”

“What?”

“Amelia,” Anne pressed. “I was looking for her but then the stupid curse attacked and I ended up in St. Mungo’s. Mum and Dad wouldn’t leave my side after I was discharged, so there was no hope of me going back to London to hunt her down.”

“It doesn’t matter, Anne. You are far more important and if not looking for her has held you where you are, that’s fine with me.”

The forgiveness was there for the taking, but Anne was someone who wanted to see a task she had started through to completion.

“But if you really feel the need to make up for it, you can find her again.”

Anne quirked one eyebrow, arching up so high it almost climbed off her forehead.

“She’s here, Annie. I know it. Find her and use whatever charm you have to convince her to take the stand and testify for me. Look under all the stalls in the bathroom if you have to, but find her!”

Anne nodded, colour coming back to her cheeks as she finally had purpose to her life. There was, however, one issue. It was the same one as the last time Sebastian has asked her to embark on a wild goose chase.

“Other than being an orphan, magical and having eyes, and completely glossing over the fact that you are quite taken by her,” Anne began, quipping the last time they had talked about her into the conversation. “What can you tell me about her appearance?”

Without even thinking about it, a soft smile graced Sebastian’s face as he recalled her enigmatic smile and nature, reliving the jokes he had told her while they stargazed together in the forest. He remembered the way her hair glittered under the moonlight, the way her laugh lightened up his and how normal he felt with her. Like a fifteen year old that had the whole world at his fingertips rather than having his fate inextricably intertwined with his twin sister’s demise.

“Auburn hair, ice-blue eyes, magnetic smile and a faded purple dress. She’s here, Annie. Please; find her for me.”

Chapter Text

The noise was overwhelming, the endless chatter and speculation as to the outcome of the Sallow case burrowed holes in Amelia’s brain, making it throb and ache behind her eyes. She had been watching, a silent spectator as Sebastian paced the dock, running his hands through the unruly mess that passed for his hair, waiting to see how he would take the blame for her indiscretions, and as she saw how fiercely he was fighting for his freedom, the guilt coiled up in the pit of her stomach, tighter and tighter until she couldn’t stand it. As soon as the Chief Wizengamot – he seemed equivalent to a judge of a courthouse in the Muggle World – had called for a recess, she dashed to the nearest restroom and leant heavily over the sink, breath coming in hitches. She turned on the tap and cupped her hands so she could splash it on her face. The ice-cold water jarred her back to reality and she stared at her reflection as water dripped off her face, internally debating whether to reveal her identity and testify to get Sebastian off the hook. She already had her dispensation now that she was under Eleazar Fig’s care; it would be the right thing to do.

There was a tap on Amelia’s shoulder and the intruder handed her a soft cloth, gesturing for her to dry her face off.

“Thank you,” Amelia muttered, eyeing up the person standing next to her. She had dark hair, a semi-tone lighter than Sebastian’s, a face that seemed somewhat familiar but vastly different at the same time due to the pinched nature of it, and a light dusting of freckles over her hollowed out cheekbones. Underneath all the layers of caked on make-up, Amelia could see the pale pallor of her skin, the shadowed rings under her eyes, the grey tinge to her lips, and stripes of grey in her hair.

Anne grinned inwardly as she eyed up the girl next to her. Auburn hair, faded purple dress, ice-blue eyes and even though she couldn’t see it at the moment, Anne imagined Amelia would have a smile could, and would, turn her brother’s insides to mush, no matter how much he tried to deny that fact.

“I’m Anne.” She thrust out her hand for Amelia to shake.

Amelia’s eyes darted down at the movement and moved back to Anne slowly, deliberately leaving her hand waiting. This was not an interaction she was in control of, and she wanted to see what Anne’s motives were before letting her guard down. The Sisters’ words came back to her again – silence is a virtue – and it had served Amelia well in the past; it was best for her to remain silent until Anne had revealed more about herself than she ever wanted to.

“Are you here for the Sallow trial?” Anne continued, as if the snub meant nothing to her, knowing full well that was why Amelia was there. Given how guarded and apprehensive Amelia was, Anne decided that the best way to gain her trust was to hide her relationship to Sebastian. Playing dumb for smart reasons was something Anne excelled at, and she would use it to manipulate people into caving to her indomitable will.

Amelia said nothing, as was her standard when it came to interacting with strangers in a world she didn’t understand.

“Seems to be quite an interesting case,” Anne said conversationally, pulling out a small compact from a pocket purse and reapplying the blush coloured tone to her cheeks. “First of its kind – prosecution of an underage wizard for using magic, and in front of a Muggle too – it’s going to set the precedence for all other cases.”

Amelia shrugged one shoulder up and down, non-committal, cogs in her mind turning ever so slowly. If this was a novel case, then were any of Fig’s hypotheses correct when she had asked him what would happen to Sebastian? Was he lying to her too, just to absolve her of any blame he thought she may have been shouldering? If that was the situation, then how could she trust anyone? Sebastian hadn’t outwardly lied to her, but he hadn’t also told her the truth, and now Fig was simply telling her what she wanted to hear so he could get on with his job without any impediments standing in his way. She was insignificant to them, just being used for their own devices, she realised, and the realisation made her blood boil. She could feel the tingling in her fingertips, the glow emanating from her nails, feel the tidal wave of emotion rising up inside her and she hastily dropped her washcloth on the floor so she could shove her hands deep into her pockets before the silvery-blue shots of light could escape her. She breathed in deep, just the way Sebastian had taught her in order to calm herself, and breathed out slow, swallowing as she mentally sifted through all her options, discarding the ones that didn’t suit her needs before figuring out what she had to do. Extracting herself from this was the only way out for her.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Amelia muttered politely, even though the truth of the matter was that it had been anything but a pleasure. She stepped away from the mirror and strode towards the door. “I really must be going now.”

Anne stared at the retreating girl, heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. The strategy of playing dumb for smart reasons had failed and if she couldn’t convince Amelia to testify, her brother could be sent to a cell in Azkaban, imprisoned for the rest of his life. She had to do something, and quick.

“Amelia!” Anne called out to the girl’s retreating back. Amelia grimaced at the call of her name; she had been hoping to leave the bathroom, find Fig and leave the courthouse undetected. A quiet life was all she wanted after her adventure with Sebastian had turned everything she thought she knew on its head.

“I never told you my name.” There was a quiet, disconcerting note in Amelia’s tone and she slowly pivoted to face Anne, expression unreadable with auburn locks falling into her eyes, shielding her from view. “How did you know that?”

“I know you know the truth of what happened the night of his and yours arrest,” Anne continued as if Amelia hadn’t peppered her with questions. “The man in the dock is a good man and he needs your help.”

“He’s not a good man,” Amelia ground out through clenched teeth, hands curling into fists as she thought of Sebastian and how he betrayed the trust that had been growing between them. “He’s a liar and he’s perfectly adept at fending for himself! He has no need for me, and I have no need for him!”

“I never said my brother was a perfect man,” Anne agreed, knowingly and unknowingly revealing her relationship with Sebastian to Amelia, not missing the way her blue eyes widened minutely at the disclosure. “Seb has his flaws, but at the crux of it, he is a good man, and he cares for you. He’s covering up your use of magic and is facing trial over it. He could suffer in jail to keep you out of it, and Magical jail is a thousand times worse than Muggle jail! If that’s not the sign of a good man, I don’t know what is.”

Anne huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her torso, her defensiveness and protectiveness over her big brother rising to the surface. “He needs to call you as a witness so he can trump the more severe charge of performing magic in front of a Muggle. He’s only performed magic in front of you and you aren’t a Muggle; I saw the wisps of blue around your fingers moments ago. And here you are, brave enough to see him on trial but too much of a coward to step forward for him.”

The words stung and Amelia drew herself up to her full height, matching Anne so her glacial eyes could blaze with heat into Anne’s caramel ones. “You know nothing about me and what’s happened to me over my life; how dare you stand there and presume I’m a coward!”

“Aren’t you? You just said you’re going to run away with your tail between your legs and let a good man, one that cares for you more than you’ll ever care for him, fend for himself,” Anne challenged back, stepping forward to meet Amelia. Just like her brother, she never backed down from a fight and defending her brother was a hill she was prepared to die on. “If you’re not a coward, take the stand and prove me wrong.”

With nothing else to say, her body bristling with confidence, Anne swept past Amelia in high dudgeon, leaving the auburn haired girl trailing in her wake.

“Please state your name, occupation and rank, address and date of birth for the record.”

Aesop Sharp eyed up the Wizengamot beadily, eyes sliding from the men and women shrouded in dark cloaks to the members of the public. Silas Sallow and Emerys Sallow sat front and centre, with Anne sandwiched between them, an uncharacteristic scowl etched upon her tight and pinched face. His reintroduction into their life had been jarring, but somehow welcome at the same time; it had been too long since he had been close to them, but he could see that they were struggling with the hand life had dealt them – especially after he had been present for Anne’s life expectancy – and he was compassionate enough to be the shoulder to lean on when they needed someone to cry into, no matter how much it ached to be close to Emerys and know that she would never be his.

Aesop’s dark eyes travelled to the defendant’s dock. Aside from his height, Sebastian Sallow was a dead ringer for his father. Aesop had to do a double take; when he looked at Sebastian, all he could see was his childhood friend. The fact that Sebastian was more like Emerys – wild, untamed and left a trail of chaos in his wake – was a bit of a shock to his system, but he was also not surprised by it at all; Emerys was bound to leave her stamp on her children somehow.

“Aesop Samuel Sharp, Hit Wizard Auror with the Ministry of Magic, resident of Kilcare Cottage of Poidsear Coast, born 25th July 1850.”

“Please tell the court of your involvement in this case.”

Aesop Sharp cleared his throat and allowed his voice, deep and hoarse, to fill the room. “I had been part of a strike-team tracking magical signals of known Dark Witches and Wizards operating in Gloucestershire. Like all types of surveillance, there had been flurries of activity and long bouts of radio silence. The Dark Witches and Wizards were traced to the Forest of Dean; the strike team got their tactical gear and strategy ready before Apparating to their last known location.”

“Then what happened?”

“The strike team came across a tent near the banks of a river, upon which we apprehended the defendant and his companion. While the defendant wasn’t the Dark Wizard we were tracking, we were aware that there was a warrant out for his arrest due to using underage magic, and using magic in front of a Muggle. Thusly, we arrested him, and when we searched his tent, as per protocol, we discovered his companion hiding and arrested her as well.”

From the public stands, Emerys buried her head in her hands. She wondered why her apparently genius son was masquerading as an idiot by calling one of his arresting officers to the stand. From what she was hearing, nothing would bode well for him. Silas could feel the anxiety seep out of his wife; subtly, he reached over Anne to grasp at Emerys’ hand, squeezing it lightly and quirking his eyebrows when she barbed a glance at him

Trust Seb. He’s our boy and he’s a smart one; takes after his father that way. It may not seem like it’s going well, but he’s done this for a reason. Trust in him.

Emerys nodded tightly, although Silas’ words weren’t reassuring her as they usually would. The prospect of her son going to Azkaban lined the pit of her stomach with dread. Silas was optimistic that it wouldn’t happen; Emerys was realistic enough to know that the Wizengamot wouldn’t take pity on cocky teenagers, and Sebastian was the poster boy for being a smart-arse.

“Auror Sharp, you interrogated me,” Sebastian began, pulling on his reading glasses and flicking through scraps of paper in his dock. “Please summarise, for the court, the gist of that interview.”

Aesop spared the Wizengamot another look before turning his dark eyes to Sebastian, narrowing them in contemplation. The boy was smart and sharp, Aesop realised, and was probably approaching his defence with a two-pronged attack; Aesop Sharp’s testimony was integral in upholding one of the prongs. Instead of trying to fight the charges of his using underage magic, he was going to prove that his use of magic was justified in this instance; there was a loophole to the law and underaged witches and wizards were allowed to defend themselves in an unwarranted attack. While it probably wouldn’t get him off the hook completely, it would definitely lessen the severity of the Wizengamot’s ruling.

“The defendant had claimed that there had been a duel between himself and three Ashwinders; there was certainly evidence that supported his assertion, the biggest one being a deceased Ashwinder a few hundred metres from the site of their arrest. There were plenty of unique Magical signatures in the area too – only one of them was a fire signature that registered to Sallow, which gives credence to his claim of being unduly attacked, especially since most of his offensive spells were used in a defensive strategy to protect him and the girl with him to keep them safe.”

It was a well-known fact in the Magical community that magic was tied to emotion, and emotion was rooted in one of the four ancient elements; water, air, earth or fire. Every piece of magic cast by a witch or wizard was underpinned by their emotions and reflected one of the elements. Just like a signature, the way their emotions and magic twined together was encrypted and unique to every individual; the Ministry had analysts that would decode those magical signatures and match them to suspects in a crime.

“Auror Sharp, in your capacity as a Hit Wizard with the Auror Division, how many crime scenes have you seen after a duel with an Ashwinder?” Sebastian asked, folding the cuffs of his shirt up to try and help keep him cool. The only sign of his nerves as he deposed Sharp was a trickle of sweat that tracked from his temple down the side of his face. Sebastian’s hand swiped away the sweat as he raked a hand through his hair.

“Well over one hundred crime scenes.”

“Well, with that number under your belt, that would make you somewhat of an expert of the subject matter, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose one could argue the point.” Aesop hesitated, wondering exactly where Sebastian was going with this. The truth was that expertise was all relative; he was an expert compared to his rookie partner, the one who had started the job six months ago and was still learning, but was a novice compared to Hit Wizards that had been working for the department for decades.

“In your expert opinion, would I and my companion –” it stung too much for Sebastian to say Mia’s name – “would we have survived an Ashwinder attack had I not used magic to defend us?”

There was a shadow of a smile playing around Aesop Sharp’s lips and he knew that Sebastian’s questioning of him was useful in refuting the charge of an unwarranted use of underage magic in this instance.

“No, you and your companion would not have survived had you not used magic to defend yourself.”

“Thank you, Auror Sharp,” Sebastian smiled, all charming and disarming at the same time, teeth bared to points as he stared up at the Wizengamot, daring them to ask the prosecution to rebut Aesop Sharp’s testimony. It was not going to happen; Aesop Sharp’s words held a certain level of gravitas that had, hopefully, punched a hole in one of the charges laid against him.

Chapter Text

Another short recess had been called while the Wizengamot took the time to review all the evidence they had heard. Just like before, the media and public gallery had been cleared out, leaving Sebastian by his lonesome in the dock.

Just like before, Anne had managed to slip past the bailiff stationed outside the court door to make sure no-one entered the room and poked her brother in the back.

“Did you find her?”

Anne nodded slowly, chewing her lip. How could she break the news that their meeting didn’t go so well, and Anne had no idea if Amelia would testify?

“I’m sorry, Seb, I don’t think it will happen.”

Sebastian let out a stream of words under his breath, swears and curses that would have had his mother scourgifying his mouth out had she heard it. The thought of that reminded him of Mia, of her over-enthusiastic scrubbing of the dishes the night they were arrested, how she had correctly pegged his potty mouth, but thinking about Mia burned and scorched his insides so he didn’t let this thoughts linger on her too long. Just as she had felt betrayed by his lies of omission, he was now feeling betrayed by her unwillingness to step forward and defend him when he needed it the most.

“At least you tried,” Sebastian snarked, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at his wearied eyes. “Which is more than I can say for her.”

Anne winced at her brother’s tone, as corrosive and vile as battery acid, and she knew he was thinking uncharitable thoughts towards Amelia. She would have too, had she not met the young girl in the bathroom and used the time in court to reflect on their interaction; under all the bravado and blustering was a terrified, insecure girl who was barely coming to grips with her reality. Anne saw it and recognised it for what it was because when Anne was alone and she let her walls crumble as she thought of her terminal diagnosis, it was the same thing she could see in herself too.

“Sebastian, go easy on Amelia. She’s very scared and unsure at the moment.”

“So am I!” he retorted hotly, pacing agitatedly in his dock, footsteps tapping a staccato pattern on the floor and it matched his racing heartbeat.

“This world that we’ve grown up in is all new to her,” Anne continued, trying to placate her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder that he promptly shrugged off. The subtle rejection felt like Sebastian had just slapped Anne across the face.

“This is all new to me too! I’ve never been prosecuted and had to defend myself in front of the Wizengamot before, Anne, and after this experience, you can bet your bottom Galleon that I won’t be doing it again in a hurry! But I’m not running away and shirking my responsibility to getting me off these charges!”

Anne could feel the ire on Amelia’s behalf rise within her. “She doesn’t want a bar of you after her horrific experience with you! I’m not saying it’s your fault, but she owes you nothing, Sebastian! Get off your high horse and stop holding her accountable for your lapses in judgement! She’s most likely not testifying for you, so find another way to defend yourself!”

“So you’re on her side, you Judas!” Sebastian scoffed and propelled himself as far away from his sister as he could get while he was restricted in his box. His eyes hardened and darkened, going from sable to obsidian in the blink of an eye, muscles in his neck tensing as he squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height so he towered intimidatingly over Anne. The air around him sizzled with an electric current, making him seem more untamed and animalistic than he had been. Anne winced at the change; it only ever happened when Sebastian was getting ready to unleash his tempestuous rage onto an unwitting target. There was only one way to stop it, and that was to get ahead of the cyclone before it hit.

“I’m on your side, Seb! I’m your sister, your twin; I’m always on your side!” Anne cried out. “I saw her magic; I know you’re telling the truth about her, and I would testify for you in a heartbeat, if I could!”

“Then do so! If I can’t get her, then I can at least have you to state she’s not a Muggle!”

“It won’t work, Seb. Not when the prosecution will use the fact that I’m your sister to discredit me. They can, and probably will, argue that my testimony is a ploy to get you off the hook rather than take it at face value. It ruins your credibility if you use me, and so far, your credibility is holding. Putting Aesop Sharp on the stand was unorthodox – who else would put their arresting officer on the stand for them – but it was a stroke of genius! He worked in your favour; don’t ruin that by impulsively putting people on the stand.”

Anne’s words seemed to take the wind out of his sails and Sebastian sunk to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and he covered his face with his hands, breath coming in hitches as the cogs in his mind turned. He didn’t want her, just as she didn’t want him, but he needed her. He needed her to testify that she was Magical too, and he was using magic in front of her to protect her.

“Annie, I don’t want to go to Azkaban!” he breathed out, voice barely louder than a whisper, the fear he had been holding in for three weeks finally leaking out of him in a rare show of vulnerability. “I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

“You won’t go to Azkaban,” Anne said, reaching through the bars of the dock so she could hold whatever part of Sebastian she could reach. It was a grounding technique; even if all she could do was touch his toes, her presence would bring him back to reality. “Do you really think Mum and Dad will take that sentence lying down?”

Sebastian huffed out a humourless laugh. “Not exactly sure how siccing Ma onto the Wizengamot will help my cause. Not entirely sure they’ll respond to her continuous yelling and screaming for an hour straight without blinking or drawing breath in the same way that her children do.”

“You’re not going to Azkaban,” Anne repeated, conviction lacing her tone. “The Sallows won’t let it happen.”

Sebastian glanced up, offering his sister the smallest, saddest smile he could muster, all while knowing Anne’s words were nothing more than empty platitudes.

The Sallow trial convened once the recess had been called to an end. With no more witnesses to call on by the prosecution and defence, the time for judgement had arrived.

Sebastian stood, ramrod straight, shoulders tensed up so much they were in line with his ears, in his box while the Wizengamot filtered in, ready to hear the verdict of his case. Thomas McLaggen, the Chief of the Wizengamot, rose to his feet and stared down at Sebastian over his nose.

“Sebastian Silas Sallow, on the charge of resisting arrest in direct contravention of Auror orders, the members of the Wizengamot have found you not guilty.”

Sebastian let out the breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding. Not guilty; that was a good start, although it still felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“On the charge of performance of underage magic beyond the realms of educational purposes, the members of the Wizengamot have found you guilty.”

From where she was slouching in her seat at the back of the public gallery, Amelia let out a strangled breath and gripped the skirt of her dress tight.

Guilty.

He had been found guilty over something she had precipitated. Ice-cold dripped down her neck and shivered through her spine; it felt like a rubber band had been placed around her chest and constricted her breathing. From where he was sitting next to her, Eleazar patted her hand consolingly, but all it did was serve as a reminder that she was the cause of Sebastian’s trial, and it made her heart drop.

He is a good man, and he cares for you. He’s covering up your use of magic and is facing trial over it. He could suffer in jail to keep you out of it!

Anne’s words came back to haunt Amelia, the bluntness of her tone cutting through her with a serrated edge, a death by a thousand cuts. Her insides coiled and writhed, squirming and clenching at her discomfort.

Magical jail is a thousand times worse than Muggle jail!

Amelia knew that jail in the world she had grown up in was no picnic. Conditions were awful; they were cramped, damp, cesspools of death and disease. Prisoners were subjected to silence – no-one was allowed to speak, forced to chip sandstone - a long, hard labour that served no purpose other than to scare offenders into never offending again. They were lucky if they were fed a meal, and the food usually consisted of a thin, watery gruel that couldn’t satiate anyone. Prisoners slept on top of each other, fought bitterly with each other and often went insane with the harsh conditions taking a toll on their mental health before they were eventually carted off to bedlam.

She couldn’t imagine anything being a thousand times worse than that, but if Anne’s words rung true, what was she going to be subjecting Sebastian to?

“On the charge of performance of magic in the Muggle community, the members of the Wizengamot have found you – ”

If you’re not a coward, take the stand and prove me wrong.

“No! Stop! This isn’t right!”

Without even realising it, she had risen to her feet and was propelling her way down to the centre of the court, every eye on her as she interrupted the Wizengamot before they could deliver their verdict. Flashes of lightning burned her retinas and she blinked rapidly, her glacial blue eyes darkening to sapphire as she realised photographers were quite literally snapping her up. She could see Sebastian staring at her, pulling off his reading glasses and using his knuckles to knead at his eyes, hardly daring to believe that she was coming forward for him. She shot him a small, reassuring smile but all he could do was stare at her, mouth agape and blink rapidly as she sailed past him.

“And who are you?” McLaggen’s arrogant tone echoed condescendingly throughout the courtroom, bouncing off the marble tiles.

Amelia quaked as she realised she was the centre of attention – a prospect that was uncomfortable for her as she had spent all her life blending into a crowd instead of standing out – but she steeled her nerves and glared back at the Chief Wizengamot.

“I’m Amelia Calloway, and I’m the alleged Muggle the accused was with that night.” She grimaced, not enjoying using her name and she still didn’t quite understand what a Muggle was – and why it was so bad to use using magic around them - but voicing the term that had been thrown around the court felt right.

Stunned shock rippled through the air, hushed murmurs sounding like a cacophony of chirrups, words and phrases blending together and overlapping over each other that Amelia couldn’t understand what was being said. From the side of her eye, she saw Aesop Sharp, the Auror who she had almost blown to smithereens, tilt his head to the left in contemplation, the corner of his mouth lilting up in an amused fashion. He nodded his absolution and forgiveness towards her and pointed at the witness stand. For some reason, that fortified Amelia, and with more courage that she thought she could ever muster, she traipsed up into the witness box.

“The thing is, I’m like Sebastian Sallow. I can wield magic too, and he was teaching me how to do so safely.”

Speaking the truth was cathartic; it was just what she needed to start to accept a part of herself that she had tried to hide and deny over the years, and as Amelia spoke, she started to realise that this was who she was, who she was meant to be, and running away from something that would always catch up to her had done her no good whatsoever. If Sebastian was facing the music for her, she could be brave enough to do the same for him.

“It’s utter balderdash! We have no record of a witch by the name of Amelia Calloway!” McLaggen dismissed her with a flick of his hand before turning his attention back onto one of the youngest criminal boys he’d ever laid eyes on. “Bribing someone to lie to cover up your tracks is another criminal offence and will just make things worse for you!”

“He hasn’t bribed me to do this!” Amelia cried out, frustration and anger underscoring her voice. She was outing herself and they didn’t believe her! The nerve of it! “And I’m not lying! What would I stand to gain by lying?!”

She was losing control, she could feel the tingling in the tips of her fingers, feel the tsunami of power rush through her body. Blue, glacial eyes barbed Sebastian’s brown ones, unreadable, but he nodded at her as if to say that losing control was what he needed from her. She nodded back, resolute in her power and unleashed all the emotion she had been suppressing since this ordeal started.

“You want proof?” she snarled, voice as glacial as her eyes were, and yet strong and intimidating at the same time. “I’ll give you irrefutable proof!”

The inferno inside her chest flared out of control, the air shifted, electric and alive as Amelia pointed her finger at Thomas McLaggen. There was a flash of light, silvery-blue, and when the dust settled, all that could be heard was scratching on the tiled floor and the occasional cluck. A fluff of feathers puffed into the air, sprinkling to the ground like confetti.

Eerie silence, save for the chicken’s outraged clucking, fell across the court room. Amelia whirled around as she heard badly stifled chuckling; Sebastian was still in the dock, wearing the same sardonically amused expression he had the first time they met in Marylebone Library and he took her by the hand and told her to run.

Good girl, Mia, he mouthed at her, flashing her his customary slow, crooked smile, the first genuine and heartfelt smile he had cracked all day. Her face twisted, not quite a grin, not quite a grimace, as she slowly backed out of the witness box and scuttled back into the safety of Eleazar Fig. Before the media could erupt at her unexpected show of magic, Fig shuttled her out of a side door of the court room and Apparated the pair of them back to his London townhouse.

From the upper echelons of the Wizengamot seating, Justus Pilliwickle cleared his throat, taking control over the Wizengamot since the Chief had morphed from a human into a Sunday roast. “Well, I think we can safely dismiss the charge of performance of magic in the Muggle community as Miss. Calloway is very clearly not a Muggle. All in favour, raise your hands.”

Sebastian’s eyes scoured the Wizengamot seating, his breath coming easier as nearly all the Wizengamot raised their hands. The most serious charge he was contending against had been withdrawn against him, and it was all thanks to Mia. He turned his attention to the public gallery, eyes trained on finding that swirl of auburn and purple, but he couldn’t pick her out of the throngs of people in the crowd.

“The Wizengamot has found you guilty of underage magic beyond the realm of educational purposes, but we concede that there are extenuating circumstances to your magic use, and we are aware of your… challenging familial circumstance and can empathise with how difficult this time must be for you, your sister and your parents at the moment. The Wizengamot also acknowledge that you are an extremely bright and talented young wizard, and we do not think it would be appropriate to prevent you from reaching your potential. The Wizengamot have deemed it appropriate to place you on probation.”

From his place in the dock, Sebastian swivelled his head to stare at his parents. What did being placed on probation mean? Was he going to be banned from Hogwarts? Was his wand going to be confiscated from him and held until he had proven himself to be a model citizen? Was he going to have a tail on him to ensure he was toeing the line, like a good wizard?

Neither Silas nor Emerys could answer their son; they had never heard of probation either. Sebastian’s case was the first of its kind, and novel cases derived novel consequences.

“You will still be permitted to attend Hogwarts and complete your education,” Justus continued, eyes trained on Sebastian. “However, your wand will be surrendered to your probation officer at the end of every day and you will collect it from them at breakfast the next morning until such time as the Wizengamot deem your probationary period to be fulfilled. Your wand will be scrutinised to ensure that you are not engaging in any questionable practices.”

Sebastian let out another breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He could continue going to Hogwarts. He wasn’t going to be sent to Azkaban; he had dodged a bullet in the best way possible and he had been given another chance – probably one he didn’t deserve – to make smarter choices.

“You will also need to complete 300 hours of community service between now and when you graduate Hogwarts, so you will need to average 100 hours of community service a year.”

Community service? That was easily done – having grown up in the Highlands, Sebastian knew that there were plenty of witches and wizards that needed help with odd jobs and less than desirable tasks.

“And to add as a deterrent to any future criminal activity, you will complete an additional week of community service in Azkaban before you start your fifth year at Hogwarts.”

“What?!” Emerys exploded, jumping to her feet and gesticulating wildly at the Wizengamot. Silas was outraged as well, but he was less demonstrative with his anger, choosing to cross his arms over his chest and work his jaw as he ruminated over the words he could use to convince the Wizengamot to change their mind.

“He’s just a boy! Sebastian’s my little boy; you can’t send him to Azkaban! I won’t let you send him to Azkaban! What kind of monstrous punishment is that?! If you want him punished, leave it up to me; I’m his mother and that’s my prerogative!”

And without thinking about the consequences for herself, Emerys clambered over the railing of the public gallery and climbed into the defendant’s dock with her son, standing in front of him with her arms wrapped around him, as if her body could act as a shield against the Wizengamot’s words. Her eyes glittered with resolution as she glared at the Wizengamot, challenging them to rip her son away from her.

“I understand the Wizengamot think they’re acting in the best interest of my son,” Silas’ voice rumbled through the room. “But this is not the answer. He is a fifteen year old boy, an impulsive, arrogant boy that does stupid things and doesn’t worry about the consequences of his actions, like most fifteen year old boys do.”

Thank you for the vote of confidence, Dad. Please, tell me what you really think of me.

“But Azkaban is not the answer for his transgressions. Azkaban will destroy the very essence of what makes Sebastian my son. Please, I implore you to reconsider your stance on this.”

Justus held a up forestalling hand, a sincere and understanding smile plastered on the bottom half of his face. “Sallow will not be going to Azkaban as a prisoner; he will not be subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss. He is merely going there to see where this delinquent pathway he’s been travelling on will take him. He will have his probationary officer and the protection of the Aurors of Azkaban with him at all times. In addition to that, Sebastian’s juvenile record will be expunged once he turns of age.”

“And who will his probationary officer be?” Silas questioned, wanting to know that the person entrusted with his son would protect him and guide him and keep him safe.

“The court will inform you once we have assigned an officer to him,” Justus reassured Silas and Emerys, a dark undercurrent of finality in his voice.

Not completely convinced, but also knowing when he was being dismissed, Silas sat back down, glaring daggers at the Wizengamot. Emerys was moving back to the public gallery, understanding that both she and Silas had lost the battle and the war they were fighting on Sebastian’s behalf, bristling with incandescant rage at the verdict.

“What happens to me now, then, Wizengamot Pilliwickle?” Sebastian asked, once more shooting a furtive look at his parents and sister in the public gallery. This was not the outcome any of them were hoping for, but they could all agree that community service and probation was better than a life sentence in Azkaban. There was nothing for Sebastian and his family to do except make the best out of a bad situation.

“You will be released into the care of your parents for tonight. Tomorrow morning, Aurors will escort you to a Portkey that will take you to Azkaban – your probationary officer will meet you there. At the end of the week, a Portkey will be arranged for you to be transported to Kings Cross, in time for you to catch the Hogwarts Express back to school. Your wand will be retained by your probationary officer until your first breakfast at Hogwarts.”

Sebastian let the words sink in, the weight of it pushing down on his shoulders and causing him to slump, hand running through his hair in a show of anxiousness. The blood rushed through his ears but he nodded slowly, understanding the grace and small act of mercy the Wizengamot had shown him, even though it didn’t feel like it. The hubbub of the media felt distant and muffled, a buzzing constant in his ear.

His parents sat behind him, silent and stoic as the outcome of his trial hit home; it was painful to see the disappointment etched onto their face so Sebastian averted his eyes to his sister. Anne was looking at him, her caramel eyes a mix of pity and relief; it sent a prickly, uncomfortable feeling down his back so he pivoted and turned back to face the Wizengamot.

“That will be all for now; the Wizengamot is terminated.” Justus tapped the bench in front of him with his wand and the members of the Wizengamot began to file out of the doors they had entered through. “Court is adjourned, and you are dismissed.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly, fingers running through hair that was standing on end due to the number of times he had tugged and pulled at it. His knees knocked and his legs felt like they were made of jelly, but he straightened his back and forced himself to walk out of the defendant’s dock with a semblance of confidence he didn’t really have. As he made his way to the doors he had entered through, he could feel Silas’, Emerys’ and Anne’s eyes drill holes into him – hope, worry, concern and disappointment – all tangled up in their gaze.

The trial may have been over, but for Sebastian, the weight of what came next was settling in.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 16th August, 1882

“Ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred! Ready or not, here I come!”

Silas Sallow delighted in hearing the childish shriek of his seven year old son call across their backyard as he weeded the lavender and rose garden he had planted for Emerys when they first moved into their Aranshire home. Both he and Emerys were home for the summer holidays, relishing in the days that they could spend with their son and daughter. The years were going by too quick for Silas’ liking; one moment, Anne and Sebastian had been wrinkly, wailing scraps that could slumber easily on the expanse of his chest, the next they were teasing, tormenting and playing with each other like there was no tomorrow.

At seven years old, Sebastian was a bundle of chaos and energy, a tangle of arms and legs as he bolted impatiently around the garden and Aranshire, playing a game of hide-and-seek with Anne to keep them both entertained. He dashed out of the orchard that grew in a corner of their backyard, mouth smeared pink from all the strawberries and raspberries he had eaten while counting to one hundred, his white, short-sleeved shirt showing the stains of dirt from where he had been hiding in the fertiliser barrel when Anne had been looking for him.

“You haven’t stripped the plants off their fruit, have you, son?” Silas sighed, wiping Sebastian’s face clean with the tails of his shirt. The sun shone down on them; Silas noted how vibrant and rich his son’s colouring was, just like his mother’s, and he booped his son on the nose, as he always did when it was just him and Sebastian. Sebastian’s nose crinkled upwards at the contact, freckles merging into one brown smear and he giggled, throwing his arms around his father’s neck. Silas pulled his boy tight, nuzzling the top of his head.

“Seb, you should probably find Anne quickly and then you need to find somewhere to hide, not from Anne, but from your mother. Merlin help you when she realises there’s no berries left for the Victoria sponge she’s making because you’ve eaten them all.” Silas tickled Sebastian’s tummy, eliciting more giggles and chirrups out of the boy.

“Have you seen Anne, Daddy?” Sebastian asked as he squirmed and wriggled with all the tickling Silas was doing.

“I have, but telling you would defeat the purpose of the game, son. Go on, on with you,” Silas said, nudging his son towards their home. Anne had darted past him while Sebastian was counting through the twenties and he had seen her head towards the cellar.

Sebastian got the hint and spindled around the foundations, looking through the lavender bushes, peering up the oak trees to see if Anne had climbed up the branches. He must have been looking for nearly half an hour, becoming more and more dejected as the minutes ticked by and he couldn’t find her. Hide-and-seek was more her game than it was his; she had this habit for finding spots that no-one else would think of looking in and she had the patience of a saint, able to wait until the seeker gave up. He searched high and low for his sister, scouring the little nooks and crannies inside their home, peering under the beds and in the kitchen cupboards before heading out the back door towards the cellar library. His mother was busy in the kitchen with her baking, shooing him out of the way as he got underfoot.

That was when he heard it; a small laugh coming from the roof of the house. Sebastian glowered at the ground; he could see Anne’s shadow dance around the edge of the roof. Of course Anne was hiding somewhere he couldn’t access; he would have done it too if the shoe was on the other foot, but it just wasn’t fair!

Anne had come into her magic a few months ago; she could jump and leap and pirouette in ways that would make trained ballerinas jealous, as graceful as a swan gliding through the air. Sebastian was still waiting to see if he was magic too, but that hadn’t eventuated. Of course it was his luck to be the Squib in a family full of magic, of course it was him that would only be able to live half a life, unable to live the way his parents had, the way Anne would and unable to be loved by his parents the way they would love Anne. Of course he was the defective Sallow of the bunch. The frustration of the situation made his blood boil, he could hear it pounding through his heart and rushing through his ears. Well, he’d show Anne! He’d make his way up onto the roof and prove to her, prove to everyone that he was just as capable as her, even without magic.

There was a trellis with climbing ivy stapled to the back wall of their stone house. Sebastian craned his neck up to see how high he would have to climb, despite his mother’s voice ringing in his ears telling him not to do this. He placed one foot on the wooden lattice, and used his arms to hoist himself up, ignoring the stinging sensation that seared across his skin every time his arms or legs brushed against the ivy leaves. His muscles ached as he passed his bedroom window, left open so the breeze could cool his room down, and he contemplated hiding in there until Anne had realised he had stopped looking for her, but knowing that Anne would constantly rub in the fact that he had given up grated on his pride. Gritting his teeth with renewed vigour, Sebastian pushed forward, eventually dragging himself up onto the roof.

“You little cheat, Annie!” Sebastian snarled, eyes narrowed into slits and hands curling into fists as he stormed towards Anne. “You know you’re not supposed to use your magic when we play together! It’s not fair that you can use magic to help you and I can’t!”

Anne, to her credit, had the decency to look slightly ashamed of herself. She worried her lip, teeth gnawing anxiously on the pink flesh as her irate older brother advanced on her. The hair from her braids unravelled as she held up her hands in surrender. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to use her magic, especially since Sebastian had none, but she didn’t think he’d be so upset and angry at her for doing so.

“I’m not playing with you anymore!” Sebastian declared, stomping his foot on the tiles of the roof before turning away from her. While he had managed to climb his way up onto the roof, he hadn’t thought about how to get back down again. He peered over the edge - it was a long way back down – and sat down, legs dangling over the roof.

Strained silence filled the air. Anne had never seen her twin so inconsolable before; she had never really taken the time to empathise with his plight. It must have been difficult to watch his sibling grow and change in ways he couldn’t relate to, to feel like an outsider in his own family, and that realisation made something inside of Anne twinge. She came and sat down next to him, folding her legs underneath her like butterfly wings as she wrapped one arm around his waist and nestled her neck against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Seb,” she murmured, and Anne wasn’t sure if she was apologising for cheating while playing hide-and-seek, or apologising for the fact that she was magical and he was not.

In her seven years of being a mother, Emerys Sallow had learnt that a quiet house was an apprehensive house. Her children were rambunctious and noisy and when it was quiet, she knew they were up to no good. Aside from Sebastian tumbling through her kitchen, opening up every cupboard door he could reach and not closing it again, she had seen hair nor hide from either of her children, a fact that made the hair on Emerys’ neck stand up on end.

The batter for the Victoria sponge she was making was in the oven – it was one of Sebastian’s favourite cakes and he had been down, ever since Anne’s magic had come in and his hadn’t; Emerys was hoping the little treat would perk him up – the cream had been whipped and she had set glacius over bowl so it didn’t spoil. All that was left was for her to go into the orchard and collect berries for the filling. With a flick of her wand, Emerys had the scrubber cleaning the dishes she had used and she sauntered into the garden, pausing to run her hand over the nape of Silas’ neck as she walked by him. Silas rose to his feet, plucked some lavender stalks and pruned some roses from the bushes he was tending to, and with a kiss to her cheek, he pressed the bouquet into his wife’s hands.

Emerys blushed, sniffing the aroma of the flowers. Even after being married to her husband for fifteen years, his romantic gestures, no matter how small, managed to sweep her off her feet.

“Have you seen the children lately, Silas?”

“They were playing hide-and-seek about half an hour ago, like I told them to so they could stay out of trouble and out of the way of your baking.”

“It’s suspiciously quiet,” Emerys frowned, dark eyes scanning the environment around them as she tried to locate their son and daughter.

“The hamlet is safe enough, Emerys,” Silas reassured her, standing on tiptoe to press another kiss on her cheek. “Seb and Anne are high-spirited, but they aren’t malicious and if something happens to them, we know that they’ll be dropped off back home by anyone in the area.”

Emerys nodded, only half an ear listening to Silas as her eyes caught sight of a pair of legs, rashy and swollen, dangling over the edge of their roof.

“Silas,” she began, voice airy, conversational and light and barely containing the ire that was rising within her. “Did you give them permission to play hide-and-seek on our rooftop?”

“Of course not!” Silas blustered and scowled at Emerys, taking umbrage at her words. “That’s so dangerous! What kind of father do you take me for?!”

Emerys scowled back as she raked a hand through her chocolate brown locks in frustration, gesticulating wildly to the sky. “Then why, in Merlin’s good name, are our son and daughter up there?!”

The sponge was forgotten and had burnt in the oven, the whipped cream had deflated and clotted, and all notion of making a treat for her family lay by the wayside after she and Silas had discovered their children had scaled their roof.

After the siblings had been accio’d down from the roof, Anne had been tasked with sweeping the detritus from Emerys’ baking spree and cleaning out the oven by hand as her penance for using her magic, without supervision, and using it in a way that was reckless and risky and had caused Silas’ eyes to bug out of his head, his blood pressure to skyrocket and his hair to turn from umber to grey. Sebastian was being tended to by Emerys; his skin was swollen with pus-filled blisters from where the stings had scraped along his skin as he climbed the trellis. Not that his injuries were stopping Emerys from ripping strips off him as she coated his welts in calamine and lavender lotion.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, climbing the lattice like that! You could have fallen off the roof, slipped on the trellis and broken your neck! You could have died!” Emerys raged as she dabbed at his wounds, applying slightly more pressure than she would have done if she had been a smidge calmer.

Sebastian grunted in pain at his mother’s ministrations and he glared intensely at the bouquet of flower Silas had placed in a vase on their dining room for his wife. How come he was being yelled at when it was Anne who started the entire drama? She was the one that went onto the roof in the first place, she was the one that cheated at their game and that resulted in him scaling the side of the house to get to her. How was any of it his fault?! What was he meant to do?! Give up and scuttle away with his tail between his legs just because he was the broken boy with no magic?!

“You’re meant to tell your father or myself instead of putting your life at risk!” Emerys growled, motherhood masquerading as clairvoyance as she knew exactly what her son was thinking. “Not take it upon yourself to join your sister two storeys up in the sky!”

The blood bubbled beneath the surface of Sebastian’s skin, cheeks growing ruddy and his sable eyes darkened hard and glittered like obsidian. He chewed furiously on his tongue so he didn’t say anything that would land him in even more hot water with his mother, biting down on the muscle so hard he drew blood. He growled as Emerys dabbed some more lotion on the weals on his legs and his gaze blazed as red as the roses in the bouquet were.

Out of nowhere, the flowers burst into flames, heat and smoke filling the downstairs of the Sallow homestead. From where he was supervising Anne’s cleaning of the oven, Silas swished his wand through the air, muttered “agumenti” to put out the fire and turned his eyes to his son, head tilted to the head in contemplation, a small smile gracing his lips as he remembered the fears Emerys had in regards to Sebastian just after his birth.

Emerys had always harboured a modicum of guilt that their son would be a Squib, and that it was her doing as she was the Muggleborn between them. Silas had done his best to try and assuage her misconceptions, assure her that whether their son was magic or Muggle, it wouldn’t change the deep love he felt for him and for her, had always felt for her since he first started courting her in their fifth year at Hogwarts. He knew that Emerys was always scared that Silas would shun them both – she had admitted as much to him when the twins were newborns – and having been loving her, growing his family with her, Silas was confident that if Sebastian never came into magic, they would cope as best as they could and help him adapt to life without magic in a magical world.

But it appeared that Emerys’ fears could be laid to rest, and a small coil of tension Silas didn’t even know had manifested in the base of his spine unravelled.

Unless he was very much mistaken, Sebastian was the reason the flowers in the vase on the dining room table had spontaneously combusted, the charred petals confetti-ing to the ground in a celebration of sorcery.

Sebastian Sallow, at the tender age of seven and 10 months, had finally come into his magic.

Sleeping in his own bed – despite how small it was for him since Silas still hadn’t transfigured his child bed into one suitable for a teenager – was a delight after spending the past three weeks sleeping on a wooden pallet bench and one a teenaged Sebastian Sallow did not want to leave.

He could feel his father insistently shaking his shoulder, but Sebastian had never been a morning person, and he simply grunted, burrowed his head under the pillow and pulled his doona over his head.

“Seb, time to get up, son,” Silas said, using his wand to flick the doona away from him. “Your mother has breakfast on the table for you before the Aurors get here.”

“Not hungry,” Sebastian grumbled and rolled onto his stomach so he could go back to sleep.

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not, Sebastian. You’re going to get yourself dressed and you’re going to go downstairs and spend the remainder of the morning with your mother and your sister until the Aurors come to take you to Azkaban.” The steely note in Silas’ voice brokered no room for argument.

Sebastian groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his bleary eyes and using his fingers to try and comb the unruly mess of curls into something manageable. He didn’t want to leave his warm, cosy bed, but the love he held for his mother overpowered his own selfish desire. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“I’m timing you.” Silas opened the lid of the pocket watch Samuel Sallow had willed to him upon his demise, knowing Sebastian well enough to know that he would just flop back onto the mattress and snooze the morning away unless he was held accountable to his words. “Five minutes.”

The door closed gently behind Silas – he was never one for slamming doors like Emerys and Sebastian were – and Sebastian pulled a clean shirt from his wardrobe over his head, tucking the shirt into his pants and sliding the suspenders over his shoulder. Suitably attired, he stumbled his way down to the dining room table.

Emerys was there, sipping from a cup of peppermint and spearmint tea to soothe her nerves at her son starting his community service in the most notorious of Wizard prisons. She had piled a plate up high of his favourite foods; scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, hash browns and a bowl of berries with vanilla ice-cream. The scent of a freshly baked Victoria sponge lingered in the air, icing sugar coating the table in a fine layer of snow.

Sebastian could feel something inside of him soften as he looked at the effort his mother had made just for him, and he knew he didn’t deserve it. Not after everything he had put his entire family through over the summer holiday. He poured himself a cup of tea that had been brewing on the stove – a strong Assam tea with a splash of milk in it, just what he needed to fortify himself for the day ahead – wrapped his mother up in a hug that conveyed the myriad of emotion he felt towards her – love, respect, regret, just to name a few – and sat down to eat. He had told his father that he wasn’t hungry, but that was a lie; he ate like a man who had been starved because for the past three weeks, he had been starved. As he shovelled food into his mouth, cheeks bulging, Emerys reached for his arm and pulled out some calamine and lavender lotion.

She rolled the sleeve of his shirt up and held his right arm in place, massaging the cicatrices he had carved into himself while he was remanded in custody with the soothing cream.

“The scarring is getting better,” she murmured, pressing lightly on the puckered tissue. Sebastian nodded; while the marks would never completely disappear, the skin around his scars was becoming more malleable and less stiff. It itched less and didn’t feel as tight when the tendons and ligaments moved underneath his skin.

“Sebastian, promise me you won’t ever hurt yourself like this again.” Emerys held her son’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing his brown eyes to meet hers, searching for nothing but radical honesty in them when he nodded his head slowly. “You don’t need to punish yourself this way; it hurts me to see you deliberately hurt yourself.”

“I understand,” Sebastian said slowly, choosing his words carefully so he wasn’t making a promise he knew he couldn’t keep. Emerys narrowed her eyes; understanding wasn’t the same as promising, and Sebastian was always using his words to charm and manipulate a conversation to his will, but she couldn’t ruminate on what his motives were as there was a sharp rap on the door.

The Aurors were here to take Sebastian away; Emerys would not see her boy until the Christmas holidays as he was going to go straight on the Hogwarts Express after his stint in Azkaban was complete.

Silas beat Emerys to the door. “Aesop! What an unexpected visit!”

“Official business, I’m afraid,” Aesop Sharp grumbled, passing a furled up piece of parchment to Silas and Emerys. “I’m here for the boy; the Portkey to Azkaban will leave in forty minutes and as his probation officer, I need to brief him on what to expect when we get there.”

“You’re his probation officer?” Emerys echoed, and at Aesop’s slow nod she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, not realising how uncomfortable that was making Aesop Sharp. He patted her on the back and cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes darting around so he could look anywhere but at Emerys Sallow.

“Thank you, Aesop! I know you’ll look out for my boy.”

“I must say,” Aesop commented as he gestured at Sebastian to get the bag that contained everything he would need for his week in prison. “I’m surprised the pair of you didn’t appeal or petition the court regarding his sentence.”

“We considered it,” Silas said, holding Emerys’ hand in his. “But community service within the Highlands is probably just, and we realised that it would take longer for us to appeal the Azkaban part of his sentence than it would be for him to just complete it.”

“And there are no guarantees that the appeal will work in our favour,” Emerys added, sighing and squeezing Silas’ hands in anxiety, a motion that didn’t go undetected by Aesop Sharp. “It was just as likely that the appeal could have Sebastian spending more time in Azkaban than him not having to go there, and to be quite frank, that was not something we wanted to gamble with. Five days, as horrific as I think it will be for him, is nothing in the grand scheme of life.”

Aesop nodded slowly, blinking as Sebastian appeared in front of him. “Time to go, Sallow. Say your goodbyes; I’ll wait for you outside.”

Sebastian had been in the Auror’s care for half an hour, listening intently as Aesop Sharp whittled through the rules and regulations of Azkaban prison as they walked through the woods to get to their Portkey. As a minor, Sebastian was not allowed to venture through the prison halls on his own – he would always have to be escorted by an Auror – and that was something Sebastian was eager to abide by. Aesop had cautioned that the Dementors of Azkaban weren’t very forgiving, and once a Kiss was delivered, it was impossible to undo that. Sebastian knew from his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes that a Dementor’s Kiss was a fate worse than death and he was keen to avoid it.

Sebastian was not to interact with any of the prisoners unless it had been authorised by the Aurors of Azkaban; clear boundaries between him and inmates had to be maintained. There was to be no physical contact between him and prisoners, nor was there to be any unregulated, unmonitored conversation. All in the interest of protecting Sebastian, Aesop had explained. There were many Dark Witches and Wizards imprisoned in Azkaban and if Sebastian revealed too much about himself or his family, he might inadvertently make them a target for the organised crime syndicates of the Magical world.

Both men would be subjected to a full body cavity search to ensure that they weren’t smuggling contraband into the prison walls, a prospect that neither Sebastian or Aesop was looking forward to.

“And no funny remarks,” Aesop had warned with a growl in his voice. Word travelled fast around the Auror office and he had heard the quip Sebastian had made to the Aurors as they escorted him to his trial. “Keep your mouth shut and take whatever comes your way.”

Sebastian swallowed, throat drier than the Sahara desert, and nodded his understanding. The reality of what he was about to enter was hitting him like slaps across his face.

“Last but not least,” Aesop advised as they reached their Portkey. It was an abandoned scarf lying on the floor of the forest, half obscured by mud and moss. Had Aesop not told him they were heading towards a Portkey, Sebastian wouldn’t have looked twice at it, but at Aesop’s instruction, his fingers grasped the tasselled fringe of the cloth.

“Think about your happiest memory.”

Well, that was easy. The day his magic came in was Sebastian’s happiest memory so far, and it elated him every time he thought about it. That was the day he realised he wasn’t the defective little Sallow boy; he was just like his parents and his sister and he had worth in the magical world. That was the day his confidence – not to mention an ego the size of the Tsarist Empire – started to grow, and he became more comfortable with who he was and being in his own skin.

“Hold it in your mind and never let it go. It will be the only way you’ll get through this with a semblance of your sanity intact.”

Chapter Text

Even though he was a Scotsman through and through, and even though it was summer, the Arctic wind cut through him and froze the marrow in Sebastian’s bones. Aesop Sharp clapped his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, and in a show of compassion, he fashioned a scarf out of some shells on the beach they were on. Sebastian nodded his thanks and wound the material around his neck, turtling into it to keep him warm.

Aesop Sharp had explained that the Portkey would take them as far north as possible, up to the Shetland Islands, but they would have to row the rest of the way to Azkaban; there were too many anti-Apparition wards and Portkey prohibitions on the fortress to prevent easy access to the prison.

“It will be cold on the boat ride there. Dress warmly and if you have sunglasses, bring them with you. We’re going so far north the sun rarely sets. The near constant daylight wreaks havoc with your sleep patterns,” Sharp advised as he pulled his coat and eyewear out of his black, leather holdall. Sebastian rummaged through his cloth satchel, manoeuvring his arms and legs through as many jumpers and pants as he could until he looked like the Michelin Man.

Sharp gracefully stepped into the boat and pulled his shades on over his eyes, summoning a copy of The Daily Prophet to read on the four hour boat ride over to Azkaban. Sebastian, nervous and apprehensive at the prospect of Azkaban, tripped over his own feet and stacked it into the boat, head hitting the wooden bench he was meant to sit on. The waves chopped, the seas were rough and Sebastian’s stomach churned; the little, wooden dinghy didn’t seem like it could survive. One rogue wave could capsize them, and Sebastian wasn’t overly keen on water; he was a strong swimmer, having learnt how to swim from his grandfather, but he just didn’t enjoy it as much as he enjoyed Quidditch.

“Settle in, we have a ways to go,” Aesop said, tapping his wand against the side of the boat to get it moving and flicking open his paper, holding it aloft so he couldn’t be seen.

Azkaban consisted of three towers that appeared to ascend into clouds, a fortress made of rock and iron that was impossible to penetrate and cast an intimidating shadow onto the two men as they approached the structure. Sebastian shivered involuntarily and he shrunk into himself as Sharp steered him towards the portcullis of the prison.

The starkness of Azkaban juxtaposed against the warmth of his family home was jarring to Sebastian. Even without being anywhere near Dementors, he could feel the chill of despair cloak around him in a cloying fashion. Beside him, Aesop Sharp grimaced, gripping at his leg that ached and throbbed even more, and frogmarched him inside to where an Auror was waiting for them.

“Keziah Kendelway,” she introduced herself brusquely, thrusting out a scarred, gnarled hand under their noses as hardened green eyes appraised them, as though she was judging their worth and what they would bring to the table, whether they would be a help or a hindrance to her running of the prison. Her brittle, grey hair was pulled into a tight French braid that was then twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck and her skin was wrinkled like old leather and tinged grey. It appeared that any life she had was sucked out of her a long time ago. “Team Leader of the Aurors of Azkaban. I’ll be overseeing your time with us.”

“Aesop Sharp, and this is my probationer, Sebastian Sallow.”

Keziah’s eyes swivelled to Sebastian, noting the slight tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes stayed trained on the ground, the way he tried to hide himself from view and shrink into himself. Azkaban did that to people; took the light and life out of them, and it was a pity that it was happening to a boy so young.

“Don’t feel sorry for him, Kendelway,” Sharp counselled, voice as sharp as serrated glass. “Don’t coddle him; show him the realities of this place so he learns that he must stop doing what he’s doing so he can avoid this fate!”

“You take no prisoners, do you, Sharp?”

“I don’t need to take prisoners; that’s what Azkaban’s for.”

There was a beat of silence as Aesop held Keziah’s eye, stern and tough meeting stern and tough, and Keziah let out a chuckle, a dry, husky noise. It was as if she hadn’t laughed in decades and was relearning how to do so. She wiped the tears that had formed in her eyes. “Oh, I needed that. I haven’t laughed that hard since being stationed here.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened in panic. The small chuckle he had heard was laughing hard?! What was this place going to do to him? Five days at Azkaban had seemed feasible when he had been sentenced by the Wizengamot; now it was an insurmountable fight for his survival.

“Right, let’s get to business.” Keziah pulled out a clipboard with her induction checklist on it. “Name, age and date of birth?”

“Sebastian Silas Sallow, fifteen years old, born 29th October 1874.”

Keziah’s eyebrows raised so high they climbed off the top of her head. Offenders younger than seventeen were few and far between; she had been the prison warden of Azkaban for nearly two decades and the youngest prisoner she had to process upon their arrival had been twenty years old.

“Wand properties? Wood, length and core?”

“Willow sapwood, eleven and a half inches, dragon heartstring core.”

The quill scratched along the parchment and Aesop was amused by the aptness of Sebastian’s wand, corners of his mouth lilting up in a subtle smile. Willows were synonymous with sallow trees; the wand really did choose its wizard.

“Boy, what corporeal Patronus do you produce?”

Sebastian spared Aesop a glance, confused brown eyes connecting with Sharp’s black irises. “Sallow completed his fourth year at Hogwarts in July; he hasn’t learnt the Patronus Charm yet.”

“Well, can’t let you past reception without learning that. Dementors will make mincemeat out of you without your defences in place.” Keziah threw the clipboard down on the desk and turned on her heel. “Notify me when you’ve figured it out and we’ll continue with the induction.”

Aesop nodded and cleared his throat, fully focussed on Sebastian. He pulled out Sebastian’s wand from his pocket and handed it to the boy. Sebastian accepted, a warmth spreading through his extremities as he reconnected with his wand. Being away from it had left him vulnerable; holding it in his hand was embracing a close friend he had missed.

“The Patronus Charm is incredibly complex magic,” Aesop explained. “Students don’t learn this until their N.E.W.T.s, and even then a lot of them struggle with it. The fact that you have shown an incredible, but misspent, aptitude for magic will aid you in this endeavour.”

That felt like a backhanded compliment to Sebastian.

“The words are expecto patronum, but the most important part of this is that you need to hold your happiest memory in your mind. It is a feat easier said than done, and I do not expect you to succeed on your first try.”

“How does a Patronus Charm protect me from Dementors?” Sebastian asked, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“Dementors like dark and dank, they feed off misery and thrive on insanity. Dementors strip the humanity and the individuality away from a person, rendering that person into nothing more than an uncloaked version of a Dementor. A Patronus contains so much energy that gets converted into light and kinetics, the brightest, most luminescent light and movement with a fluidity you can only get when you ice-skate and acts as a shield protecting you. Dementors cannot break through that; it would scorch their very being if they did.”

Bushy brown eyebrows tugged into a frown. It made sense to Sebastian, but it also didn’t make sense at all. If a Patronus was just light energy, why couldn’t lumos dispel the Dementors, like it did Devil's Snare? Surely that would be just as effective – not to mention more successful – than the Patronus Charm?

“You’re thinking of Muggle Physics, the notion of energy being converted into tangible concepts like light and sound and chemistry and movement. A Patronus Charm relies on the metaphysical as well as the physical; abstract concepts like emotion and identity that get converted into energy too, and that is what makes it so powerful against Dementors. What I said before holds true; you must hold that happy memory in your head, untainted by any misery for your Patronus to be most effective.”

Sebastian nodded, and with the muttered incantation and a jerk of his wrist, managed to produce a fine wisp of silver that dissipated almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Not bad for a beginner,” Aesop praised, moving behind his charge to make some small changes to Sebastian’s stance and wand movement. Sebastian couldn’t help but remember that this was what he was doing to Amelia all those weeks ago when he was teaching her the basics of magic… but he couldn’t think about her, not when the memories were light and he didn’t want to sully them with the horrors of Azkaban, so he pushed her out of his mind.

“The movement isn’t a jerk of your wrist, it’s more of a flick. Loosen your grip on your wand ever so slightly and lock your elbow into place. And you must maintain focus on your memory; the moment you lose focus, you lose your Patronus and the Dementors will feast on you.”

The teenager’s second attempt was better; the mist that came out of his wand was more defined, the start of a shape taking place. Sebastian gasped and blinked and the moment was gone. Aesop shrugged at Sebastian’s disappointed look, as if to say I said you weren’t getting this on your first try.

“One more try,” Sebastian gritted out, determination as resolute as his stubbornness as his eyes screwed shut. “I’m going to get this done!”

Silvery jets shot out of the tip of his wand; the beating of wings could be heard as Sebastian’s Patronus soared into the air before diving down to rest on his shoulder, a sharp screech piercing the stagnant air. His Patronus was not what he had expected, but somehow managed to suit him all the same.

“An eagle,” Sharp commented with raised eyebrows and mild amusement. “Unusual for a Slytherin – we tend more towards the reptiles, not the birds. Must be your father coming out in you.”

“What does your Patronus look like, Auror Sharp?”

Aesop hesitated. His Patronus had taken on many forms over the years; he had started out as a rattlesnake, but that changed when he had lost Emerys to Silas. His rattlesnake transformed into a lynx, an intelligent but lonesome animal that only needed one other companion as their friend, that enjoyed travelling off the beaten path. Aesop Sharp’s lynx had served him well through most of his Auror adventures, but since the night of the raid where he had been cursed and Persephone – his partner in work, and the substitute that filled the hole in his heart losing Emerys had caused – had died, there wasn’t enough happiness within him to conjure up a corporeal Patronus. The best he could muster was a foggy smoke until someone more fortunate than him could assist him.

“It doesn’t matter what my Patronus is. What matters is that we continue to work on and hone this skill of yours. Producing a Patronus on its own is one thing; it is an entirely different kettle of fish when you have Dementors bearing down on you, and the only way to develop this is to be exposed to Dementors.”

Aesop sent up a flurry of sparks with his wand; Keziah and two other Aurors returned to the reception area, ready to pick up where they left off.

Travelling to Azkaban and the induction process had taken up most of the day; it was late afternoon by the time Sebastian and Aesop had undergone the appropriate security checks and had been registered into Azkaban. The guarding of the prison cells was left to the Dementors, it transpired, and there were only ever three Aurors on sight at any given time; the Aurors were ensure that orders from the Ministry were enforced and enacted by the Dementors, conduct perimeter checks on the premises, and to ensure that the basic needs of prisoners were met. This included getting one meal a day and one shower a week, things that Dementors wouldn’t consider since they had no need for cleanliness and they devoured whatever memories the prisoners gave them. Sebastian had been allocated a list of tasks that he was to complete every day to help out the Aurors of Azkaban and he was starting with meal delivery.

Sebastian was of the opinion that the food he had been provided while he was remanded in custody had been ‘slop’, but when he saw the food – if it could be called that – that he was expected to deliver to the inmates of Azkaban, he promptly decided that he had been spoilt in jail and given a banquet instead of liquid and bones of an indeterminate nature.

“Stay close, Sebastian,” Aesop growled as they prowled the damp, musty hallways together. “Some of these prisoners have gone stark raving mad; who knows what they’ll do and how they’ll react to you.”

Sebastian muttered his assent, swallowing as his Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down, practically pressing his torso into Aesop Sharp’s back. His eyes darted to the iron grates of the cell and he saw the manacles bolted to the stone wall. On the ground was an inmate, clad in torn grey and black striped pyjamas, screaming in agony and clawing at their scalp so much they were peeling skin and sinew from their skull. On the other side was another prisoner, calmly smashing his head on the iron bars of the cell door, blood and bone fragments spurting into the corridor. Another emaciated mess stared blankly at Sebastian as he walked by, licking her lips with an outstretched arm, catcalling at him as she tried to grab onto him.

“You chained me in here, you bastard!” There was an irate roar from a cell, shortly followed by the sound of crashing. Sebastian could only assume the prisoner was calling out to Aesop Sharp. “You’ll die for your sins if I get out of here!”

The sconces on the wall flickered ominously as the walls towered over them. The air, which was chilled, took on a distinct note of freezing and howled around them. The Dementors, who had been floating around high up near the rafters of the structure, dove down towards Aesop and Sebastian.

Fear gripped at his chest, an icicle piercing every breath Sebastian drew in. There were voices in his head, a ferocious ache in his heart. His arms were like lead, far too heavy for him to lift up his wand of his own accord and cast a Patronus. His eyes clouded over, adrenaline draining from his body as he collapsed to the floor, freezing and shivering, curling up into a ball and he let the darkness consume him.

A scream, strangled and high pitched, notes of terror and pain all rolled into one, a malcontent melody as the soundtrack to their lives. Men in masks of Death throwing babies and toddlers around like footballs. The crunch of bones grinding on each other. The screams of women as they were dragged like sacks of potatoes around the village, their powerless sobs interspersed by the sound of cloth ripping. Grunts and moans and wails blending together, a kaleidoscope of catastrophe.

Smoke and the stench of scared permeated the stale air cloaking them. Choking them, it was next to impossible to breathe as they watched from the outskirts. Spells and charms and curses volleying back and forth across the hamlet, a macabre fireworks display of red, green, blue, purple and orange lighting up the night sky.

Eight hairy legs. Two of them rearing up over the back of Silas Sallow as he defended the hamlet, Emerys loyal as ever by his side, firing off defensive spell after defensive spell. Fangs dripping with venom. A swift bow from the arachnid, piercing Emerys’ spine as easily as a knife sliding through butter. A pained howl as Emerys’ knees crumpled underneath her, Silas immediately falling to her side to tend to her, oblivious to all the other peril around them.

A flash of green light. A cackle of laughter. A scruffy beard and a top hat.

The clatter of Samuel Sallow’s wand as it hit the ground, rolling out of his lax hands. The thud of Samuel Sallow’s body hitting the permafrost of Feldcroft, eyes dead and unmoving, staring blankly into a future that had been robbed of him.

“Anne! No! It’s too dangerous for you! You’re my responsibility and I’m telling you to stay here!”

The thundering of feet past him, the material of Anne’s dress slipping through his fingers like silk.

A harsh laugh, smile of teeth pointed to razor blades, the point of a gnarled finger as Anne lay on the ground, cowering after tripping over the hem of her dress. Vines of red travelling her way, a bullet hitting their mark as she shrieked and writhed around on the floor in agony. The sharp, staccato stabs that attacked his skin like a million bees stinging him at once.

“Children should be seen and not heard!”

There was wet on his face, acrid and burning, Sebastian realised as he came to, and he woke up in a splatter of his own vomit. Tears had trickled down his face and dried on his cheeks, he could taste the salt of it and he wondered when he had been crying. Embarrassment flushed through him at his weakness and he shivered once more, scrubbing his face with his hands. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the back of his neck, warily eyeing up the four pairs of eyes that were peering down at him.

“What happened?” Sebastian asked as he sat up, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Dementors,” Aesop ground out, pacing furiously around the compound. “I held them off as long as I could. Keziah and the others came by just as I was about to lose my control with them.”

One of the other Aurors – the one that had searched Sebastian to the nth degree earlier in the day – handed him a bar of chocolate. “Eat it all. It will help. Then straight to bed with you. You’ll need time to recuperate after that and you’ll be at it again tomorrow.”

Sebastian nodded and pulled his limbs tighter into his body. He waited for the crowd to disperse – after making sure that Sebastian was alright, Keziah and the remaining Auror of Azkaban withdrew – and bowed his head in shame at Aesop.

“That was quite the reaction, Sebastian,” Aesop commented, snapping off a square of chocolate and forcing it through Sebastian’s lips. “Not what I expected at all. It might be beneficial if you talk me through it; we can strategise how to turn it into a strength in here, not a weakness.”

“No.”

No way was Sebastian going to relive one of his worst memories. That was going with him to his grave; he had already gone through it once, he had no desire to rehash it with someone who could never understand what that night was like for him, to know that it was his incompetence and ineptitude that allowed his little sister to be cursed. His once warm brown eyes stared at the cobbles of the floor, unblinking and unmoving.

“Then remember what I said before. For your sanity, focus on your happy memories.”

Sebastian rolled away from Aesop to stare out of the window, dead behind the eyes.

After everything he had done, everything he was culpable for, how was he meant to focus on those memories?

One thing was for sure.

There was no happiness for him anymore.

Chapter Text

The days subsequent to the trial had been an overwhelming crash course in the Magical World and Eleazar had shown Amelia just how much he cared for her in such a short period of time; any doubts that Anne had put into her mind regarding his motives towards her dissipated the evening after court when she saw and experienced how he treated her.

After dropping her bombshells in Sebastian’s trial, Fig had promptly whirled them back to the safety of his home. He had sat with her at the dining room table where they had eaten breakfast that morning, holding her as she unravelled as the enormity of what she had done hit her.

She had turned a very powerful but foul man into fowl. A small price to pay to help Sebastian, but she fretted at the fallout of her magic. Eleazar had held her tight, comforting her and reassuring her that nothing negative would come to pass for her – there were Healers at St. Mungo’s that would figure out a way to undo the magic she had performed, once again reiterating the need for her to learn how to control her power so she didn’t overpopulate the Wizarding World with livestock every time she lost her temper. It wasn’t the time or the place to mention it, but Eleazar had noted how Amelia looked to Sebastian for guidance before she unleashed her magic on the Chief Wizengamot – that was something he would need to tap into when it to teaching Amelia to manage her Ancient Magic. There was some sort of connection the teens had formed with each other in such a short period of time, a bond forged between them that was unlikely to be replicated with anyone else. Even if the two of them hadn’t realised it yet, Amelia needed Sebastian just as much as Sebastian needed her.

There was still the remnants of guilt she felt over hearing Sebastian’s guilty verdict, but Fig had put things into perspective, reminding her that Sebastian had been using underage magic long before they had even met and that would have played a significant role in the Wizengamot’s decision to find him guilty. It was not Amelia’s role to over-own responsibility over Sebastian’s impulsive actions, and Eleazar’s absolution of her helped her clear her conscience over her actions, and he reminded her of her bravery by stepping forward in the way that she did. She had slept a little easier that night, knowing that Fig would always put things into perspective for her, holding her accountable when she needed to be and absolving her when she wasn’t.

The next day brought welcome and unwelcome surprises. After performing her usual routine of washing her face in the basin in her room, tying up her hair up into a half-up, half-down ponytail and finger-combing the knots out of it, she pulled on her purple dress and headed down to the dining room. Eleazar was at the table, small smile tugging at his lips as he gestured at the table. An owl was perched on the buffet where the crockery was kept, hooting and blinking owlishly at her, almost as if she was egging Amelia on to look at the envelope on the table that had her name on it. Amelia had never received a letter that was solely hers before – when she was at St. Calloway’s Orphanage, the Sisters always vetted any correspondence from potential suitors before sanitising it and passing them onto her – and with trepidation, she slid her fingers under the sealed flap and neatly opened her letter.

Dear Miss. Calloway,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth-year student. Your magical abilities have been brought to our attention and we are delighted to assist you in developing your talents further.

As a fifth-year student, you will join your peers in studying for one of the most important sets of exams in the Magical World – the Ordinary Wizarding Levels (O.W.L.s). Please rest assured that the staff remain dedicated in assisting you so that you are well prepared to undertake this endeavour. Please find attached a list of supplies and textbooks for your year.

Starting a new school, in a new community, will be an adjustment; please be assured that you will be welcomed with open arms into our school. The fifth-year cohort are known for their camaraderie and warmth; I am confident that you will find your place amongst them and build connections and friendships that will last well beyond your school years. The staff at the school will also be of invaluable assistance; help will always be given to those at Hogwarts who ask for it.

Term begins Monday 1st September 1890. The Hogwarts Express will depart from King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 and ¾ at eleven in the morning. Arrangements for your transport to Hogwarts will need to be negotiated with your custodian, Eleazar Fig. A ticket has been provided for you to present upon your arrival at the station.

As you are aware, you have been exempt from the laws governing the use of Underage Magic. Professor Eleazar Fig has been tasked with honing your basic spell casting skill so that you have a rudimentary understanding of magic by the time you arrive at Hogwarts. Please utilise this time wisely and seek out information from Professor Fig.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Matilda Weasley for Phineas Black
Deputy Headmistress, as per Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“I don’t understand,” Amelia murmured as her eyes darted from left to right, reading the letter over and over again until she knew all the words by heart. “What does this mean?”

“It means that you’re no longer an outcast in our community,” Eleazar explained, gently taking the parchment out of her hands, and with a quirk of his eyebrows, asked if it was alright if he read the letter too. She nodded, and Eleazar’s eyes scanned the contents of the letter. “You’re going to be educated in our ways at the school that I work at. To that end, we must start getting you supplies.”

He cast a critical eye over her, noting that she was wearing the same purple dress she had worn to court yesterday, and the day before that. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that she hadn’t worn anything other than her purple dress, and he concluded that this was the only thing she owned. Since Miriam had bequeathed everything she owned to him, he had more gold in his bank account at Gringotts than he knew what to do with it; it would only be proper if he used some of that money to assist in setting Amelia up with a selection of clothes and accessories befitting of a young woman, as well as magic supplies that were wholly her own, moving her away from impoverished orphan that had nothing and no-one to rely on to a young lady in her own right with a benevolent benefactor in her corner.

“I think, what we’ll do today, is take a trip to Diagon Alley,” Eleazar planned as he used his wand to summon breakfast for them from the kitchen, plates filled with fried eggs and ham steaks flying towards them, coupled with a pot of English Breakfast tea. He gestured for her to sit down and tuck in, averting his eyes as he knew she was conscious of eating so much while the people she knew in the orphanage were on the brink of starvation.

“What’s Diagon Alley?”

“It’s the high street of the Wizarding World. It’s where witches and wizards get their essential magical supplies. Anything that we can’t get in Diagon Alley, we can most likely find in Hogsmeade – a Magical village a stone’s throw away from Hogwarts. Most importantly, we must take you to Ollivander’s to get your wand; the magic you perform will be more harmonious with you when the wand you use is one attuned to you.”

Amelia nodded, gulping down some tea to wash down her breakfast. She was torn between letting her walls crumble or leaving her barriers intact, maintaining any sort of distance between herself and others as a means of self-preservation. The latter was what she had done all her life – there was an element of comfort and familiarity to it – but perhaps she needed to be brave and challenge herself, expose all her strengths and flaws to the world she was about to join to reinvent herself into the person she was meant to be all along.

With another flick of his wand, Eleazar cleaned the used crockery and returned them to the buffet. He cleared his throat and summoned his travelling cloak from the hatstand near the front door. “Come along, dear girl, we have much work to do today.”

Diagon Alley was an unmitigated disaster. It had started off well enough; Eleazar had taken her to The Leaky Cauldron, and after a flagon of Butterbeer – her favourite; she had never laughed as much as she had the night Sebastian introduced the drink to her, relishing the way the bubbles fizzed up her nose and made her feel light and airy – he led her out to the small courtyard at the back, used his wand to tap a pattern against the bricks on a wall and revealed a bustling ecosystem of life.

Amelia held onto Eleazar’s hand as he led her through narrow laneways, her eyes wide in child-like wonder as she took in the colour, the vibrancy of life as people milled about, gliding from one shop to the other as easily as butterflies floating on the wind. There were animated displays in shop windows; at one store, small children had their noses pressed up against the glass as a toy dragon breathed out multicoloured jets of fire. No-one spared her a second glance… until someone did.

“That’s the girl from the Sallow trial! The one he spent all his time seducing in the forest; the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly reported it based on the testimony of an arresting Auror! What a harlot!”

Fingers pointed at her accusingly, throngs of people enclosed around her. Reporters appeared out of thin air, pushing and shoving at each other to get to her. Catcalls from all directions assaulted her ears.

“How are you coping with Sallow’s time in Azkaban? Is your bed empty and cold without him?”

“Tell us where things stand with you! What are your plans now that you’re known as Sallow’s shag in the Wizarding World? How will you get past this?”

“Rumour has it you’re now expecting his child; when are you due? Boy or a girl?”

“Some people are critical of your actions in the trial, claiming you did so just for attention by revealing yourself in the most dramatic way. Do you stand by your actions or do you regret what you did?”

There was a flash of light, the sound of a car backfiring that blinded and deafened Amelia. Her eyes hardened and she shot Eleazar a look that conveyed just how betrayed she felt. He had led her here, he had brought her into a place where her reputation was in disrepute and she was reduced to the freak of a girl she had been in the orphanage, the one everyone avoided because she was too odd, too unusual, too counter-stereotypical of a lady to conform to societal rules and expectations. She yanked her hand back from Eleazar, picking at her fingers as they formed fists and she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her dress. She tornadoed her way back to The Leaky Cauldron, pushing and shoving anyone that made the mistake of crossing her path before finding the restroom and barricading herself in a stall, head buried in her hands as she unravelled.

She never should have revealed herself at Sebastian’s trial, she never should have said that she had spent the night of their arrest with him; it went against everything the Sisters had told her in her upbringing. Young, respectable ladies never went with young men unchaperoned for this very reason; to protect their chastity and their name. To preserve the notion of their innocence until the right person came along to shatter the illusion. The reality was everything between her and him was perfectly innocent; she had slept separate to him every night at his insistence while he slept on the forest floor, outside of the tent they had pitched, but it turned out that reality didn’t sell newspapers and gossip rags. Salaciousness and seedy headlines did, though, and her reputation was trashed before she had even had a chance to explore her Magical roots. Eleazar had said that the Magical community was far more liberal in their acceptance of love – it was not frowned upon if two men or two women lived together and loved each other – but it appeared that they still upheld the propriety of the Muggle world when it came to courtship rituals.

“Amelia.” There was a sharp rap against the door of the stall Amelia had locked herself in as she sat on the cistern of the toilet, breathing in deep and breathing out slow, just like she had been taught by Sebastian to reign in the overwhelming emotions thundering through her. “Amelia, I’m sorry that happened. I should have predicted it, should have known that you’d be newsworthy because of what happened at the trial. I’m sorry; I didn’t get it right.”

Fig chose his words carefully as he talked to Amelia through the stall door, trying to pick his words so that he wasn’t blaming her for events that weren’t her fault. “This will pass; in a day or two, there’ll be another sensational headline that will draw the attention away from you, and the rumours and articles about you and Sebastian will be a thing of the past. I guarantee that no-one will remember it a month from now.”

I will, Amelia thought as she glared so intensely at the door she thought she might set it on fire. I’ll remember this, and not for the right reasons.

“I’m going to send you home,” Eleazar continued, trying to peer through the tiny gap between the stall door and door jamb. “I’ll get your supplies for you; you stay home and indoors until all of this dies down.”

She gulped back the sobs that were threatening to bubble out of her and cracked open the door. Eleazar held out his hand to her, an open invitation.

“Amelia, I hold no judgement over you; you did what you had to do to navigate a very tricky situation with very little help because you were on your own. You are not alone and on your own now; help me by letting me help you.”

The first day in Azkaban was horrific. The second day wasn’t much better – the two Aurors that weren’t Keziah did what they could to help the two acclimatise to Azkaban, so similar in their approach that Sebastian came to refer to them as Tweedledee and Tweedledum - but by the third day, Sebastian had worked out that he needed to shut his brain down if he wanted to make it through to the other side. The fourth and the fifth day were a blank space; he was numb to everything happening around him, refusing to speak or acknowledge anyone’s presence. He simply existed, arms and legs stiff and unmoving as despair and depression seeped through his pores and burrowed into his bones.

Stared into the abyss while the sun never set. White nights, he called them; the light so blinding it was hard for his circadian rhythms to fall into a natural pattern. Using the scarf Aesop Sharp had given him as a blindfold didn’t do much to cut out the light; all it did was suffocate him as it slipped from his eyes over his nose and mouth when he flopped around on the floor, trying to get comfortable enough to attempt to get some shut-eye.

Dunked his face in some water to try and fail at reviving life back into him. Tried to recapture a shred of who he used to be.

Stared at his reflection in the scuffed up mirror of the Auror bathroom, blurred and dead behind the eyes, the vitality stripped away from him until he was nothing but a shell of his former self, a sack of skin, muscle and bone just going through the motions to get through the day.

Snapped off a small piece of chocolate and let it melt under his tongue, the warmth that spread to his extremities quickly evaporating with the frost of Azkaban.

Pulled on his jumpers and scarf and headed out into the biting wind with Aesop Sharp to do the morning perimeter check and bury the prisoners that had perished overnight in Azkaban’s graveyard. Most Magical families were too ashamed to admit that they had relatives in the penal colony and would not make the arduous journey to claim the deceased; the bodies had to go somewhere and tossing them into the ocean was not an option lest they drift on a current and wind up on foreign shores. It would spark an international incident that the Ministry of Magic could do without.

Back inside for lunch that his stomach couldn’t cope with; the cramping and biting became a constant companion and Sebastian learnt that food was tolerable going down his throat but was intolerable when it came up the same way it had entered. Aesop Sharp had eventually convinced Sebastian to sip at milk, along with the usual bar of chocolate to keep himself going, sugar to stop him from running on fumes. It was definitely a more palatable option than starving or spewing.

Spent the afternoons completing administrative tasks, replacing someone’s identity with a crime and a custodial number when they crossed through the gates of the prison. Boiling them down from a person to nothing more than bad fortune and a criminal status.

Listened to the sickening screams, the howls of anguish. Became completely impervious to the suffering of others – empathy was a canker in this hellhole – as he walked through the hallways of the three towers of Azkaban with Keziah Kendelway. Occasionally listen to the prisoners – the ones that were newly arrived and still lucid – as a cautionary tale of what could happen to him if he didn’t make some changes to his erroneous ways.

Meal deliveries, summoning his eagle Patronus to protect him as he moved through Dementor riddled hallways, each day getting a little further than the last before the Dementors would suck him dry of all his joy and his legs gave way from underneath him.

Back in the care of Aesop Sharp for dinner, where the Auror coaxed morsels of dry rice and water down his throat, anything to keep what little strength that was left in him up, and then back into bed to start the process all over again.

Azkaban was taking its toll on Sharp; every time he walked past the Dementors, the memories and the feelings that he thought he had repressed, squashed into a small box in his mind, sprung forth like a jack-in-the-box. There was the night that Emerys danced with Silas at the Celestial Ball in their fifth year, the night where Emerys kissed Silas for the first time after she snuck him into the Slytherin Common Room as they cuddled in the armchair by the fireplace and she was lost to Aesop, morphing into the image of Emerys, resplendent in white lace as she made her way down an aisle to Silas, forever shackled to him with a gold band that they slipped over each other’s knuckles. The birth of Sebastian and Anne cemented the fact that Emerys would never be his; he was not a man that would upend a happy family for his own means.

Then there was Persephone, the facsimile of Emerys in personality and appearance, and she somehow filled the hole that Emerys had drilled into his heart – so much so that Aesop was starting to think that he could move past Emerys and appreciate Persephone in her own right, build a life with her and start a family with her – but that was short-lived. The raid that had gone wrong cursed his leg and killed her in the field. He could hear Persephone’s high pitched agony as she was cast into a FiendFyre inferno; all that was left was quintessence of dust and grief that would never end.

Monday 1st September couldn’t roll around fast enough for Sebastian Sallow and Aesop Sharp.

It was an early start for the pair of them in the morning, with them hurriedly packing their bags before Sebastian managed to gulp down some weak tea and Aesop made himself a coffee that he sipped with some eggs and bacon. Keziah and the other two Aurors had come to see them off, despite the fact that they were leaving at what would have been the crack of dawn, had the sun actually set.

“I don’t want to see you back here again, Sebastian,” Keziah instructed, sounding just like his mother would have. Just like his mother would have, she pulled him into an embrace, knowing that physical contact would help rebuild Sebastian back into a human that could function in the Magical world. “Make smarter choices; you’re an intelligent boy and you have a bright future ahead of you. Don’t squander the opportunities that you’ll be given”

“I will,” he promised as he nodded against her shoulder. Despite how harsh the consequence was, it seemed that the Wizengamot knew what they were doing when they made going to Azkaban as part of his community service. Having garnered a first-hand experience of what Wizard jail was really like was the perfect deterrent to his casual disregard for the Wizarding laws that he had spent the summer flaunting.

“Well, on with you.” Keziah nudged Sebastian into the boat that laid moored upon the muddy banks, and Sebastian made a hasty retreat into the vessel that would take him back to sanity. Aesop Sharp followed, and just like the trip up to Azkaban, he tapped the edge of the boat with his wand to get it moving and pulled out his copy of the Daily Prophet, folding it over so Sebastian could not see his face emblazoned on the front page – the completion of the first ever community service served in Azkaban was newsworthy, but after reading the article and some of the insinuations that had been made regarding his probationer and his adventures of summer, Aesop did not think it prudent to share that with the boy – and held it up so that it was a barrier between him and Sebastian.

King’s Cross Station was the epitome of the Magical and Muggle world meeting seamlessly, cohabiting without calamity. Aesop Sharp and Sebastian Sallow, bonded in a way that no other trauma could compare to, walked through the busy cosmos of life as if they were father and son, Aesop’s hand grasping Sebastian’s shoulder as a means of grounding him and ensuring that his charge would not run away from him. The clock overhead chimed, the clangs of the bell reverberating around the brickwork walls and tiles of the platforms.

Sebastian winced at the noise, the shrill, high pitched sound grating on nerves that he was just holding together. After a week of the resonances of Azkaban, the screams of terror, the shouts of anger and the wails of despair, anything else was jarring and out of place.

“Breathe, Sebastian. This will pass.” Sharp squeezed the boy’s shoulder gently and placed another bar of chocolate in his hand. “Eat. It will help you readjust to life faster than if you don’t.”

“How long will it take?” Sebastian’s voice was flat and monotone.

“Anywhere from a week to a month. A lot of getting over Azkaban relies on the principle of mind over matter – willpower is key. You have to want to move past it if you want to get through it quickly; a lot of people who are released on parole from the jail cannot do that and wind up back in there again. A lot of people become institutionalised and cannot function in Azkaban, but can’t survive out of it.”

“Wonderful.”

“We’re here an hour early to avoid the gawkers; find a spot on the train and rest up. Think of happier memories, close the curtains and get some sleep. You need it,” Aesop advised as he steered Sebastian to the pillar that led to Platform 9 and ¾. They casually leant against the brickwork, and with a furtive glance around to make sure no-one was watching, they relaxed and melted through the interface that connected the Muggle world to the Magical one. Sebastian nodded and made to move away but Aesop’s sharp whistle had him pivoting on the spot.

“Forgetting something?” Aesop held out his hand, expectant. While Sebastian was in his eyesight, Aesop had no issue with the boy retaining his wand. It had been essential in Azkaban as Sebastian had to use magic to summon his Patronus, to levitate corpses out to the graveyard, to cast the Revealing Spell to see if there were any perimeter breaches, and with three other Aurors keeping a close eye on him, it was nigh on impossible for Sebastian to do the wrong thing. But now Sebastian was going to be left to his own devices; it was imperative that Aesop take steps to ensure his charge did not fall astray of the law again.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, dug deep into the pocket of the Slytherin robe he was wearing and pulled out his wand, schooling his face into a look of neutrality so Aesop Sharp couldn’t pick up on the fact that Sebastian had made several replicas of his wand and was handing over a fake copy to the Auror.

Aesop’s eyes narrowed fractionally as his hands curled around the wand Sebastian had handed him. An ordinary person wouldn’t have been able to recognise that the wand was a fake; Sebastian had done a good job of making a likeness of his wand, but Aesop had seen this before and knew what to look for. All Ollivander wands were sanded to within an inch of their life to give them their characteristic smoothness. The wand Sebastian had handed him looked smooth, but as Aesop ran his hands down the length of the wand, he could feel the wood splintering and snagging under his skin.

“Nice try, Sebastian.”

Knowing he had been rumbled, Sebastian huffed out a derisive snort and rummaged around in his pants pocket, pulling out another wand. Aesop eyed the thin, wooden strip beadily and glowered at his charge. Another copy of a wand.

“Last chance, Sallow, before I search you on the platform, find your wand myself and inform the Wizengamot that you aren’t adhering to the terms of your probation; that will guarantee a tougher sentence on you. I extended you a kindness and allowed you to retain your wand when I should have removed it off you as soon as we left the fortress of Azkaban. Continue to try to make a fool out of me and I won’t take pity on you like that again.”

“I don’t want your pity!” Sebastian ground out, but he acknowledged that Aesop Sharp had taken a massive risk by not following the Wizengamot’s instruction to the letter and relieving him of his wand earlier. So far, Aesop Sharp had been a fair probationary officer; he had established firm boundaries with Sebastian and had follow through when those boundaries were bent, but underneath the tough, gruff exterior, he did care about Sebastian’s wellbeing and took steps in developing the teenager into the best version of himself. Sebastian didn’t want to be reassigned to a different Auror – he held Aesop Sharp in high regard – and he realised he had to comply to stay under Aesop’s care. Sebastian balanced on one foot as he pulled the material of his trouser leg up, unlaced his worn, leather boots and rolled his sock down to retrieve his real wand.

“Thank you, Sebastian. You can collect your wand from me tomorrow at breakfast.” Aesop pocketed the wand and escorted Sebastian onto a carriage. “Remember what I said and rest up. You will need to recover from your time in Azkaban as you start your fifth year of Hogwarts.”

And with that, Aesop Sharp promptly twirled on the spot and Apparated into oblivion.

With nothing else for it, Sebastian pulled the hood of his cloak over his head – anything to help keep him anonymous after the notoriety he gained over the summer holidays – found an empty compartment and settled himself into the corner, back to the door so he could rest his head against the windowpane and close his eyes, waiting for a respite that would never come.

Not for the first time in her life, Amelia Calloway frowned as she saw her reflection in the mirror, convinced she was a fraud and a shyster. Her faded purple dress was a thing of the past – although she couldn’t quite bring herself to get rid of it; it remained locked up in the armoire of the room she occupied in Fig’s house – and she now wore a floor length navy blue skirt, a white cotton shirt with a polka-dot tie holding the collar closed and a tan trench coat. Her black, heeled boots clicked as she moved from the carpet to the floorboards and her auburn hair was twisted up into a low, braided bun, tendrils that were too short to be tied back framing her face.

“Amelia, it’s time for us to go.”

Her blue eyes cast a cursory glance at the calendar pinned up on the wall.

Monday 1st September, 1890. Her first day at Hogwarts.

Her eyes darted back to her reflection and she studied her face. Eleazar had made good on his promise of getting her supplies – she had just expected him to supply her textbooks, but he had gone all out and provided her with a trunk full of new, fashionable clothes instead of cast-offs from two decades ago, and a selection of make-up, toiletries and perfume to go with her new identity. She almost didn’t recognise herself; her hair was shiny and her waves had definition instead of it being the dull, limp lifeless mess she knew, her face hidden behind the powder, blush, eyeliner and lipstick, the image of a person held together by a thin veneer of sheer determination. She smoothed the creases on her skirt and glanced down at her trembling hands, twisting her fingers together to stop them from picking at her cuticles.

Her trunk was packed and lay near the door that Eleazar Fig was leaning against. “Time for you to start a new adventure,” he advised, picking up her trunk and holding his hand out to her so they could Apparate to King’s Cross Station. He twirled them on the spot; the room she was in shifted to a busy, bustling platform.

A scarlet train had plumes of smoke billowing out from its smokestack, the iron plate on the front of the engine car boldly displayed Hogwarts Express. She fished around in the pocket of her trench coat for the ticket that had been provided to her in her Hogwarts acceptance letter, and at the urging of the ticket guard, handed it over to him. He ran his wand over the ticket, registering her as boarding the train, and pointed to a carriage.

“Empty compartment in the middle of the carriage if you’re after privacy,” he commented kindly. He could see the overwhelm in her eyes, could see the apprehension in her body language as her shoulders tensed and her eyes constantly scanned her environment. He had also recognised her name – even though she had retreated after the outing to Diagon Alley, the newspapers and gossip magazines had continued to sensationalise and editorialise her and Sebastian’s relationship, speculating them to be more than what they really were, and had exemplified her magic – and he knew that all she wanted was a little privacy instead of being so exposed to a world she was just acclimating to. “Well, almost empty. There’s only one other person in there and he wants to be left alone about as much as you do.”

Eleazar murmured his thanks at the ticket inspector for his unexpected compassion and led Amelia to the carriage door.

“On the train with you, Amelia.”

“You’re not coming on the train with me?”

“No, no, there are things I need to do before I get to Hogwarts.” Eleazar pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. “George Osric – the Ministry official that informed me of you – wrote to me. He needs my assistance urgently, so I’ll be attending to him before the Sorting Feast at Hogwarts this evening.” He smiled reassuringly at the look of panic that scrawled across her face. “You’ll be fine, Amelia. Be brave, be bold, be the Amelia Calloway I saw at the Wizengamot trial.”

And with that, he twirled on the spot, his blue robes billowing out behind him, and he was gone. Amelia sighed heavily as she boarded the carriage. Eyes gawked at her, conversations about everything and nothing fell to a hush as she made her way through the carriage. She could feel the stares barbing her like needles, the unwanted attention making her skin crawl but she swallowed and forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, scowling intensely at anyone that dared open their mouth to make uncharitable comments about her.

She found the compartment the ticket inspector had told her about; there was one occupant in there, face obscured by the oppressive black cloak and hood that they had drawn over their head. She cleared her throat and asked if it was okay if she sat in the compartment. Without waiting for an answer, she stepped inside the small room, hoisted her trunk onto the luggage rack above her head and settled into the tartan covered sponge of the seat.

His arm shot out from where he had been resting his head on it and with a flick of his wrist, he slid the compartment door closed behind her. Amelia gasped; there were twenty one scars on his right forearm.

It couldn’t be, and yet it was so unlikely that it probably was. Par for the course for them; they were always running into each other in the most unlikely of places.

She peered over at him, blue eyes appraising what she could see of him. His normally tanned, olive skin had taken on an ashy-grey tinge, his eyes were closed but she could see the irises flutter restlessly beneath his freckled eyelids. He twitched and jumped at every change in their environment, whether it was the loud bang of a compartment door sliding closed, or the cool of the wall against his skin as he shifted positions to get as comfortable as he could. Heavy stubble shadowed his cheeks and jawline – she had never seen him with facial hair as he had always managed to shave it off before she made her appearance out of the tent when they had been camping together – and it made him seem more dark and brooding. More of a danger and not someone to be trifled with.

“Sebastian?”

Chapter Text

Sebastian’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. The air sizzled, an electric current passing between them, rife with anticipation; his heart slammed against his ribcage at the thought of her presence.

What the hell was Amelia Calloway doing in his compartment, especially when she could have had her choice of compartments to sit in?

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them growing thick with tension. His heart raced as he could feel her eyes raking over him, no doubt assessing him as dangerous to her and trying to find a way to toss him aside. Story of his life, he knew, as he always found a way to ruin anything good that happened to him. Anne was his twin and he had found a way to ruin her by allowing her to be cursed that night in Feldcroft; he was her older brother, he should have been able to shield her from that dratted goblin cursing her.

But he hadn’t, and he tried to push the pain down by avoiding it and throwing himself into his lawless ways, and all his failings were coming home to roost now.

Sebastian supposed it wasn’t all that unusual for his path to cross with hers again – they seemed intent on finding each other in the most mundane places – and once she had outed herself as being magical, it stood to reason that she would be offered a place at Hogwarts to train and hone her skills.

“Mia,” he rasped, voice hoarse after not using it for a week. He sounded like a bear that had been pulled out of hibernation in winter, the timbre of his tone growly and jagged.

“What happened to you?” she breathed out, shocked by what she saw. How could he have changed so much in the space of a month? The man in front of her wasn’t the Sebastian she had grown to appreciate and she yearned for the boy he had once been. She wanted him to find a sliver of the innocent glory that had coloured their time together. The idea of the Sebastian she had come to know, come to admire, respect and love in a complicated, fractured way, was gone; she was left with a poor imitation in his place, as hollow and as disappointing as an Easter egg was on the inside.

“As if you don’t know; my little excursion to jail been all over the papers.” He couldn’t quite hide the resentment in his voice, something he knew she was astute enough to pick up on.

“I don’t know. I left before your trial concluded and I haven’t looked at a paper since. Fig thought it was in my best interest not to.”

He peered at her through the corner of his eye, hardened and jaded, storing the information she had divulged away for a later date. So she had been with Professor Fig all along while he had been rotting away for her, while he had sent Anne on a wild-goose chase to London orphanages trying to find her, despite the crippling pain he knew his sister was in. Normally, that information would have made him seethe – he was suffering in his holding cell and in Azkaban, levitating stone cold corpses out of cells and burying them, enduring the worst experience he had lived through replaying on an endless loop in his mind while the Dementors attacked him, unable to sleep or eat or focus on what made him human as his life lay on the line in every conceivable way. He was suffering for Anne while she suffered for him, feeling her pain while she deteriorated and marched stoically towards her death, and all the time Mia was in the safety and security of Eleazar Fig. For some reason he felt hollow at the news. Perhaps it was a sign of his growing maturity, perhaps Azkaban had changed him for the better, or perhaps Azkaban had stripped him of all the emotion that had made him Sebastian Sallow and he couldn’t bring himself to care for things he once used to.

Amelia’s gazed flickered to where Sebastian’s eyes were – she noted that the light that had once shone bright had been snuffed and shadows haunted his irises – and they stared at the trees flying by them in awkward silence. Sebastian turned his head slightly, lowering his hood and barbing her with another glance.

“You really haven’t kept up with the news?” This time there was a note of disbelief and incredulousness in there. “I suppose that’s for the best, then. You can’t even begin to imagine what Azkaban’s like.”

There was a twinge in her chest, a sharp pain that stabbed and radiated out towards her lungs, making it hard to breathe as she observed more of Sebastian. The knowledge that his undoing was because he had tried to cover for her settled between them, heavy as a stone.

“I wasn’t even going to testify at your trial but your sister spurred me to do so. But I thought…” she trailed off, unfinished, as if she was reconsidering everything she had hoped for by standing up for him at the Wizengamot.

“Thought that things would be different?” Sebastian huffed out a laugh, so unlike the laugh she delighted in hearing from him because there was no humour, just dark sarcasm to it, and another twinge shot through her. That sounded like Anne, goading people into doing what she wanted them to do. “Me too, sweetheart, but that’s not how life worked out.”

Amelia worked hard to suppress the growl that threatened to push past her lips. She had not been expecting this, a darker, more savage and vicious side to Sebastian; she had thought, somewhat naively, that they would have been able to pick up where they left off. His use of sweetheart rankled with condescension, as if he was mocking her for being a novice in the Magical world.

The gulf between them grew imperceptibly wider, an invisible frost cloaking them. Amelia flicked her hair, letting the tendrils that framed her face fall over her eyes, as she so often did when she wanted to hide herself away from the world. Sebastian burrowed his head back against the window, pulled his hood back up over his head and closed his eyes again.

“You’re mad at me,” she eventually muttered, rising to her feet and reaching for her trunk. “Perhaps I should go.”

“Stay, go; it’s your choice.”

His words were thrown down like a gauntlet, taunting her to challenge him, daring her to walk away from him. He hadn’t even opened his eyes to look at her again; it made her feel as though she was nothing more than an inconvenience and an intrusion to him and his space. The deflection had a practiced ease to it, as if Sebastian was used to freezing people out of his life when he felt that they had wronged him; she recognised it in him because that was something she had to do to survive at St. Calloway’s too.

Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the handle of her trunk, the thought of leaving and retreating back to being alone in the world, back to everything she was familiar with, playing heavily on her mind. The thought of escaping the stifling air between them was enticing, but Fig’s words played on her mind.

Be brave, be bold, be the Amelia Calloway from the Wizengamot trial.

Walking away from him – after she had put everything on the line for him and exposed herself for who she really was – wasn’t an option. She couldn’t do it, not when she had vouched for him and the goodness that was within him. She still believed that the boy she had once known was in there but hidden by his tough, rough exterior, battle scarred from whatever traumas he had gone through for her sake – she had to find a way of unlocking the Sebastian she had delighted in before their joint arrest.

“I’ll stay,” she said easily, coming to sit next to him. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him back to her.

He jerked violently at the contact, not expecting the compassion and the warmth of her proximity, and finally opened his eyelids, revealing that he was dead behind the eyes as he stared at her.

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t be her friend; she deserved to surround herself with people that were wholesome and proper and weren’t as damaged, marred and scarred as he was. She deserved an easy life, especially since the way Sebastian introduced her to the Magical world was horrific – as Anne had pointed out to him in the heat of the moment when they were in court – and he couldn’t give that to her.

“I’m not mad at you,” he eventually managed, scuttling into the corner so his darkness wouldn’t sully her. His eyes flicked over her once more, gaze sharper as something more raw and visceral broke to the surface. She met his gaze evenly, her blue eyes regarding him steadily, as if the power of her stare could grant him a shred of his humanity back. “I’m grateful that you did testify, even though things didn’t work out the way I had hoped. I’m just very strung out and tired from the past week.”

She nodded and bowed her head; it was as plain as day that Sebastian was suffering because of her, even without the stilted, awkward, bitter words between them.
Sebastian watched the change in her posture, noted the way her shoulders hunched up and she ducked into herself. He smiled wanly, one that didn’t reach his eyes, and said the words he thought she wanted to hear so they could both pretend that nothing had changed, even though the world had shifted on its axis for both of them.

“We’ll talk more later.”

The horizon was a pastel water wash by the time the train had pulled into Hogsmeade Station, baby blue hues blending seamlessly into vibrant orange as the sun set behind the spires of Hogwarts. Both Sebastian and Amelia waited inside their compartment until the train was empty, only leaving their little bubble when the driver forced them off the train. They had dawdled so long on the Hogwarts Express that by the time they had made it onto the platform, the carriages that would take them to the school had disappeared and the sky was navy blue.

“Guess we’re walking, then,” Sebastiani commented, and even though he had spent a week in Azkaban, even though he was feeling like a shadow of his former self, he picked up Amelia’s trunk and started to climb the stairs from the station towards the castle without a second thought. The chivalry in him hadn’t been completely eradicated.

Amelia opened her mouth to protest – she was most certainly capable of carrying her own luggage – but closed it as she remembered the way Sebastian had treated her when they first met. He had held her hand out to her as she stepped in and out of the London Underground, he had always offered his elbow to her as they walked through Regent’s Park, placed a hand in the small of her back as he steered her through the crowds of the city, eyes constantly scanning their environment for any hidden threat, and she thought that maybe this was something Sebastian needed to do for her to recapture part of who he used to be.

“Thank you,” she murmured, falling into step with Sebastian as they strode along the dirt path to the castle.

“It’s just a trunk,” Sebastian muttered as he brushed off her words, not realising that Amelia wasn’t just referring to him carrying her suitcase. “It wouldn’t be proper if I made you carry your trunk when I could.”

As they continued the walk to Hogwarts, the darkness of the evening settled around them, echoing all the unspoken words that bounced between them. The hum of the lacewing flies flitted between them, the honking of the daffodils complemented the crunching of the gravel underneath their feet, the only noise to an otherwise silent walk. The iron grate to Hogwarts rolled up as they approached the castle, the clanging announcing their arrival the way a herald would announce jesters to a court. Silas Sallow stood by the fountain, arms crossed over his chest with an uncharacteristic scowl etched onto his face.

“I was worried when you didn’t come in on the carriages, Seb,” he muttered, the first words he spoke to his son in nearly a week. He withdrew his wand from the ceremonial robes he wore for the Sorting Feast and tapped the trunk in Sebastian’s hand. It vanished with a pop, no doubt sending Amelia’s trunk to where the other Unsorted student trunks were kept. Silas had already deposited his son’s bag on his bed in the Slytherin Dormitory; he had been the courier since Sebastian had travelled to Hogwarts straight from prison.

“Just felt like a walk,” Sebastian shrugged, impassive, as his eyes scattered around his surroundings, not wanting to make eye contact with his father. Silas sighed; he had hoped for a warmer reception from his boy after spending a week away, but he supposed that Azkaban had been an eye-opening experience and Sebastian would ease up as he adjusted back to life amongst other people.

“Professor Fig wants to see you,” Silas added, turning his head to Amelia. “Said it was a matter of urgency so you need to head there before the Sorting Ceremony. Head through those double doors; you’ll find him waiting at the stairs just inside.”

Amelia nodded and walked off, leaving Sebastian and Silas alone. His son towered over him; the top of Silas’ head reached the middle of Sebastian’s chest, but it still didn’t stop him from standing on his tip-toes and reaching up to boop his son on the nose. The corner of Sebastian’s nose wrinkled instinctively, as it always did when Silas and him shared a moment like this; it was Silas’ unspoken way of letting Sebastian know that his father loved him.

“You’ll get through this, son. I promise you that.” Silas pulled his boy, stiff and unmoving into his arms for a hug. Aesop had told him to try and connect with Sebastian through physical touch; it was one of the most successful ways of bringing someone back from Azkaban and making sure their reintegration with society was successful. “Are you sure you’re up to going to the Sorting Feast? It will be crowded and noisy; could be sensory overload for you, given where you’ve just come from. You can always stay in my office insead.”

Sebastian bit his lip, understanding the lifeline that his father was throwing him, giving him a way of being reeled into safety after treading water in rogue waves for a week, but Aesop’s words resonated within him.

Mind over matter. You have to want to get past Azkaban – willpower is key.

And that meant not running away from uncomfortable situations, so Sebastian scrubbed his hands over his face, ran a hand through his hair anxiously and shook his head. Silas nodded, a small amount of pride ballooning up in him as he realised the determination in his son and led him to the Great Hall.

“Sit near the teacher’s table; I want to be able to keep an eye on you.”

“I’d rather sit near a door, make a quick and silent escape if I have to,” Sebastian countered, turtling back down into himself. Anything to make him smaller, more inconspicuous so all the eyes of the Hall weren’t on him when he entered. Silas frowned – as much as he wanted Sebastian to follow his advice, he also knew Sebastian was as stubborn as Emerys was and he wouldn’t win any battle he picked with his son tonight – so he let it go and made a mental note to ask Abraham Ronen, Head of Slytherin House, to keep a close eye on him throughout the night.

“Ah, there you are!” Eleazar Fig’s voice echoed through the cavernous hall Amelia stepped into. Her eyes grew wide as she drew in the majesty of the hall; Eleazar inwardly grinned, anticipating her astoundment when she saw the Great Hall for the first time later that night. “How was the train ride?”

Amelia tilted her head in contemplation as she picked at a loose thread on her shirt sleeve, unravelling at the seams in the same way her interactions with Sebastian had unravelled and ripped apart any tentative acquaintanceship between them. How could she summarise her interactions with Sebastian in a few sentences? How could she simplify the complexities that underscored the budding relationship between them?

“Long,” she gritted out, her tone indicating that she wasn’t going to reveal any more than she had already done.

“As I mentioned, I had an emergency meeting with George Osric, and it was most fruitful!” He steered Amelia by the shoulders to the stairs and sat them both down on it. One hand reached into his pocket and he pulled out a small, cylindrical container. Eleazar was buzzing with excitement as he handled the monument, turning it over in his hands again and again. “Osric gave this to me; said it had been sent to him for safe keeping. Quite the mystery, though; no-one knows what it contains and no-one has been able to open it.”

Amelia held out her hand, one fine eyebrow pulling inwards in a furrow. “May I have a look at it?”

“Of course,” Eleazar smiled, noting how Amelia was starting to come out of her shell around him. At the beginning of their time together, getting words out of her had been as challenging as drawing Excalibur from the enchanted stone it had been stuck in. Now Amelia had let her walls down and she was talking animatedly with him, taking an interest in unfurling the mystery of her Ancient Magic; she had really taken his words of being brave and bold to heart.

Amelia graced him with a smile. A small one, one that flashed in and out of existence as she accepted the cylinder and it made Eleazar smile too, bittersweet; he imagined this was what it was like to have a daughter, and he wished that he could have shared this moment with Miriam.

Ice-blue eyes studied the container; Amelia noted that the pattern of the clasp holding the container matched the delicate, flame like filigree pattern that had been carved into the armoire. Perhaps the similarity was a coincidence, perhaps it wasn’t, but Amelia filed that titbit of information away in her mind, sure it would be useful. There was a faint silvery glow around the clasp, not dissimilar to the glow that emanated around her fingers when Ancient Magic consumed her and had to find an outlet through her fingers. Her fingers danced lightly over the emblem of the flame, twisting it so that the container opened up. Inside was a dainty looking key, also shimmering in the same glacial glow the clasp had.

Eleazar grasped onto Amelia’s shoulder as she passed the container back to him, one eyebrow quirked in a silent question. He nodded; if she was key to opening the container, she would be imperative in determining why Miriam had sent the object to George in her last moments of desperation. He breathed in, a considered breath, before touching the object that lay inside the container.

Wind whipped around them, the stairs that they were sitting on dissolved beneath them. Amelia’s stomach dropped as the ground shifted beneath her feet, her body folded in on itself as it felt like she was being compressed through a pair of extremely tight stockings. She swallowed the bile coming up her throat, blinked against the colours that blurred together as her surroundings whirled around her and felt the blood rushing through her ears as dizziness confused her. She plummeted out of the sky just as suddenly as she had been sucked off the stairs at Hogwarts, colliding into the ground with a hard thud, her head slamming into a rock and knocking her unconscious.

Chapter Text

Pain radiated out from her ribs, searing and stabbing every time she drew in a breath. Her head pounded and throbbed from where it had made contact with a rock. Amelia cracked open her eyes blearily, raising one battered hand to rub at them to clear her vision. She groaned as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, one hand grasping at her ribs as she did so.

“Are you alright?” Eleazar limped his way over to her, the scrapes on his knee stinging as the material of his pants clung to the graze. He winced as he peeled the soiled and ripped material away, reached into the pocket of his royal blue robes and pulled out two phials that contained a vibrant, green liquid. He used his teeth to uncork one bottle and downed the liquid in an easy swallow, flexing his knee as the skin repaired itself shut.

Amelia groaned again, shaking her head made her vision swim and blur once more and she swallowed and grimaced at the disconcerting feeling. Eleazar handed her the other phial, and she recognised it as the same liquid that Sebastian had taken after their duel in the Forest of Dean against the Dark Wizards and Witches that had stumbled upon their campsite.

“It’s Wiggenweld Potion,” Fig explained. “For mild to moderate injuries, that stuff’ll right you in a second.”

Amelia swallowed the liquid, choking on the bitter aftertaste and she pulled a face at her distaste of the medicine. She remembered how the slash on Sebastian’s throat sealed itself shut, the only evidence of an injury was a silvered scar against his jugular and she wondered what scars she would carry as a memento of her journey with Professor Fig.

“When you’re up to it, it would be prudent if you had a bit of an explore of the area. Take your time, though. No need to rush.”

Her brain churned as she used her senses to create a mental picture of the environment she was in. She could taste the hint of salt in the air, could hear the distance cries of birds hawking in the background. The waves crashed onto rocks with thunderous crashes and the rocky outcrop of the cave they were in loomed over them. Small yellow sunflowers grew in damp patches on the ground of the cave, a little pop of colour in an otherwise bleak environment. Amelia rose to her feet and took tentative steps towards the cave’s exit.

“Watch yourself!” Eleazar yelled as he grasped the back of Amelia’s coat, pulling her back from the edge of the cliff that she was stumbling towards. The wind roared around them, whipping her hair into her eyes and obscuring her vision. “Stay close to the wall; it’s a long way down if you fall!”

Amelia nodded, clinging to the wall as they made their way down winding path. Her feet knocked several vases and they shattered underfoot. Fig moved surprisingly quick for a man his age, and bouncing around on the balls of his feet with spryness she wasn’t expecting, he vaulted himself up a ledge. Amelia’s eyes skittered around the surroundings again; there was a dilapidated mansion that teetered on the sharp point of a rock, stone walls eroded, weathered and crumbling into oblivion into the waves below. Fig’s hand reached down to hers and even though she was capable of hoisting herself up, Amelia let Fig pull her up over the shelf with a grunt. The wind teased at her coat and it made their journey feel more precarious, as if one wrong step would have the plummeting to their doom, as they stepped on.

The path to the mansion Amelia had seen before was blocked by what looked like a thick sheet of ice. Amelia tilted her head to the left as she observed its homogenous nature, and her fingers reached out towards it.

“Don't touch it!” Eleazar cried out, panic barely suppressed in his voice. He had never seen anything like it before, had never known any magic that could be used to obstruct access to a place that looked quite like what he was seeing. “Let me run some diagnostic charms to see if it’s safe.”

Amelia wondered what they would do if the obstruction wasn’t safe – would the mysterious George Osric Eleazar kept mentioning assist them? – but she need not have worried; Eleazar smiled at her and nodded, flourishing his wand out of his robe and gesturing for her to do the same.

“Time for you to practice some of those wand skills we’ve been working on. Step forward and aim for the centre of the barrier. A Basic Cast should be able to shatter the ice."

Amelia fidgeted as she held the ash-brown wand in her hand, still as unfamiliar as a stranger, even though she had been practicing with the strip of wand for the past week. She placed her feet a shoulder width apart, left foot slightly in front of her right as she held her right arm aloft; Sebastian had taught her the Triangular Stance back when they were camping. It was the most effective stance at maintaining balance and reducing the recoil impact from spell casting. At Eleazar’s nod, Amelia waved her hand. The glass structure splintered, cracks vining out from the point of impact.

“Do it again!” Eleazar encouraged. Under normal circumstances, a Basic Cast should have shattered the ice, but Amelia was using a borrowed wand, which was anything but normal. The wand didn’t align with her; Eleazar knew that the wand in Amelia’s hand had a unicorn hair core, and that was most unsuited to her. Not that he studied wandlore in any detail, but he would wager his life savings that she was more inclined to favouring a wand with a phoenix feather core, a wand that would be just as unique and individual as her. The discord between the wand and the wielder of magic meant that the magic Amelia produced was weak and lacking.

“Keep going until the structure breaks.”

The sheet of ice shattered, glass like shards sprinkling around them and as Amelia stepped forward, she lost her footing, sliding down on the cobbled ground. The path meandered up another ledge; this time she clambered up first and offered a helping hand to Eleazar Fig before they came to a standstill. They were opposite the mansion that teetered on the point of a rock that shouldn’t have been able to take its weight and there was no way forward to bridge the chasm between where they were standing and where they needed to be.

“Why would someone build their manor out here?” Amelia roared over the bluster of the wind and the crashing of the water below. “And how are we going to get there?”

Eleazar peered over the precipice of the cliff; there were plenty of dilapidated rocks and stone he could use to build a temporary bridge to the decaying façade. With a spin of his arm, a bridge materialised from the rubble below. It wasn’t his best work, but Eleazar figured it was enough to serve its purpose, and that was to get him and Amelia across to the other side safely. Amelia’s eyes widened at the show of magic – there was still some novelty in waving a wand and having almost anything possible – and sheepishly smiled when Eleazar caught her staring.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” he said as they ran across the bridge before it gave way, delighting in the child-like wonder she had. “This will become part of your life, and you’ll use your magic as easily as breathing comes to you.”

Amelia’s eyes skittered around her surroundings once again, drinking in everything she was seeing. She imagined that this was once a stately home, back int its heyday. There were ornate statues, plinths that once held treasures, stone columns that ascended high into the sky and towered over her, making her presence pale into insignificance. There was a mural carved into the wall, intricate swirl patterns bordering what looked like a man staring into a crystal ball. It reminded Amelia of a fortune-teller, spinning stories of wealth and woe to those gullible enough to believe the words of others, and with a pang, she realised that had been her; she had spent most of her life believing that she was unlovable because she was, in the words of the Sisters, unusual and odd, so much so her own parents didn't want her. She had spent most of her life trying to conform to society’s rigid structure, squash herself into a box she clearly didn’t fit in, a square peg in a round hole.

But the Wizarding World was just as conformist, as she had experienced in Diagon Alley, with the vitriol that was spat her way and instead of being a square peg trying to fit in a round hole, she was a square peg trying to slot into a triangle instead. Much to her shame, she hadn’t learnt anything; she was still as gullible and now disillusioned to most of the inhabitants of world she had been thrust in to. Sebastian and Eleazar were the only exceptions, neither of them passing judgement over her, but that seemed to have disintegrated with Sebastian; things were awfully frigid between them, and she didn’t think they would regain their equanimity, despite his quiet reassurance that they would talk later. She could only hope that he wasn't lying when he said that.

“Careful,” Eleazar intoned as she stepped around their surroundings. An unsettled chill shivered down his spine, skin goosebumping and hair on the back of his head standing up on end. There was something off about the atmosphere, something stilted, as if the house had been waiting for the right person to show up so it could reveal its secrets. “There’s something unusual about this place, something disconcerting. Don’t touch anything without me checking it first.”

Amelia nodded, and using one hand to hold her hair out of her eyes, she sprinted down a path she could see off to her left. It was even more exposed to the elements, the bite of the wind and the salt in the air nipped and tightened her skin, rosy cheeks blooming to the surface. At the end of her path was a brick wall, swirls of blue light shimmering around it. Majestic and stunning, it was everything she had dreamt she could be but had never allowed herself to believe it would happen. She was drawn to it, a magnetic pull and her hand darted out of its own accord to try and touch it, and the brick wall dissolved into a reflection of a chamber. Ornate pillars with gold decorations supported the roof of the room, the floor was tiled in Calcutta marble, giving the impression of grandiose even though the room itself seemed small.

Talons grasped at her wrist, yanking her hand sharply back to her side. “I told you not to touch anything without having me look at it first,” Fig growled, mostly out of concern for his young companion’s safety.

“But it’s the way forward!” Amelia protested, once more feeling the magnetic pull tug her arm and body towards the portal. Her fingers dipped through the surface, ripples spreading like she was disturbing a still pond. “See?”

Eleazar sighed; Amelia was right, and as much as it worried him, his sense of adventure spurred him onwards. He nodded at her to lead the way and gulped as she pulled him through the vortex. Dimensions shifted around him; it squeezed and expanded every molecule inside his body all at the same time, an ice-cold inferno scorching his organs as he stepped from the ruins of the castle into the room Amelia had seen.

Quiet snores rumbled through the room, reverberating off the walls and floors like an echo chamber.

“Where are we?” Amelia asked in a hushed whisper. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, cataloguing everything that she saw. Off to the left was a platform and a set of rails, not dissimilar to the railway network she knew existed in the coal mines of Northern England. There were rope barricades off to the right; what they were guarding, Amelia didn’t know as the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. The snoring came from high up on a lectern; a small body with fluffy hair dressed in a white shirt, green waistcoat – not too dissimilar to what Sebastian was wearing the day they met, Amelia thought, and that thought panged in her stomach – and glasses slumbered against the podium. Similar to a human, but also different.

“It appears we’re in Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. Run by goblins. Very clever beings, goblins are. Very shrewd as well; never try to cross one and expect to get away with it. Probably one of the safest Wizarding institutions in Great Britain, except perhaps Hogwarts.” Eleazar nudged Amelia forward. “You should wake him up.”

“Me? Why me?”

“The portal brought you here; I just happened to follow. This is a journey for you to complete.”

Tentatively, Amelia stepped up to the podium. “Hello,” she whispered softly, unsure if anything she was doing was right.

Another snore rumbled through the room. Amelia turned and shrugged helplessly at Eleazar. Eleazar shot her a pointed look, urging her to try again. She nodded and repeated her greeting with more conviction. When that didn’t work, she resorted to faking a coughing fit and clearing her throat. She stomped her foot in frustration; the sharp, sudden noise jolted the banker awake.

“Wha- huh-,” the goblin blustered, fumbling as he roused from his slumber. He glanced at the watch on the wall. “Gringotts is closed; how did you get in here?! I assure you, if you are seeking treasure that was never yours to begin with, you will pay dearly for your transgressions!” The teller made to move to call for security. Another goblin, dressed in black with a red armband around the sleeve of their shirt stepped forward - but paused when he saw Eleazar Fig, head tilting to the side as he observed the man.

Eleazar Fig stood proudly behind Amelia, shoulders thrown back as he held up the bauble that had started their whole adventure.

“Ah!” the banker exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you. A very long time indeed. Vault Twelve.” He snapped his fingers and summoned a cart to the platform Amelia had seen earlier. “On with you; the instructions for the vault are very clear.”

Not entirely sure what was happening, Amelia followed Eleazar onto the cart. The trolley took off like a fire had been lit underneath it. Caverns flashed past her, a blur of iron encased into rock as the cart took them deeper and deeper into the bowels of Gringotts intricate vault system. There was a waterfall up ahead; Amelia grimaced in anticipation as she had never been one to enjoy water.

“The Thief’s Downfall,” Fig said excitedly. “Washes away all magical enhancements a burglar might employ to get to the more secured vaults, but if you have nothing to hide, you pass through it as though it was air.”

“You sound as though you’ve had experience with it,” the teller commented, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he regarded the elderly man.

“Second hand experience,” Fig reassured the goblin with a smile. “I read a lot.”

Not entirely satisfied with the answer, the goblin grunted. “Settle in, Vault Twelve is one of the oldest vaults commissioned. We have a while to go.”

The cart jerked to a stop and Eleazar and the banker stepped out onto the grated landing. Amelia, by contrast, held one hand to her mouth, another to her stomach and stumbled out of the trolley, landing on her hands and knees as she swallowed the nauseous feeling she had. When she was in the orphanage, the travelling fairground had set up shop every other summer three blocks away from her. After completing her chores for the day, she would sidle out of the orphanage’s gate and roam the streets, watching on enviously as mothers and fathers who actually cared about their children placed them on the horse carousel, delighting in their childish chirrups as they galloped around in a circle, as courting couples would grapple onto each other as they got frightened in the ghost show, as the adventurers would scream on the wooden rollercoaster rides, and she wished she had been able to afford that sliver of happiness that had been projected out towards her, but knew that it would never happen for her.

After experiencing the Gringotts cart, the closest thing she would get to a rollercoaster, she was glad she had been deprived of that pain.

“Breathe,” Eleazar advised. “The Gringotts cars take a bit to get used to.”

“I’m alright,” Amelia gritted out, heaving herself to her feet, taking in the change of surrounding, as she always did. The air was damp and musty, as though no one had set foot down there in centuries. Stalagmites and stalactites grew, twisted around pillars so spindly it was a wonder they supported the weight of the structure they were standing on. She could her heart race, thudding erratically under her chest, her muscles tense from anticipating what came next.

The banker gestured at both of them, calling them forward as he opened the door. Amelia glanced at Eleazar and stepped forward, somehow knowing that he would encourage her to explore the vault before he stepped foot in it. There was another set of doors within the vault; it glowed ethereal blue and Amelia was drawn to it.

“Professor,” she breathed, pointing at the door. Eleazar stepped closer to her, waved his wand and muttered a charm under his breath. He nodded; it seemed perfectly safe, and they stepped closer to the door.

“Wait!” Eleazar cried out to the banker. “What are you doing?”

“The instructions were perfectly clear; open Vault Twelve to the holder of the key and close the door behind them. Good luck!” The rusted, iron door slammed closed, bolts sliding and locking them in with a sense of finality.

Eleazar scrambled, tripping over the hem of his cloak as he raced to the door, body slamming into the metal just a fraction of a second too late. He stared desperately up at the locks, willing himself to find a weak point in the door, ready to bombarda his way out so he could escort Amelia to safety, but it was no use.

“Well,” he mused, sighing deeply. “I guess the only way to go back is forward.”

And even though her stomach quivered with nerves and trepidation, Amelia strode to the door that shimmered and glittered with possibilities and pushed it open.

Chapter Text

The vault’s interior defied all logical convention; it was more vast and expansive than Amelia had thought could be contained in the rock underneath Gringotts. Out of nowhere, Sebastian’s voice flitted through her mind, the self-satisfied smirk, drunk from amusement as well as the wine he had been sipping from the night they met and she had stepped into his tent for the first time.

It’s just… bigger on the inside.

Annoyance at him for intruding her thoughts, especially after he had been so dismissive and derisive towards her on the train ride to Hogwarts flashed through Amelia, and she squashed him to the side, deliberately not thinking about him and how wretched things stood between him and her. She shook her head and cleared her mind, focussing on what lay ahead of her.

“Stay close,” Fig instructed, wand aloft and alight. “I don’t know where we are or what’s going to happen.”

Amelia tucked herself as close as she could into Fig’s torso, all senses of hers on high alert as they traipsed through the dark. There was a thrum, a constant vibration that buzzed through her and she slowly relaxed, stepping up her pace so she was leading Fig to where she was being pulled. There was a silvery puddle on the ground, enchanted whispers leaking out from the edges and sucking her in, a siren’s call into using a power only she could wield.

“What is it?”

Amelia ignored the question, leaning down so she was flat to the floor, fingers imbibing magic into her, the tingle she was starting to get used to rising into a crescendo as she activated her power. There was a show of light, blinding and strong, a snap of tension releasing within her. For a split second, time seemed to crawl to a halt; she could feel the ambient temperature of the vault drop, could hear the wind pick up and howl around her, a tornado of her own making. The ground shook beneath her feet, tremors quaking at her knees as a stone monument groaned and rose from the floor, and an imposing shadow cast over her, blocking all light from Eleazar’s wand.

“Who dares wake me from my slumber?!”

She could feel a sword slice through the air by her cheek. Fig instinctively reached out to where he thought she was and pulled her tight behind him, subtly pulling her wand out of the pocket of her trench coat and placing it in her hands.

“Offensive stance,” he muttered, manoeuvring himself into position. “We have no choice but to fight our way out of this.”

“Foolish mortal!” the stone voice boomed out, voice crashing over them like the waves that had crashed over jagged rocks. “You stand in the Vault of the Lost Power! Those who have dared to seek and uncover the forgotten knowledge perished! You will face the ultimate penalty for disturbing us if you are unworthy of the Pensieve!”

Amelia swallowed hard, her pulse racing as her breathing hitched when the monument stormed towards her. The whispers she had heard earlier vined around her mind, urging her to allow her power to course through her veins and take over her. She breathed in deep and breathed out slow, trying to maintain control over herself as otherworldly light swirled around her fingers. She screamed, high pitched, panicked and shrill and raised her hands to cover her face against the sword that brushed against her cheek, slicing her skin and a thin trickle of blood seeped out from the wound.

A blinding fluorescence surrounded the room, the snap of thunder as boulders crashed to the ground, the smoke of the fight obscuring her view and then the room plunged into darkness.

Instead of cowering in the corner like she did the last time her Ancient Magic instinctively protected her, Amelia stood in the centre of the ring, proud and accomplished at what she had achieved as she saw the rubble. Instead of inadvertently hurting others with her power, she had used it to positively, as a means of defending herself and Eleazar Fig.

“Professor!” Amelia called out, elated at the realisation that her power could be used for good. “Professor!”

Silence answered her.

“Professor?!”

There was no response, and it was so dark Amelia could only see a few metres ahead of her. She held her arm out in front of her, wishing Eleazar had thought of teaching her the Illuminating spell before he had vanished into oblivion. She sighed heavily; having someone that would stay by her and guide her through this was just too much to hope for and she was on her own.

Story of my life, she supposed ruefully. Why should things be different now?

Her steps mimicked the frantic beating of her heart as her heels clicked on the floor, one measured step after another. Small tendrils of blue shot out from underneath her feet, swishing past her and guiding her on; there was no need for her to lament the fact that she didn’t know the Illuminating spell as the strands of magic were bright enough to lead her to a monument made of silver. The testament was the same, delicate flame pattern that Amelia had seen carved into the armoire in Eleazar Fig’s spare bedroom. Heat radiated throughout her, warming her from the pit of her belly and she reached out to touch the flame. The metal was cool to the touch, calming the neurons that were rapidly buzzing, firing electrical impulses rapidly into her brain, dissolving into a silver pool of liquid and revealing a basin. Amelia touched the side of the basin; the room swirled around her, dimensions changing once more as the darkness she had been enveloped in dissolved into an array of blue and gold. She had been transported from the dark to another vault, with another set of doors that seemed to be sealed. A bauble hovered above the basin, glittering and tempting Amelia to hold it.

“There you are!” Fig exclaimed as he burst his way through the door, huffing and puffing and running a hand through his grey locks. “I was worried sick when you were separated from me! Did you get through alright? Did anything hurt you?” Without waiting for Amelia to respond, he shoved three more phials of Wiggenweld Potion into her hand. “Keep them on you, just in case. I’d wager that there will be more instances where we are split and you may need to heal yourself.”

Amelia nodded and gestured to the ornament hovering over the stone basin.

“Ah! A Pensieve!” Fig crowed, pulling the lid off the vessel and pouring the memories into the basin.

“What does a Pensieve do, Professor?”

“A Pensieve shows the extracted memories from a person that has a story to tell.” With that, Eleazar plunged his face into the basin. Not entirely sure what to expect, Amelia followed suit.

“All is in place”, the shorter, more portly of the two men said, turning back to face the taller, lithe figure Amelia recognised as the fortune-teller from the castle ruins she and Fig had been transported to. Amelia startled at the realisation, tugging on Fig’s sleeve to try and draw his attention to it but he didn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Percival, I fear we’ve hidden this pathway too well,” the shorter man said, his hat wobbling comically as he shook his head and chewed on his lip. “It will be impossible for someone to follow.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best; we don’t want the person who unlocks this to follow the same path she took, Charles. The path will only reveal itself to someone who can see and wield Ancient Magic, just like I can.” Percival moved around the room, long robes swishing in his agitated wake as he waved his wand and erected more ornate columns and decorations for the vault.

“It will not be enough, Percival,” Charles warned, pessimism evident in his voice. “We cannot rely on this alone to keep our secrets. This is knowledge others would do anything to obtain.”

“The one who completes the trials will be worthy of the knowledge and will know what to do with it,” Percival responded with a gentle smile, hoping to reassure Charles’ concerns as he walked out of the safehold he had created. “Have a little faith and try not to worry so much.”

“I do hope you’re right, Professor Rackham,” Charles grumbled, and he, too, followed in Percival Rackham’s footsteps.

Fig pulled his head out of the Pensieve with a gasp, vibrating with excitement. If only Miriam had been able to witness what he had just seen; she would have had a more nuanced understanding into her research. Perhaps if she knew what a perilous path she was traversing on, she would have been more open to having him by her side, travelling and adventuring to bring the physical distance between them to a close. But that hadn’t happened – Miriam had asserted that the distance was what saved their marriage after their miscarriages, and she was stubborn, unable to be swayed from her stance; Eleazar loved her too much to lose his marriage to her, so he took up his post at Hogwarts to save the idea of their unity – and he silently vowed to be a better support system for his young charge as they explored the secrets of Ancient Magic together.

He watched Amelia as she lifted her face, rubbed at her eyes that were knitted together in a puzzled frown. She opened her mouth, a million questions dancing on the tip of her tongue, but Eleazar shook his head; life had taught him the most unassuming places had ears in the wall and discretion was worth its weight in Galleons.

Muffled voices could be heard, growing louder and louder as stomps approached the door Fig had burst through earlier. Eleazar instinctively pulled Amelia behind him to keep her safe and drew his wand.

“Someone’s coming. Whatever happens, keep everything that you’ve seen to yourself! It is imperative that the information we’ve uncovered stays between us for now!”

“But, sir, you can’t go there! You don’t hold the key to the vault!” Amelia heard the distinct, high pitched squeak of the teller that had led them to the vault, and possibly to their demise. There was a grumble, a voice filled with hatred and anger but she couldn’t make out what was being said. A muffled squeak and a grunt as the teller’s body was shoved roughly into a marble pillar.

“Ranrok!” Fig muttered, hackles raised as the goblin that was leading a bloody and violent revolt in the Magical Community strode into view.

Ranrok was clad in animal skins and leather, cloaked in armour made of metal Amelia had never seen before, dull and tarnished but still shiny under the light of the vault. The swirls on his armour glowed blood red, his eyes were narrowed into permanent slits, the look of derision and disgust carved into his face like etchings on a stone. His lip curled upwards into a sneer as he approached Fig.

“Seems my reputation precedes me. I was beginning to think no one would access Rackham’s vault. How lucky I am to have –” Ranrok broke off, casting a cursory glance at the goblin Amelia recognised from the lobby of Gringotts. The teenager tugged impatiently on Fig’s arm, but he dismissed her and tucked her behind him as he stared at their adversaries.

“How lucky I am to have stumbled upon an open vault.”

Fig took an offensive step forward, wand still raised at the armoured creature. “And why are you here?!”

“No need for such hostility,” Ranrok smarmed, baring a smile that showed decayed teeth, sharpened to a point. “Simply hand over what you’ve recovered and we’ll be on our merry way. No-one has to get hurt.”

“Sir, they had the key to Vault Twelve,” the teller began, trying fruitlessly to defuse the tension in the room. “Whatever is in there rightfully belongs to them. If you seek a treasure that was never yours -”

Ranrok pivoted, slowly, pupils of his eyes glowing red, making him seem more demonic than ever. He squared his shoulders, drew himself up to his full height and with an air of authority, pointed at the teller and snapped his fingers. A jet of air blasted through the vault, vining around the teller and picking him up and slamming his body into the ground repeatedly until he was nothing more than a ragdoll, arms and legs flailing lifelessly and aimlessly with the movement and his body crashed to the floor, still and unmoving.

“I’m creating a new world order, and I have no time or patience for traitors!” Ranrok declared, staring at the goblin he had just murdered. “I have no regrets over a few, inconsequential losses.”

Instinctively, Amelia moved towards the deceased body on the ground; Fig seemed to sense the movement and shifted so his body blocked her path. It wasn’t quick enough; Ranrok had seen her, Ranrok knew what she looked like now. He leered at her and chuckled darkly as he moved with intent towards them; the most unsettling, disconcerting feeling washing over her and she shuddered, scuttling back into the shadow and safety of Eleazar Fig.

Fig scowled in grim determination as Ranrok and his posse advanced on them, letting off a warning cast to deter their adversaries.

“I’m not giving you anything that will help you win! We’re going to fight you every step of the way!”

Ranrok let out a humourless laugh. “Fight me?! Well, on your head be it!”

Another snarl and snap of the goblin’s fingers, this time directed squarely in the centre of Eleazar’s chest. Fig anticipated the move, pulling Amelia in towards him so his Shield Charm would protect them both as he deflected the spell to the Pensieve. The rebound of the magic propelled both of them backwards into the ground. Amelia winced as her newly healed ribs jarred again, while Eleazar rolled onto his back, panting with exertion of the magic he had just cast.

The Pensieve fractured into tiny pieces, confetti on the floor, and from that rose another statue. This statue was slightly different to the one Amelia and Eleazar had fought before. A cloak billowed out behind him and his height eclipsed everyone in the room. A sword slammed into the ground, the point of it causing waves to ripple out across the floor. Amelia rolled into a wall as the waves moved her; the mirage of a forest caught her eye.

“Professor Fig, I can see a way out!” she called out, her hand outstretched so she could lead herself and her mentor to safety. The wanton destruction that was unfolding in front of her overpowered her voice; Fig was engaged battling the statue while defending himself against Ranrok’s curses. The statue that rose from the ground charged at anyone that stood in their path, swinging wildly and decimating whatever obstacles stood in its way.

“Professor!” she screamed as the massive effigy took a swing and a miss at the man, sword colliding with a pillar and cleaving it in two effortlessly. “Professor, over here!” She reached out for him, snagging the sleeve of his robes and tugged him down, through the gateway that led them to the forest.

The ground was soft and spongy, Amelia thought as she tumbled out of the vortex. Quite surprising, since the forest floor looked hard and unyielding. The sky was so dark blue it was almost black, and multitudes of stars glittered above them. The hoots of owls, croaks of frogs and gentle flits of butterfly wings combined to provide a soothing melody to their surroundings, a sharp contrast to the skirmish of Vault Twelve.

A muffled groan came from underneath her; Amelia understood that it wasn’t the ground that was spongy, but her mentor. She had tumbled recklessly, using him as a cushion to break her fall. Instantly, she rolled off him and pulled a Wiggenweld Potion out of her pocket, just in case catching her hefty weight had injured him.

“I’m fine,” Fig reassured her, rotating his shoulders as he pushed himself up off the ground, eyes taking in their surroundings.

“Where are we, Professor? And what just happened?”

“It appears we’re just about back to where we started.” Eleazar pulled his wand out of his robe and cast a muttered spell. A golden ribbon shot out of the end of his wand, providing them a way out of the Forbidden Forest. “I’m not entirely sure what happened, or how the portals work and have landed us here, but one thing is certain; whoever created this pathway wanted you to find it and walk it. I must do some more research into this; for now, keep everything to yourself.” He hesitated, spearing a glance up into the sky and noting the planetary positions in the sky. Mars was unusually bright.

“There is a war on the way, Amelia. Ranrok versus the Magical World. It won’t be like any war we’ve faced before; there will be death and destruction. There won’t be winners or losers; just victims, like the poor teller from Gringotts. It is imperative that you don’t fall into Ranrok’s hands; the power that you wield is a lethal weapon if used injudiciously.”

Amelia nodded grimly, feeling the hefty weight of responsibility settle onto her.

“Come now, dear girl, we need to get back to Hogwarts. We have a Sorting Ceremony to attend.”

Chapter Text

Silas Sallow steered his son through the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts. He could feel the tension and apprehension leak out of Sebastian’s pores, see his muscles tense as they approached the doors of the Great Hall. Sebastian’s footsteps slowed; he was taking mincing, little shuffles as Silas urged him along until he came to a complete standstill outside the Great Hall doors. The cacophony, muffled as it was, was already too much for Sebastian to cope with after his week in Azkaban.

“Dad, I… I can’t do this,” he muttered, eyes downcast to his feet. His fingers clawed anxiously against his skin and he tugged some of his curls down over his eyes. He could feel his pulse race underneath his skin, his breath come in shallow gasps and he resisted the temptation to clamp his hands over his ears to drown out the noise. He squinted, the lights were too bright, too harsh to what he was used to. Aesop Sharp had said it would take a week to a month for him to recover from Azkaban; Sebastian was starting to believe he had been indelibly scarred from the experience.

“Yes, you can,” Silas encouraged, winding one arm around his son’s waist since he was too short to reach his shoulders. “You are so much stronger than you realise, son. Breathe in deep, count to ten and breathe out slow.”

It was brief, but Silas was relieved to see the shadow of Sebastian’s smile grace his lips at the familiar words, the corner of his mouth lilting up ever so briefly.

“We don’t have time for you to count higher than that. Breathe, son. It’s not going to solve everything, but it’s a start.”

And Sebastian inhaled deep into his lungs, held his breath and breathed out slowly, his heartrate slowing to a more manageable level. He took another deep breath, the air that was once thick and choking thinning out a bit and feeling a little less foreign in his lungs. The echoing sounds of laughter, the muted conversations between friends, the clinking of goblets together were noises from an alien world, one he had visited in years gone by but couldn’t return to.

The Hall would rumble to a strained silence as soon as he entered. Hundreds of heads would swivel in his direction to stare at him, some with derision in their eyes, some with admiration, some with wounded curiosity at him. Being stared at wasn’t uncommon for Sebastian – his looks, charisma and flirtatious nature usually attracted attention from a lot of students – but now he was acutely aware that the way his peers would see him had irrevocably changed. He had single-handedly destroyed the reputation of the Sallow name in a few short weeks and thanks to the endless media coverage Aesop had tried to shield him from, the entire Wizarding Community was aware of it. An uncomfortable, prickly feeling of shame and embarrassment trickled down his spine and he shuddered at the unfamiliarity of it.

“They’re not staring at you, Seb,” Silas whispered, knowing the thoughts that were tormenting his son. “They’re staring at the rumours of you. The whispers, the exaggerations of who they think you are. You know that’s not you. I know that’s not you. The people that are important in your life know who you are.”

Sebastian nodded but the words did little to settle him. His resolution and determination had waned; as much as he was ready to face the challenges of returning to life head on earlier, now all he wanted to do was go back home and curl up in the safety and security of his mother’s arms, hide himself away until the world had forgotten about him and his brush with the law.

“You’re here now, you’re going to walk into that hall, take your seat and stay for the Sorting Ceremony. Eat what you can, and then you can go to the Slytherin Common Room for some quiet time,” Silas instructed, his hand on the door of the Great Hall so he could take his place on the podium next to Dinah Hecat and whoever the appointed Potions Professor would be since the old one had retired at the end of the last school year. “Two minutes to gather yourself, Sebastian, and then I expect to see you sitting at your House table.”

Sebastian nodded, watched his father walk through the door and contemplated disobeying his instructions and Flooing back to Aranshire. A quick step into the emerald green flames and he’d be back where his mother could support him as he readjusted to life. Where they would shield him and protect him from the hushed whispers and embellished rumours that were flying thick and fast through the Wizarding World. But that idea flitted through his mind and Sebastian discarded it; his probation terms relied on him being at Hogwarts to continue his education so he would grimace and bear whatever challenges were thrown his way.

A shaky breath, trying to steady himself and his tumultuous thoughts. He had to push through, had to step forwards to leave the darkness behind. His hand rested on the door and gingerly, he pushed it open and made his way in.

The gentle hum of conversation came to a screeching halt, just like Sebastian thought it would. The Great Hall opened up onto him, hundreds of eyes staring at him, waiting for him to move. Sebastian met as many stares as he could with a glare back. He jerked, one foot placed in front of the other one, plodding along until walking came semi-naturally to him. His eyes moved from the sea of students up to the teachers’ table; Silas nodded subtly in approval. It wasn’t much, but it propelled Sebastian forward.

Whispers tailed him.

“That’s Sallow – the one who was prosecuted in summer! He’s the star of this season’s summer gossip!”

“Shhh, don’t say things too loud – he can probably hear you!”

Of course I can hear you, he thought bitterly as he walked between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin table. You’re not being that inconspicuous and my ears work surprisingly well, when I want them to.

“Isn’t he the one that sullied the girl he was with? Unchaperoned and in the woods? What a scoundrel! What a scandal! She’s completely worthless now he’s had her!”

“Don’t act so surprised; everyone knows Sallow’s been doing the rounds with anything that moves - looks like that, who wouldn't take advantage of it? Everyone knows about his reputation. Another notch on his bedpost is par for the course with him!”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sallow making a comeback after his stint in Azkaban. Let’s see if he’s learnt his lesson or if he’ll continue to flaunt the rules, as though he’s better than the rest of us! I’m honestly surprised the Ministry saw fit to let him return to Hogwarts!”

Sebastian’s insides froze as he heard the nasally, snivelly voice of Leander Prewett. Distant relatives they may have been – and it didn’t get any more distant than a sixth cousin that was twice removed – but Sebastian was ready to launch himself at the ginger prick and give him a piece of his mind. He contemplated using a wandless silencio on Leander to stop that overgrown parrot from squawking nonsense, but he caught his father’s stern gaze; Silas shook his head in a silent reprimand. Not only would his father have disapproved, but wandless magic would have alerted Aesop Sharp - who had taken up residence in the seat next to his father - to the fact that Sebastian didn’t need a wand to perform simple spells, and that snippet of information was something Sebastian wanted to keep under wraps.

Sit down, he mouthed, pointing to an empty spot at the Slytherin table.

Wordlessly, and without making eye contact with anyone, Sebastian slid into the vacant seat next to Ominis Gaunt. Ominis patted his arm in sympathy.

“The chatter will die down, Sebastian,” he said. “Remember what it was like my first few weeks of first year? The Gaunt reputation preceding me? It will die down when the next big thing happens. Be patient, and pretend it doesn’t affect you; that’s what you and Anne told me back then, and now I’m telling it back to you.”

Sebastian was about to respond, about to point out that their situations were slightly different, but Matilda Weasley unfurled the Sorting Scroll and called up the first new student to be Sorted. It was a given that there was a reverent, hushed silence as the Sorting Ceremony took place – save for the celebrations of a house that gained a new member – and that hampered any opportunity for Sebastian to talk to Ominis and compare who had the worst holiday.

After what felt like an eon – Sebastian would swear that eyes were barbing him even though they should have been focussed on the Ceremony unfolding on the podium – the last student to be Sorted scuttled to the Hufflepuff table.

Sebastian’s face pulled into a scowl; Mia hadn’t been Sorted.

In fact, he hadn’t seen her at all since they separated earlier in the night. He wondered where she had gone, what Fig had her doing that was more important than finding out where she belonged and which House would be her first home. Perhaps she had changed her mind, no doubt driven away by his cantankerous mood and attitude towards her on the train ride up, and that thought made the pit of his stomach clench and squeeze painfully.

He had been a complete and utter twat to her on the train, taking his temper and misdirecting that anger onto her when he was really angry and upset at himself – he had no-one but himself to blame for the fact that he had ended up doing community service in Azkaban. Mia had done more for Sebastian than he could ever have hoped for – she had saved him from an even more intense sentence by proving that she wasn’t a Muggle during his trial when she could have simply kept herself hidden from the public eye and let him suffer, she had trusted him enough to run away with him, leave everything that troubled and worried them behind, laughed with him and made him feel like he was an accomplished, talented young wizard instead of reminding him that he was inept and useless at protecting the ones he loved – and he had thrown it all back in her face with a few choice words. As physically tired, mentally drained and emotionally strung-out as he was, it was no excuse for his behaviour and he resolved to apologise to her when their paths next crossed.

“Oi, Sallow, fill your plate and eat up!” Imelda Reyes, who was sitting opposite him, threw a bread roll at him to gain his attention. “Can’t have my Beater and Vice-Captain being whittled to bone because he’s starving himself!”

In another lifetime, hearing the news that he was the Vice-Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team would have elated him, but Sebastian felt nothing at that.

“I appreciate your concern, Imelda, but I’m just not hungry.” Sebastian pushed his plate away from him; there was no chocolate as part of the main course and he sorely needed some. He pushed himself back from the table, catching his father’s eye, desperate and pleading. Next to Silas sat Aesop Sharp – in order to remain Sebastian’s probationary officer, he had begrudgingly accepted the vacant position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. Aesop’s eyes bored holes into him, obsidian meeting sable, and the older man gestured for him to sit back down.

Silas watched the interaction play out between the two men, and Aesop quietly whispered that it was important in Sebastian’s rehabilitation to student life that he stay for the duration of the feast, no matter how uncomfortable it was for him. It twinged Silas’ heart, but he shook his head and turned away from Sebastian’s incredulous and betrayed gaze.

It was agony for the fifteen year old; his friends – the ones that knew Sebastian well enough to not believe the lies the media had perpetuated about him and Mia over the summer – tried to engage him in conversation, but getting words out of Sebastian was like drawing blood from a stone, and eventually they stopped, deciding it was easier to just let him wallow in whatever headspace his mind was in.

The three course feed was demolished – Sebastian managed to swallow half a slice of a dark triple-chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, a sharp improvement from when he couldn’t stomach food at all – and Headmaster Black approached the lectern. A suppressed groan rumbled around the hall; no-one was looking forward to enduring a rambling speech from Hogwarts’ most despised leader.

“Ah, yes, a new school year! A new batch of fresh, unadulterated minds that are eager to bask in the supreme intelligence of my teaching staff!” Black boasted, squaring his shoulders and ignoring the fact that the student body were rolling their eyes at his pompous manner. Sebastian had tuned out; his arms were folded on the table as he rested his head against them, eyes shut to see if Black’s scathing speech was the cure to his insomnia. “To those that are from our most prevalent families in Magical Society, I trust that you will follow in the illustrious footsteps of your ancestors, make the most of the opportunities that have been tailored for you, associate yourself with the right people so you can move up in the world and preserve the integrity of our society!”

From besides Sebastian, Ominis gagged at the rhetoric. Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“For those of you that are new… well, I suppose you’d have to be welcomed here too – ”

Black broke off; the door to the Great Hall flung open with a bang, startling Sebastian so he raised his head off the table. He blinked rapidly – the last time he had been this shocked was when Mia sailed past him as the Wizengamot read the verdict of his trial – and he had a strange sense of déjà vu as he watched Amelia Calloway tentatively make her way to the front of the hall, amidst the malicious gossip that ran rampant around the student body.

“That’s Amelia Calloway – the one who gave herself shamelessly to Sallow without any regard for propriety!”

“She’s the one that Sallow shagged in the woods the night they were arrested! Damaged goods now. No-one will ever touch her again!”

“She gave up everything to be with a convicted criminal! What does that say about her morals and ethics? Who’d want to be friends with her?"

“Calloway’s the alleged Muggle from Sebastian’s trial – she turned the Wizengamot into a chicken! Who knows what she’ll do to us if we get on her bad side! Why would they let someone so dangerous into Hogwarts?!”

Amelia felt the heat rushing to her cheeks, could feel the familiar tingle in her fingers as she walked on by, breathing in deep and breathing out slow to maintain her control over her emotions, just like Sebastian had encouraged her to do. She was quite tempted to unleash her power onto the students that were denigrating her, but that would just add fuel to fire. There was nothing for it but riding it out; she had survived similar mutterings before. The letter was a lie; she wasn’t being welcomed with open arms, but then again, Matilda Weasley had specified that it was only the Fifth-Years that would do so; perhaps everyone gossiping about her were in other cohorts that were less friendly and more judgemental.

“Professor Weasley,” Fig wheezed, voice projected loudly over the din of the hall to stop the rumours from flying. “We have one more student to place. The Sorting Hat, if you will.”

Matilda scurried forward with the Sorting Hat and the Sorting Stool. At Fig’s instruction, she sat herself down on the seat, squirming slightly as all eyes of the hall were on her. She scanned the crowd, blue eyes catching the freckled face of someone familiar, no matter how much she forced herself to studiously ignore his presence. She could see him sitting on the far side of a table, clad in a black robed lined with a shade of green that, under normal circumstances, would have complemented his complexion perfectly.

“Ahhh, what do we have here?” a little voice crooned in her head. “A little older than the other ones, aren’t you? How unusual! But where should I place you?”

Amelia froze, once more remembering what the Sisters had told her and tried to wipe her mind blank.

“No point in doing that, it won’t change what I can see!” the Hat crowed, probing a little further and a little deeper into her mind. “You’ve had a hard life before this; had to make yourself very self-reliant and self-serving. There’s a healthy sense of ambition in there too… Slytherin might be the House for you, but… I don’t think so; this is simply a mask you’ve created to preserve your true self. You need more of a challenge than a House that you’d fit seamlessly into, you need to come out of yourself a bit. Let’s see…”

Amelia could feel more probing and digging going around in her mind; it was quite disconcerting, like having strings attached to her arms and legs that were being pulled at the mercy of someone else’s whims. As much as she wanted to rip the Hat off her head, she sat there, stoic and unmoving.

“There’s a healthy respect and thirst for knowledge and you’re observant of the world around you, but underneath all of that is bravery, nerve and daring. Even when there’s danger around you, you don’t hesitate to do what you think is right. You don’t hesitate to face the unknown perils that you’ve come across…”

There were whispers behind her, the words first Hatstall since Sebastian Sallow pricked at her ears. What on Earth was a Hatstall, and how come the name Sebastian Sallow kept tying back to her? She had had enough of him since he had made his distaste towards her abundantly clear. All she wanted to do now was cut her losses with him and move on with her life.

“You could do well in Ravenclaw… but at heart, you’re a… GRYFFINDOR!”

The table that had scarlet and gold bunting above it erupted into cheers as Amelia was led down to her new House by Professor Fig. Despite herself, her eyes sidled over to the table she had glanced at before, trying to see Sebastian’s reaction to her Sorting. The seat he was occupying was conspicuously vacant.

Sebastian had gone.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 29th October 1879

“Give him here; Buttons is mine!”

“No he isn’t! Buttons was given to me! You always do this, you always try and take my things!”

“Buttons is mine!”

There was a violent tug as a five year old Sebastian pulled harshly on the legs of the teddy bear he and Anne were squabbling over. Anne was equally as ferocious, using one arm to push her brother away from her while the other pulled at the teddy bear’s arms to bring Buttons towards her chest. Buttons, completely unaccustomed to having two children scramble over him, appeared to have his button-eyes crossed as his arms and legs were stretched and pulled and tugged like he was a chicken being deboned.

Samuel Sallow sat on the sofa, watching his grandchildren niggle each other on the floor of the Aranshire cottage, an amused smirk playing on his lips. Afternoon tea at Silas and Emerys’ cottage so they could celebrate the twins’ birthday was a tradition that had been established since they were born. Watching Anne and Sebastian fight was a blast from the past for Samuel – in better times, Solomon and Silas would quarrel over toys the way their grandchildren were – and it had been a nightmare trying to resolve their arguments. Now all he had to do was watch as Silas was served his comeuppance.

“The twins realise their grandmother and I bought two teddy bears; one for each of them, don’t they?” Samuel chortled as he took in his son’s exasperated expression.

“I honestly don’t know why Emerys and I, and you and Mother, bothered buying two of their presents,” Silas grumbled, burying his head in his hands. “Their gifts are identical in every way and they still want the same one.”

Anne crowed as she gained momentary possessions of Buttons, making a show of hugging the teddy bear and spinning around and around with Buttons in her arms. There was a gloating, mocking smile on her face, lips curled upwards in a sneer as she delighted in her victory over her brother. Sebastian glared with such intensity Buttons would have been ablaze and Anne would have been reduced to cinders. He growled at her and charged her, grabbing the head of the teddy bear and twisting it left and right so violently he managed to rip the seams that held the head of the bear onto the torso. Stuffing flew out of the toy, falling to the ground in the same way snow would flutter to the ground in winter.

There was a moment of silence, disbelief of what had happened, and Anne tackled Sebastian to the ground. He grappled with her, rolling around on the floor to try and gain the upper hand and push her away, hands messing up her hair, her fist making deliberate contact with Sebastian’s jaw and then his nose. There was a sickening crunch; blood waterfalled out, crimson staining the light blue shirt Emerys and Silas had bought Sebastian for his birthday. Two little incisors lay on the ground; luckily they were Sebastian’s baby teeth and already wobbly, so Anne hadn’t caused too much damage to her brother. Anne’s hair had unravelled from the braids Emerys had plaited earlier that morning, the bows that were at the end of each pigtail hanging limp and her dress was wrinkled from her skirmish.

Emerys could hear the ruckus from the kitchen where she and Sophia Sallow were baking Anne and Sebastian birthday cakes - chocolate fudge for Anne and a Victoria Sponge for Sebastian – and with a sigh, removed her apron and stormed into the living room, aghast at watching her son bleed and cry from the pain he was in and her daughter continue to belt her brother before picking up her wand and casting a barrier between them. “Silas, why didn’t you stop them?!”

“It escalated so quickly, and I didn’t think this would happen! They’ve never turned on each other physically before,” Silas sighed as he pulled his wailing boy into his arms and Emerys held onto Anne, casting a cooling charm over her knuckles to reduce the swelling. He flicked his wand over Sebastian’s face, clearing out the blood that was spurting down his face. Sophia bustled into the room and Silas looked over at her beseechingly. As a retired Healer, she would be able to judge Sebastian and Anne’s injuries and she motioned for Samuel to hold onto Anne while she started her assessment.

Emerys stormed over to the object of their desires, bending down to pick up Buttons’ decapitated head and mangled torso. To think that half an hour ago, the teddy bear had been in pristine condition and her children had been happily playing Gobstones with each other. “Buttons is not yours, Sebastian Silas Sallow!” she declared, white hot ire buried in her voice as she held the soft toy in her arms.

From where she was in her grandfather’s arms, Anne made a squeak of triumph, eyes glittering delightedly in her victory against her brother. Emerys whirled around with the force of a tornado, laser-beam eyes targeting her daughter.

“And I would wipe that self-satisfied smirk off my face if I were you, Annette Elizabeth Sallow! Buttons doesn’t belong to you either! Buttons now belongs to Daddy and me – along with the rest of your birthday presents – until you show us you know how to behave!” With a swish of her wand, she banished all their unwrapped presents into oblivion.

Sebastian scowled heavily at Anne, eyebrows tugging into a permanent furrow, as his father held onto him tight to stop him going after Anne and his grandmother peered at his swollen and bloody face.

“I think you need to take Sebastian to St. Mungo’s, Silas,” Sophia commented, dabbing at the blood that kept blossoming from Sebastian’s gums and nose. “He’s bleeding quite profusely and it doesn’t look like it’s slowing down. He may need a Blood Replenishing Potion to replace what he’s lost.”

Silas breathed in deep, closed his eyes and counted to ten before breathing out slowly. He summoned his cloak, and Sebastian’s jumper and took a pinch of Floo Powder from the pot that they kept near the hearth, ready to do as his mother told him.

For a Wednesday afternoon, St. Mungo’s Hospital was surprisingly busy. The Welcome Witch had immediately sent Silas and Sebastian to triage – the trainee Healer packed Sebastian’s mouth with gauze, cast episkey on his nose but botched it up so it was still broken – and then informed Silas that a more senior Healer would be needed to stitch up Sebastian’s bleeding gums and fix their mistake. The pair were directed to chairs in the waiting room; Sebastian had been given a stack of paper and some crayons to distract himself while he waited and he sat cross-legged on the floor of St. Mungo’s as he doodled on his paper, tongue poking out from his lips as he concentrated.

“Daddy, it feels odd when I move my tongue over where my teeth used to be,” the five year old complained with a lisp, poking his tongue into the newly acquired holes in his gum.

“Well, don’t move your tongue then, Seb.” Silas leant down over his son – there was absolutely no artistic ability in his boy, that talent had gone to Anne instead – and tried to decipher what the blobs Sebastian had drawn actually were.

“It’s our family, Daddy!” Sebastian proclaimed proudly. “That’s Grandpa and Grandma – ” he pointed to two very unflattering peach coloured circles on the page; the one that Silas thought was his father had two black dots for eyes and a smeared red line for lips. A grey rectangle on top of what was his head represented hair. Sophia Sallow didn’t appear much different, except that she was shorter on the page than Samuel was and had green blobs for eyes instead of black.

“This is Mummy and that’s you!” Sebastian pointed once more to some very ugly stick figures, somehow managing to exemplify every facial feature he knew Emerys was insecure about, from the size of her nose to the fact that her ears stuck out at an odd angle, not to mention the bags and wrinkles that framed her eyes. Sebastian’s rendition of his father wasn’t much kinder; his eyes were obscured by bushy eyebrows, the small pooch of a belly that was starting to form thanks to Emerys’ delectable cooking and Silas’ poor fitness regime was exaggerated to comical levels in Sebastian’s portrait, the curls that Sebastian inherited from his father were frantic swirls of brown in the picture, a bird’s nest perched atop an egg-shaped head.

“And this is me!” Sebastian pointed to a small stick figure of him, dressed in a blood splattered blue shirt while smiling wide with two missing teeth. “See? It’s our family!”

Silas took in the drawing slowly. “Where’s your sister, Seb? I can’t see Anne in here.”

Sebastian’s jovial mood dissipated and he muttered uncharitably under his breath. Something about Anne not being part of his family after she smacked him repeatedly in the face, and hard enough to draw blood and lose teeth.

“Sebastian, come up here.” Silas patted the seat beside him. There was a steely note in Silas’ voice that brokered no room for argument. “Anne is the only sister you’ll ever have; you’re her big brother, you need to look after her.”

“She should look after me too!” Sebastian said, crossing his arms over his chest as he prepared to sulk. He was the one that had been punched in the face; how come he was the one being blamed for that?!

“Yes, she should, and believe me, I will be having this conversation with her too,” Silas agreed. “I understand that you were angry with Anne, that she had annoyed you, and I understand that Anne was angry at you, that you had annoyed her, but the appalling behaviour that your grandparents, your mother and I saw today cannot and will not happen again.”

Silas paused, letting the gravity of his words sink into his son.

“Sebastian, you must never hit a lady. You also shouldn’t hit another man either, but it’s less frowned upon if you do.”

The cogs were turning in Sebastian’s mind as he processed his father’s words. His father had said he should never hit a lady. Ladies were much older than him; they wore big, flouncy dresses, similar to the one he had seen his mother wear to Hogwarts’ Celestial Ball in the photos Emerys and Silas showed him and Anne, they carried themselves, light on their feet when they walked and had sparkly jewellery and exotic perfumes draped over them like a second skin. Anne didn’t do any of that, so she clearly wasn’t a lady.

“So I can hit Anne,” Sebastian confirmed, not understanding why his father had just smacked his hand into his forehead and rubbed at his eyes in a tired manner.

“Don’t hit anyone, Sebastian,” Silas clarified, running his hand through his hair in agitation and frustration. “Use your words to best someone, not your fists. Never take action in anger; you’ll be a better man for it. And you’ll need to apologise to Anne when we get back. She did wrong to you, but you also did wrong to her. Next time you get that angry with her, I want you to breathe in deep, count to 7,245 and then breathe out slow.”

“What happens if I’m still angry after that?”

“Then come see your mother or me. If you’re still angry after that, there may be something to be angry about.”

Silas was about to boop his son on the nose – force of habit – but realised that it wouldn’t be a kindness to his son given that Sebastian’s nose was still broken. Instead, his lips ghosted over his son’s hairline and he placed a gentle kiss on Sebastian’s temple. “Even though you drive me to despair, I love you, Seb. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Love you too, Daddy.” Sebastian threw his arms around Silas’ neck, cuddling into his shoulder as they continued to wait for a Healer to see them.

Anne had been sent to bed without dinner or cake by Emerys and she was pacing a hole in the floor, waiting for her husband and son to come home. The door to the Sallow homestead creaked open and Silas came in, carrying their dozing son in his arms.

“How is he?” Emerys rushed over, using one hand to brush away some wayward curls from her son’s face.

“Nothing time won’t fix,” Silas murmured, shaking his son awake and setting him on the ground.

Emerys wrapped Sebastian up in a hug, kissing his forehead before promptly telling him that it was quarter past nine, so it was well past his bedtime and that he needed to brush his teeth, get into his pyjamas and go to sleep. Silas cleared his throat and pointedly glanced up at Anne’s room, a reminder for Sebastian to make good on his apology to his sister.

Sebastian chewed on his lip but knew that the promise he had made to his father in hospital was one that he would be held accountable for. But before he apologised to Anne, there was someone else he needed to apologise to. “

“I’m sorry, Mummy and Daddy. I shouldn’t have fighted with Anne. I ruined our birthday.”

“Fought, Sebastian. You shouldn’t have fought with Anne,” Emerys corrected, holding his hand and leading him up the stairs. “And it’s not just your doing; Annette is as responsible as you with the mess that happened today.”

“If Anne’s asleep, save your apology for tomorrow,” Silas instructed from the bottom of the stairs as he headed into his bedroom. “And I’ll have that talk with her tomorrow too, so it’s not just you copping the flak for everything. I know it’s been a rough day, but sleep easy, son. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sebastian hesitated outside Anne’s door. Even though he couldn’t see any light coming out from the bottom of Anne’s door, he knew she was awake because he could hear stifled, muffled sobs coming from her.

After saying good night to his mother with another hug and kiss, Sebastian tentatively pushed his way into Anne’s room an sat on the edge of her bed. “Annie?”

The bedsheets on Anne’s bed rustled as she poked her head out from underneath the doona. Her eyes were red-rimmed, silver tear tracks stained her cheeks and she sniffed back her snotty nose. The victorious feeling she had had at getting one-up over her brother had devolved into guilt when she realised that her brother had been taken into hospital because of her.

Anne felt the weight of Sebastian rest on her shoulders as she took in her brother. “I’m sorry, Seb. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean to make you bleed. I just wanted Buttons.” She hesitated, swallowed her doubts and then ploughed on ahead. “I’ve been having scary dreams and they wake me up in the middle of the night. I thought Buttons would keep me safe and help me go back to sleep.”

“I’m sorry too, Annie. I ruined our birthday. I was just… really angry.” Sebastian broke off and buried his head in his hands, his face flushed with shame. “I shouldn’t have broken Buttons. I just wanted to hurt you for winning. I thought you wanted Buttons because I did; I didn’t know about the scary dreams.”

“I guess we both were wrong,” Anne admitted, pulling Sebastian’s hands away from his face so she could pull him in for a reconciliatory hug. “Maybe we could… fix and share Buttons together instead of fighting over him.”

“I’d like that.” Sebastian paused. “How are we going to get Buttons back from Mummy and Daddy though?”

Anne flashed him a mischievous grin, her teeth gleaming even though the room was dark, and the twins started to plot ways of distracting their parents so they could rescue Buttons together.

Night had fallen across Hogwarts and curfew was well and truly in place. Sebastian tossed and turned on his bed, fidgeting and glaring enviously at his roommates who had managed to fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Sleep evaded him, dark thoughts crawling around his mind like a lethargic spider. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the worst day of his life. He could see his grandfather’s dead body lying, still and unmoving on the fields of Feldcroft, could hear the screams of the women, including his grandmother, that suffered at the hands of Rookwood’s followers, the wails of the babies and children that were burned and tortured for no other reason than someone’s sick and twisted sense of satisfaction. The smoke and the ash lingered at the back of his throat, a phlegmy ball he couldn’t spit out, no matter how hard he tried. The top hat, the dry, vicious chuckle of a shadowed figure lingered in the corner of his vision, the words children should be seen and not heard echoing through his ears as Anne shrieked and writhed around on the ground.

He wanted… no, he needed it to stop, and if there was anything that could help dull the pain it was alcohol and Alihosty. Unfortunately for him, his stash of Alihosty had been seized by the Ministry and he hadn’t had a chance to hit up Garreth Weasley for more; that was something he’d need to rectify quick-smart, and then figure out a place to hide them from Aesop Sharp. While there was nothing explicit in his probationary terms of remaining drug-free, he was fairly certain Aesop Sharp, not to mention his parents, would rip strips off him if they found out exactly how he was medicating his traumas.

Alcohol, on the other hand, was much easier to get a hold of, especially since he knew where to look for it.

“For Merlin’s sake, Sebastian,” Ominis groaned from behind the curtain on his bed, flinging a pillow in annoyance at the brunet. “Go see Nurse Blainey for a Draught of Sleep so we can all get some rest!”

Sebastian threw the pillow back at Ominis, not caring that his friend was blind and wouldn’t have been able to catch it before rummaging around in the small drawer on his bedside table. Anne had given him a lock-picking set for Christmas two years ago as they had been debating the usefulness of alohomora. Sebastian had argued that the Unlocking Charm wasn’t infallible and there would be instances where knowing how to break into a lock the Muggle way would be more efficient; Anne had disagreed with his stance but had given him the tools to hone his non-magical tomfoolery. She had meant it as a novelty joke, but desperate times called for desperate measures and Sebastian was glad his joke gift had a serious use.

Feet stuffed into slippers, an old Quidditch jersey pulled over his sleep shirt for warmth and lock picking set in hand, Sebastian was ready to venture out of the Slytherin Dormitory. He wasn’t heeding Ominis’ advice and going to the Hospital Wing to see the matron for some medicine to help him with his insomnia; he was heading to the Faculty Tower instead.

Under normal circumstances, Sebastian would have Disillusioned himself to sneak around the school without alerting the prefects and teachers watching the hallways to his presence, but since Aesop Sharp still had possession of his wand, Sebastian would have to rely on his stealth and a little bit of wandless magic to manoeuvre around the school as he traversed the hallways to get to his father’s office. Sebastian was aware that his dad was on perimeter patrol which was useful considering he had to break into Professor Sallow’s office without his wand.

He had considered using the Floo Flame to transport him to the Faculty Tower but promptly nixed it since he didn’t know how or when the Prefect patrol would cross Ignatia’s bust; getting caught would land him in more trouble than what he was about to do. Instead, he crept, quieter than a Jobberknoll, around the school’s hallways, hiding behind pillars and chests as prefects walked by him, casting a wandless accio to distract and divert his peers when they sailed perilously close to him.

“Peeves, stop that nonsense this instant!” one of the prefects called out after Sebastian’s Summoning Charm had been too enthusiastic and he had caused a fruit bowl to smash into a priceless painting that was down the other end of the hallway Sebastian was in. “I’m warning you, I’ll go to The Bloody Baron if you’re intent on making my watch difficult!”

After all the crap the poltergeist had put him and Anne through in their younger years, Sebastian felt the thrill of vindictive pleasure course through him, knowing that his mischief was landing the prankster ghost in hot water. Sebastian was somewhat glad at being mistaken for Peeves; there was no higher compliment than that comparison when it came to raking in mischief.

His footsteps echoed along the hall and he came to a stop in front of a solid oak door. The placard glinted gold under the candelabras mounted to the ceiling and Sebastian’s hand reached out to trace the lettering.

Professor S. Sallow and Professor E. Sallow.

He was surprised to see his mother’s name still on the placard, considering she was on an extended sabbatical to look after Anne, but he also knew his father well enough to know that Silas wouldn’t let the powers that be remove his wife’s name off the door until she formally handed in her resignation. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Sebastian pulled out his lock picking set and wiggled the probes around in the lock until he heard the barrels click into place. The door swung open, revealing the Sallow parents’ private sanctuary when they were at work, one he and Anne had spent summers in before they went to Hogwarts before getting bored and running amok around the school.

There had been small, family celebrations in the room once Sebastian and Anne had started school. Every birthday, the Sallows would gather in Silas’ and Emerys’ joint office to exchange presents, cut cake and revel in the joyous occasion. On their wedding anniversary, Silas and Emerys would share a tipple of Madeira, a fortified Muggle wine that Emerys liked because it reminded her of her travels with Silas before the children were born and they settled down in Aranshire. Alcohol was banned on school site, but Emerys – still harbouring some of her rule-breaker ways that Silas had come to love as teens – had come up with a way of hiding their forbidden fruit so that no-one that didn’t have the last name Sallow would know where it was.

The door to the office opened and Sebastian slunk inside, making sure that he heard the click of the lock sliding back into place before he started ransacking his father’s room. From previous experience, he knew that the wine was stored in the cabinet by the wall under the window. The cabinet door was locked, and there was a false wall inside one of the hollow storage spaces; Silas kept the key to the cabinet in his desk.

The solid oak of the desk contained photos and mementos of the Sallow family, the very thing Silas held dear to his heart. In a silver frame, there was a picture of him at the beach, holding a toddler Sebastian and Anne in the shallow waves, laughing every time Anne shrieked when the water made contact with her toes. Next to that was the family portrait Emerys insisted they take one summer when the twins were just shy of six; she had dressed them in their best and commanded them to head down to the lake for their manufactured photo. As the photographer had counted them down, as they were grinning stupidly while saying ‘cheese’, a goose snuck up behind them and bit Silas on the backside. The flash of the camera went off at the same time Silas yelped and jumped at the unexpected contact, turning a formal photo into a comedy of errors. Anne and Sebastian had collapsed into giggles, rolling around in their best clothes on the muddy banks of the lake at their father emitting such a high-pitched noise while Emerys tried to show some compassion and concern but still had to stifle her giggles behind her hand. The photo that took pride of place was one of Emerys on their wedding day, resplendent in white lace as she walked down the aisle to start the next chapter of her life, morphing from Emerys Dawson to Emerys Sallow.

Sebastian’s brown eyes, clouded with desperation, fell on the picture of his mother. She was glaring at him in a disapproving manner, as if the photo of her was sentient and knew exactly what he was trying to do. Wilting under her gaze, Sebastian slammed the photo frame so it lay face-down on the table.

“You won’t find what you’re looking for, son.” Silas leant against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “After the Aurors brought you home the second time and your mother and I saw the amount of alcohol you’d been drinking, we got rid of ours. We certainly weren’t going to be the ones to enable your habit.”

Sebastian’s mouth dropped open, eyes narrowing from sable to obsidian. His insides froze, the desperation rising into pure need. Anything to smooth out his rough edges, polish him up so no-one saw how jagged and ruined he was on the inside.

“Talk to me, Seb. Why do you feel like you need the drink?”

Sebastian said nothing, choosing to glare mulishly at his father instead. His father was under the mistaken impression that Sebastian had blocked The Incident out from his mind, that his brain had simply eradicated the trauma because it was too much for a just turned fifteen year old to process; Sebastian knew this was the case because he had heard his father take some small comfort from that fact after they had buried Samuel and Sophia Sallow. There was too much devastation, too much selflessness in Sebastian to disabuse his father of that notion and so Sebastian stayed quiet about how much he really knew of that night. It was better for him to suffer in silence than it was for him to cause his father – who had just lost his parents in the most horrific way – more distress.

“I want to help you, son.” Silas moved to where Sebastian was, pushing him down into the wooden chair at his desk. “Let me in so I can help you, Sebastian.”

Silas’ words were met with stony silence.

“Please, son, I’m your father. It hurts me to see you hurt like this and not know why.”

Sebastian continued his silent vigil, although he could feel his walls crumbling. His heart pounded in his chest, a violent tattoo against his ribs, the lump in his throat growing tighter as he choked on words he desperately wanted to say and swallow all at the same time. He wanted to let his father in, see the emaciated mess of a person he had become, see how Azkaban had pushed him to the brink of what was human, but the fear of knowing he wasn’t strong enough to deal with it on his own gnawed away at him. The fear of vulnerability was too much; it was easier to hide behind the mask the alcohol and Alihosty provided him with.

“I want it to stop,” Sebastian eventually ground out, choosing his words carefully so that he was saying a lot while not saying much at all.

“Want what to stop, Seb?”

“I. Want. It. To. Stop!” Each word was punctuated with a slam of his head against the desk, so hard Silas was sure his son had just given himself a concussion. “I want to stop seeing Grandpop dead on the ground, I want to stop hearing Nanna screaming as Rookwood’s men defiled her, I want to not see Anne quake when she gets cursed! I want it to stop!”

Silas froze as Sebastian’s words lingered in the air, his heart plummeting to his stomach. He had failed his son; the weight of what he was hearing scorched and pierced him, bleeding him dry on the inside. Hearing Sebastian’s unadulterated pain, no doubt exacerbated by his community service in Azkaban, felt like a blow to the chest.

For a moment that stretched into eternity, Silas said nothing. His dark eyes roved over his son, the teenager – his baby boy – that was hunched over his desk, silent sobs breaking free from his chest as his fists clenched and he slammed his head once more against the wood, as though Sebastian could beat the pain out of him.

“I want it to stop,” Sebastian said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can’t hold it in anymore; I tried to so things were easier on you and Ma, but I can’t do it anymore. Not after Azkaban.”

Silas exhaled, the weight of everything spoken and unspoken settling between them, heavy and suffocating. His hand hovered over Sebastian’s shoulder, unsure if that would be enough comfort for his son, but knowing deep down that no amount of fleeting touches or tight hugs could lessen the pain and darkness his son was going through.

“Sebastian,” Silas’ voice cracked, rough with the knowledge that his son had been suffering to ease his own. “You don’t have to carry this on your shoulders. Not anymore. I never wanted you to see what you did; I had hoped that was one horror I could have spared you and your sister. I would do anything to have kept you safe from that, to take it away from you. But I can’t. All I can do is help you carry it.”

Silas reached over his son to open one of the drawers to his desk. Inside the drawer was a bundle of parchment, drawings and handmade cards that Anne and Sebastian had given him when they were kids. Anne’s teacups and Sebastian’s lumps of clay (which Silas imagined was meant to be a saucer to go with the teacup Anne had fashioned and glazed under the watchful eye of Emerys) and other tokens of love his children had showered him with lined the drawer. Underneath the paper was a teddy-bear, head and the torso melded together like some sort of Frankenstein monster.

“Buttons?”

Silas nodded and pressed the ratted, threadbare teddy into his son’s hands. “Anne told me to give this to you. She seemed to sense that you would need it. Said it had helped her get to sleep over the past few months and it would do the same for you.”

Sebastian nodded mutely, using the fur of the teddy to mop at the tears that had welled in the bottom of his eye. He inhaled; ten years after Samuel and Sophia Sallow had given him Buttons (and he maintained that Buttons was his and not Anne’s) he could still smell the charred chocolate, butterscotch and cigars of his grandfather on the soft toy. It instantly calmed him; he could pretend that Samuel Sallow was still there with him. Stuffing poked out from where he and Anne had haphazardly sewn Buttons back together again and Sebastian tried to poke the fluff back into the bear, tried to undo the damage he was responsible for.

Silas pulled Sebastian gently to his feet, steering him to the bedroom behind the office. “You’re staying in here tonight. You’ll be in here most nights until things settle; I’m not sending you back to your dorm when you’re this out of sorts.”

Sebastian nodded dumbly, letting his father take charge. The grief and despair clung around him like an invisible shroud, and he collapsed into the soft mattress of his father’s bed. Silas pulled the doona up tight underneath Sebastian’s chin, tucking him into bed like he used to do when his son was smaller.

“Rest, Seb,” Silas murmured, one hand carding through Sebastian’s curls while the other drew constellations through the freckles on his cheek, knowing that would lull his boy into sleep. It always did, even when Sebastian was a baby. “You’re safe. No more running from this, no more hiding things from me. Just rest up.”

Sebastian curled up into himself, pulling Buttons closer to his chest as he leaned into his father’s gentle caress. It was a comfort, a weight lifted off him to know that he didn’t have to keep his worst fears bottled up inside of him anymore. The tension that gripped him slowly released, his muscles laxing as his eyelids drooped. His breathing evened out, a slow, steady inhale and exhale as the emotional exhaustion of everything he had held inside overtook him.

“Sleep easy, son,” Silas whispered, and as the silence of the room settled around them, he pressed a kiss against Sebastian’s forehead. “I love you.”

In the small moments between shadow and light, Silas sat sentinel over his son, holding him in the warmth of a hug. Tomorrow would come soon enough and bring its own challenges, but in that moment, the boy that had surprised him in all the right and wrong ways, turned his world upside down and inside out and helped turn him into the man he was today, was cocooned in the safety of his arms. His hands continued to move through Sebastian’s hair, long after he was sure his boy was asleep, and he murmured quiet reassurances every time Sebastian whimpered in his nightmares, a quiet lullaby of love and protection that only a father could offer his son.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp straightened his tie and buttoned up his waistcoat. He appraised his appearance in the mirror, downed his daily Grand Wiggenweld Potion to stave off the pain from his leg and sipped at his tea. Breakfast would start in the Great Hall in half an hour and he was slated for morning supervision. Before then, he had to check in with his probationer, outline the expectations for their arrangement at Hogwarts and explain the consequences if Sebastian decided to break the terms of his probation.

Aesop was not only Hogwarts’ new Potions Master; he had also taken on the role of being second-in-command of the Slytherin House, a role that had been unfilled since Emerys was on long-term sabbatical. The teachers had provided Aesop with a profile of all the Slytherin students and he was expected to know them halfway through his first term, but there was only one student that occupied his mind.

Scarred hands flicked idly at the pages of the dossier that was an unfiltered copy of Sebastian’s school records so that Aesop had a full, nuanced understanding of the teenager he was dealing with. The first page contained Sebastian’s school photos, both individual and sibling, from his first year to his fourth. As the years went on, Aesop noted that Sebastian looked more and more like Silas, right down to his freckle pattern. Aside from his height, the only trace of Emerys in Sebastian was his smile; he had managed to perfectly copy her brand of endearing with a hint of mischief. Anne was the same but opposite; she was a perfect clone of Emerys, except for her eyes and freckles. That was proof positive that she was Silas’ daughter.

The next page had a profile of the boy. Extremely intelligent – he seemed to be just like Silas in the sense that everything academic came to him without him having to try – and high emotional quotient too – his empathy towards others’ plight was unusual in a Slytherin, but Aesop knew that Sebastian was a boy that broke the mould in so many ways; why would the misalignment of his personality traits to the house he was Sorted into be any different?

More in line with a Slytherin, Sebastian was quick to temper when his anxieties and emotion got the better of him. He’d let vicious words that he didn’t mean drip from his lips as the filter that existed between his brain and his mouth malfunctioned. A bit of a smart-arse too, but Aesop knew that already from when Sebastian was in the Ministry’s holding cell before his Wizengamot trial.

Extra-curricular activities seemed to be his outlet. He was an exemplary Beater for the Slytherin Quidditch team, having been awarded Most Valuable Player, Best Sportsmanship, and Most Improved Player over his three year tenure on the team. His latest accomplishment was being named Vice-Captain, attesting to the respect he commanded from his peers and his leadership qualities. Not to mention the fact that he was a co-founder - along with Lucan Brattleby – of the Crossed Wands Tournament, the worst kept secret in the school. Students thought teachers were blind to the unsanctioned duelling club, when in reality, they traded less-than-desirable duties with each other based on the outcome of the competition.

Another flick of the page. Sebastian’s detention record was almost as long as the parchment that held his accolades. Some detentions were for trivial matters - turning up to class ten minutes late in his first year, forgetting his quill and books in the Common Room, staying out after curfew, awkward fraternisations with his peers in direct contravention of Hogwarts’ ‘hands off’ rule – but as Aesop scanned the page, he realised that in the last six months of his fourth year, Sebastian’s detentions primarily came from Madame Scribner. It seemed that Sebastian was intent on reigning hell over her in the library by constantly hiding under desks or inside teachests after the library had closed so he could continue his research into curse-breaking or attempting to force entry into the Restricted Section. The more Madame Scribner tried to divert him away from the Restricted Section of the library, the more stubborn and determined he was on gaining access and the more frequently he got caught.

Aesop closed the dossier with more force than was necessary and sipped angrily again at his tea until nothing but the dregs were left in the bottom of the teacup. There was nothing in the profile that he hadn’t already garnered about his new charge, no hidden depths about him that Aesop had yet to uncover. Aesop knew there was more to Sebastian than people saw. The boy’s visceral and raw reaction to the Dementors meant that there was something dark lurking just below the surface. Call him a cynic, but years of working as an Auror had taught him that the people who presented charming and whole on the outside were the most dangerous since no-one knew how broken and hollow they were until they had crossed the point of no return.

He reached for Sebastian’s wand, pulled on his overcoat and limped his way down to the Slytherin Common Room. It was coming up to seven in the morning; time for him to give Sebastian Sallow an abrupt wake-up call.

The Slytherin Common Room was mostly empty; Aesop knew from his tenure as a Slytherin student that most asps were night owls and that they wouldn’t appear down in the Great Hall for breakfast until it was closer to nine in the morning, or they’d just skip breakfast altogether and head straight to their first period of the day. The only exception to that was the Slytherin Quidditch team; Imelda Reyes was a slave-driver and had her players up at the crack of dawn every day for strength training, cardio workouts or practise, depending on the weather. Five Slytherins slouched into the Common Room, barely acknowledging Aesop’s presence as they dripped mud from their green and silver robes. Imelda, on the other hand, barked like a dictator at them, chastising the fact that they had let their fitness and their Quidditch skills fester over the summer holidays and that they’d have to work doubly as hard in training sessions to get back to where she wanted them to be.

Aesop cleared his throat loudly to interrupt Imelda’s tirade. The girl whirled around so quickly her ponytail smacked her across the face and she stared impassively at the teacher that had interrupted her.

“Where’s Sallow, Miss. Reyes?”

Imelda shrugged. The team had waited in the Common Room for their errant Beater and Vice-Captain to show up, but he hadn’t. Imelda had stormed into the boys dorm, a hurricane intent of decimating her team mate, only to find his bed was empty. With no idea where he could have gone, Imelda had led her team out to practice, seething at the fact that Sebastian thought it was acceptable to miss Quidditch practice.

“Wasn’t in bed when I went to wake him for training, Professor. I have no clue where he is.”

Panic rose up within him; how had a seasoned Auror like himself managed to lose his fifteen year old probationer? But he couldn’t let the panic show, couldn’t let helplessness overpower him and render him useless so Aesop went into autopilot to shut off his emotions. He nodded grimly and dismissed her with a flick of his head. He needed to talk to Silas, see if the man had an insight into where his son would be.

A Floo Flame later had Aesop Sharp pounding on the door to Silas’ office. “Silas, it’s Aesop. Open up! It’s urgent!”

There was a beat of silence and then Aesop heard the lock turning slowly. Silas’ bleary face squinted back at him, yawning and rubbing a hand over the scratchy whiskers on his cheek.

“What is it, Aesop? Can it wait? It’s been a rough night.”

Aesop peered over the top of Silas’ head into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see into Silas’ bedroom. The bedsheets were tangled and rumpled, a leg hung off the side of the bed while a tuft of brown hair poked up from underneath the bedcover. One arm clung tightly onto a teddy bear that looked as if it had seen better days, arms and legs dishevelled and misshapen, head quite literally hanging onto its neck by a slender thread. There was a murmured whimper and Silas left the door, his priority being comforting his son. Aesop watched Silas caress his son’s cheek and whisper quiet reassurances to the boy. The tenderness Silas encompassed was something that was missing from Aesop; decades working as an Auror had hardened him and he knew that he been the one to secure Emerys’ hand in marriage, have babies with her and build a life with her, he would not have been able to show their children the same care and compassion Silas could. In so many ways, Silas was the better fit for her.

“Wake him up, Silas,” Aesop ordered, taking a seat at Silas’ desk and sagging in slight relief at having unearthed Sebastian's location. Time to get to business now the momentary panic was over.

“No. This is the most settled he’s been.”

“Wake him up.” Aesop’s obsidian eyes met Silas’ dark ones, both resolute and unwavering in their stance.

“He needs his rest to help him get past Azkaban.”

“What he needs is to get into a routine. The structure will help occupy his mind and stop him dwelling on it. Trust me, Silas. There are reasons why I volunteered to be Sebastian’s probation officer. Part of it is because I did a stint in Azkaban as a guard and I know how to overcome it.”

The revelation stunned Silas; his hand stopped petting Sebastian’s hair and he stared at Aesop, the new information he had just learnt making him see his friend in a brand new light. Trust me, Aesop had said, and the truth was Silas had never stopped trusting him, even as their friendship faltered and life took them on separate paths. He nodded slowly, his deference to Aesop when it came to getting Sebastian past Azkaban cementing into place.

“Aesop, what happened to my son when he was in Azkaban?” There was a dark undercurrent to Silas’ question. It was almost as though the older Sallow had filled in the blanks, made some assumptions and wanted confirmation that what he thought had happened actually had.

“There was a Dementor attack. It must have brought up some serious trauma because Sebastian seemed to die on the inside afterwards.”

“It did.” The reply was terse and biting, and Aesop gestured with his arm for Silas to continue, an open invitation to continue talking. Silas snapped his jaw shut, crossed his arms over his chest, unwilling to betray his son’s confidences. His face hardened, fine lines in his forehead and around his mouth tooling into a tight frown.

“Silas, as Sebastian's probation officer, I need to know. I need to know how to help him; otherwise there’s no point in me being here.”

Hesitation.

“It won’t leave these walls, I give you my word.”

Deliberation.

Aesop sighed, recognising a lost cause when he saw one. “Get him up, and before he goes to breakfast, have him stop by my office. I’ll give him his wand then.” He stood up, knee creaking with age and pain, and limped towards the door.

“Sebastian saw it,” Silas muttered quietly and bitterly as Aesop made to leave. The Auror stilled, pivoted slowly on the spot, face twisting in puzzlement.

“Saw what?”

“The Siege of Feldcroft. The night that my mother was defiled, mutilated and left to die, the night my father was murdered in defence of her, the night Anne got cursed. Sebastian saw it all. I always thought Seb was oblivious to that, always took some small comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be scarred by it; he had never let on that it wasn’t the case. He suffered in silence because he thought my ignorance was our family's bliss.” There was a stifled sob, emotions of failure and ineptness and raw, unadulterated pain on Sebastian’s behalf, and Silas wished that Emerys was there with him; she would know what to say to ease his suffering for his son, she always did.

Aesop’s face hardened. The Siege of Feldcroft was a dark stain in the annals of Magical History, a universally condemned ransacking of a peaceful hamlet that had done nothing except get caught in the crosshairs of impending war waged by Ranrok and Rookwood. Silas’ revelation made everything click into place; it explained why Sebastian was so adversely affected by Azkaban, it explained why Sebastian was so reticent to talk to Aesop at Azkaban about it. Somehow, being Sebastian’s probation officer had become so much simpler and more complex at the same time.

“Thank you for telling me, Silas.” Aesop placed a gnarled hand on Silas’ shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “It helps to know these things, helps me know how to help him and in turn, help Emerys and you. Now, get Sebastian up, get him shaved and showered and send him to my office before he goes to breakfast.”

Silas nodded, giving in, and made to move towards the bed where his son slumbered. Sebastian groaned, flinging the covers off him and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Dad?”

“I’m here, son.”

Sebastian stumbled towards his father’s baritone, deep and scratchy and comforting. Yawning, with half his hair sticking up at odd angles while the other half was plastered flat to his head, and with Buttons clutched tightly in his arms, Sebastian looked much younger than fifteen years old, more innocent and less damaged. His eyes widened, suddenly alert as he realised his father wasn’t alone; Aesop Sharp was also in the room. His face coloured in an embarrassed flush and with a jerky fidget, Sebastian hid Buttons behind his back; it was a vulnerability Sebastian wasn’t comfortable with anyone that wasn’t named Sallow observing. Aesop, to his credit, averted his gaze from the security blanket, choosing to occupy himself by withdrawing Sebastian’s wand from a cavernous pocket in his overcoat and summoning a copy of Sebastian’s timetable.

“The terms of your probation say that you are entitled to your wand for all lessons that require it; Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration; your other subjects are less likely to require wanded magic. Should you require your wand in your other subjects, your teacher will collect your wand from me prior to the lesson and discreetly hand it to you so you can continue your education unfettered.”

Sebastian swallowed at the restrictions, cursed himself since he had no-one to blame but himself for his being on probation in the first place and nodded. His wand twirled absentmindedly in his fingers, as it so often did when Sebastian needed to keep his hands busy.

“Your wand will be examined by me every day to see that you are only using age appropriate, curriculum approved spells. Consider this your second and last warning, Sallow; I expect your bona fide wand in my possession when you don’t need it as opposed to a replica of your wand. You could not fool me at King’s Cross; I strongly suggest you don’t call my bluff again.”

Sebastian nodded once more – he had figured he wasn’t going to get one over Aesop Sharp – and studied his timetable for the day. Tuesday was shaping up to be quite good; he had Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms as his first two periods. After the morning tea break, he had double Arithmancy with his father before heading to lunch. To round the day off, he had his new elective – Music had been canned since his mother was on extended leave and there was no replacement for her – Ancient Runes, once again, taught by his dad.

Silas stood on tip-toe to peer over his son’s shoulder and nodded approvingly at his day; three lessons with his son in his class meant he could keep an eagle eye on his troubled boy. With a gentle nudge, Silas directed Sebastian to wash up and shave in the basin in his room – he could have a shower in the evening since there was no time for him to do it before his first period – and head for breakfast, getting himself presentable to get his mindset right to start his day.

Amelia was awake, but she remained still, eyes closed and the curtains to the four poster bed she was laying in drawn. The night gone by had passed in a blur and she had never been so glad to have been able to retreat into the safety of her own space.

The dormitory setting was familiar – it reminded her of the sleeping arrangements in St. Calloway’s Orphanage – and she found it easy to drop off to sleep due to the hum of whispers and quiet conversation that happened between the girls of the dorm. Amelia knew they were whispering about her – the one with frizzy hair and glasses couldn’t quite keep her disapproval of Amelia's perceived reputation to herself, while the other girls remained reserved but determined to keep an open mind towards her. The one with skin as smooth as melted chocolate and warm brown eyes gave her a welcoming smile and showed her to her bed. It was a welcome respite in what had been a very difficult and challenging day.

It was no surprise that when Amelia poked her head out from around the curtains of her bed, she found it empty. There was a strange feeling swirling around in her stomach; relief at finally having a few moments to herself and regret that no-one thought enough of her to want to spend time showing her the ropes thanks to the rumours and reputation that the media had built up and swirled around, even before stepping foot at Hogwarts.

Amelia pottered over to the basin and rinsed her face, a blank slate for a new day, used her fingers to comb and twist her hair into her customary bun that sat at the nape of her neck and shrugged on her school uniform; a white shirt, red and gold tie with matching skirt and black cloak lined with crimson. Red had never really been her colour – she had always favoured earthy colours; deep purples, dark blues and forest greens - but seeing it on her made her feel bold and brave, ready to tackle the day head on.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall. It was nearly half past eight, and Amelia knew that the castle was a maze just from walking from the Great Hall to the Common Room last night. She pulled out her timetable, studied it intently until she had memorised it and gathered her supplies for her first two subjects; Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms. Books in her satchel, wand tucked up the sleeve of her robe so it was in quick reach, Amelia took a deep breath and stepped out of the dormitory, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl near the door. She could hear muffled voices coming from down the stairs and as she peeped out over the banister, she could see a few students milling around near the windows in the communal area. They seemed to be gathered around a ginger-haired, freckled faced boy who was sipping from a tankard, holding court while he laughed and jeered and encouraged others to try his concoction.

Amelia’s footsteps echoed as she walked down the stairs; she winced at the noise, hoping to make a quiet exit and avoid the stares and mutterings of her reputation that seemed to precede her. It was not meant to be.

“Hey, you!”

Amelia came to a stop, her head swivelling slowly on her neck as her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Yeah, you. The new fifth year! Come over here for a second.”

Amelia walked slowly, her eyes scanning the environment for any perceived threats, her guard going up by several degrees as the crowd fell silent. Her blue eyes, glacial, roved over the boy that called her forward. Just like when she met Anne, there was something familiar in his face, and it was more than just being as freckled as Sebastian. His cheeks had the same fullness, his nose was just as wide and flat as Sebastian’s, the twinkle of amusement and cheekiness in his green eyes was strikingly similar to the merriment she had seen in Sebastian’s eye when they were camping together. The likenesses were oddly reassuring, if a little discombobulating.

“Try this.” He pressed the tankard into her hands and nodded encouragingly for her to knock it back.

The familiar tingle of froth and bubbles danced on her tongue, the warmth radiating through her body and the sweetness of the Butterbeer started to thaw her frosty demeanour. The warmth swiftly turned into a raging inferno, burning her and consuming her from the inside out. She could feel acid rising up her throat, the drink that had tasted relatively smooth going down clawing its way back out the way it had gone in. With a mighty roar, she opened her mouth and a jet of flames scorched the wall the boy was leaning against. The crowd burst into cheers, slapping him on the back, patting her on the shoulder for the impressive, albeit fiery, display.

“Best reaction I’ve seen yet!” The boy chortled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Looks like the formula for ‘Blaze’n’Brew’ is good to go!” He turned his back to scribble on some parchment and dismissed the crowd with a flick of his wrist. Amelia turned to walk away, but his fingers gripped her bicep lightly.

“Garreth Weasley,” he introduced himself with a smile. “And you’re Amelia Calloway, the new fifth year I’ve read so much about!”

Amelia stiffened, her guard going back up again as she extracted her arm from him. Her jaw tightened and she pulled strands of hair over her eyes, daring him to comment further.

“Don’t worry; I don’t believe half of it for a second. I’d like to think that I know Sebastian Sallow more intimately than the news reporters that create stories that sell themselves to keep themselves employed.”

There was nothing but bald honesty in his words, but Amelia still refused to bring her walls down. A non-committal noise escaped her, but one thing stood out in her mind. Garreth knew Sebastian intimately – what did he mean by that? Her confusion at his words must have been scrawled all over her face because he laughed once more at her.

“Seb and I are second cousins,” Garreth explained, looping an arm around Amelia’s shoulders, one she promptly shrugged off. “We share the same great-grandparents. He, his sister, Mel Reyes, Andrew Larson, Amit Thakkar and I all grew up together in the Highlands; we know each other nearly as well as we know ourselves. That’s how I know that the media’s blowing this up bigger than it needs to be, and that’s how I know the rumours flying around about you, about him, and about the extent of what the two of you allegedly did in the woods aren’t true.”

Amelia tilted her head to the left, the curtain of hair that had obscured her vision was flicked to one side and she appraised Garreth through a new lens. There was more to Garreth than met the eye, more to him than a prankster with charisma and poise; it seemed that it would be prudent to keep Garreth Weasley onside as he was more of an ally to her than she thought he would be.

“What do you have first?” he asked, completely unfazed by Amelia’s rejection of his proximity. “Please tell me it’s Transfiguration; we could walk down together to my aunt’s classroom, if you do. I can take some time to show you the ropes, make sure you’re not fending for yourself for the first few days.”

Even though she didn’t display it on the outside, Amelia was deeply touched by Garreth’s friendly demeanour and attempts at making her feel welcome. Perhaps this was who Matilda Weasley – Garreth’s aunt from the sounds of it – was thinking of when she penned her letter.

“Unfortunately not; I have Defence Against the Dark Arts first, then Charms.”

Garreth’s face crumpled comically, eliciting the first real giggle from Amelia since she had stepped into the Wizarding World.

“No matter, no matter, I’m sure we’ll share a class together soon!” He fumbled around his vest and pulled out a worn but treasured pocket watch, a panicked gasp emanating from his lips as he looked at the time. “Merlin's pants, it’s nearly time for class to start!” He scrambled around the room, launching himself over chairs, tables and velour sofas to gather his equipment. “Even though she’s my aunt, she won’t hesitate to put me in detention if I turn up to class late! I’ll see you around, Calloway!”

And with that, Garreth bounded out the door, leaving Amelia shaking her head like she was punch-drunk from his exuberance. Nearly time for classes to start meant she had to figure out a way to Defence Against the Dark Arts without getting lost.

Chapter Text

The wonderful thing of having Anne as his sister was that she had shown Sebastian all the hidey-holes she had found during her time at Hogwarts. He had been able to duck and weave his way from his father’s office to Professor Hecat’s classroom without too many interactions with others. The hushed, scandalised whispers still followed him, but as soon as he disappeared from sight, the conversation stopped too as people were distracted with other thoughts and they carried on their day without a second thought regarding him.

He slunk into the classroom, choosing a seat at the back of the room, hidden in the corner and relished in the moment of peace turning up to class early afforded him. Hecat’s Hebridean Dragon skeleton loomed overhead; it was the one decoration in the room that Sebastian was fascinated by and he glanced reverently over it. With a sigh, he pulled out An O.W.L.s Best Friend: Defence Against the Dark Arts Study Guide out of his book bag, unfolded the reading glasses that he had secured in the knot of his tie and pushed them up his nose and settled into read. Losing himself in books was one way to keep his mind off what was troubling him, and he had never been so glad to have a reprieve from the gossip and the chatter that swirled around his apparent relationship with Mia.

“Hiding away from attention, Sallow? That’s not like you.”

Sebastian inwardly groaned; the muscle near his eye twitched and his nostrils flared, jaw grinding so hard his teeth turned to dust. The voice and presence of Leander Prewett was like a mosquito, high-pitched, whiny and parasitic. No matter how many times Sebastian had swatted him away in the past, the ginger twat kept coming back for more. Sebastian breathed in deep, counted to ten and breathed out slow, just like his father had taught him, as he internally debated whether to acknowledge Prewett’s presence.

“Thought you’d be revelling in being the centre of it all, like the arrogant piece of work you are!”

Sebastian’s grip around his book tightened ever so fractionally, his glasses slipping down his nose as his eyes flicked up to Leander. “Contrary to unpopular opinion, namely yours, I’m developing the taste for a quiet life. Something you understand all too well, but not out of choice. Mostly because nobody can stomach being in your presence for more than a minute or two. You haven’t been here thirty seconds and I’m feeling sick already.”

Leander’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, glowing so red it clashed horribly with his hair. Sebastian smirked; Prewett was always an easy target – it was like shooting fish in a barrel, not particularly challenging, but it gave him hours of entertainment – and he always delighted in using his words to make his nemesis resemble a radish.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Leander forced a tight-lipped smile as he approached Sebastian, voice too sweet and saccharine for his words to be genuine. “It’s out there; people will always be talking about it, no matter how much you try to run and hide. People will always be speculating about you and Calloway now, always know that you satisfied yourself with her and tarnished her and ruined both of your standings in society after your little tryst with her in the woods, unchaperoned, like the skeeze you are!”

Breathing wasn’t doing anything to calm him, irritation flaring through him and tensing his muscles and Sebastian tossed his book to one side, rising to his feet and drawing himself up to his full height so he could use his imposing presence to get Leander to back down. Sebastian could see the cogs turning in Leander’s mind, see Leander realising that if he didn’t back off soon, he’d be made a laughing stock in front of the class, especially as their peers were starting to mill through the door. But then, if he backed off, he’d be branded a coward, and Leander’s ego was very fragile. The slightest jab at his incompetence would shatter him, something Sebastian exploited every opportunity he got.

“Well, Prewett, at least I can find someone that trusts me and wants to spend enough time with me for those allegations to be made.” Sebastian shrugged; as much as he wanted the constant commentary to die down, he was also going to use them to his advantage while he could, use them to best his childhood nemesis.

“I have that too!”

“Prewett, your hand, lack of imagination and the occasional bedsheet covering you doesn’t count as a separate person.”

Titters broke out across the room, laughter at Leander’s expense and Sebastian smirked once more at one-upping the person who had been a thorn in his side since starting Hogwarts. Jealousy had always been an ugly emotion, Sebastian thought, and Leander embodied it well; he had always been envious of Sebastian’s wit, charm and popularity. The more he tried to model himself on Sebastian, the more insecure he seemed, which just made him more desperate to be more like Sebastian, and that pissed Sebastian off to no end.

Quick as a flash, Leander pulled his wand from his pocket and fired off a Basic Cast, resentment glimmering in his eyes. Sebastian ducked, crashing to the floor and scrambled for his bag. He reached for his own wand; an arrow of red barbed Leander’s ankle and he winced, hopping on one leg as he rubbed the sore spot with his hand. It was enough time for Sebastian to rise to his feet and adopt the Teapot Pose, the standard for any duel, where his wand arm was raised above his head and his other arm was held out in front of him for balance, feet shoulder width apart. Leander’s eyes narrowed at the unspoken challenge, and unwilling to back away from a fight, Leander adopted a similar pose.

They forwent the customary bow – that was only ever done in a friendly duel, where the duellists respected each other – and there was no love lost between Leander and Sebastian. Jets of light, reds and purples and yellow exploded around the room, fireworks going off at regular intervals with bangs and shimmies and smoke obscuring their view.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian could have sworn he saw a flash of auburn without its corresponding purple slink into the room, but before he could get too distracted by Mia’s presence in his class, he heard Leander grunt a hex his way. With a lazy flick of his wand, Sebastian activated his Shield Charm.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he taunted, chuckling arrogantly as Leander growled in frustration. There was another flick of his wand as Leander shot another hex at him; the hex deflected off Sebastian's shield and severed the chain that secured the dragon’s skill to the ceiling of the room.

Leander’s eyes widened in horror; he squeaked in terror as the heavy skull plummeted towards him, intent on pulverising him into the ground.

“Levioso!” A hoarse voice called out, and from the office at the top of the room emerged Professor Hecat. She carried herself with the air of being wise beyond her years, and yet had spark and vigour that belied her age. “Perhaps the two of you can blast each other to pieces in your own time, not mine. Students come and go, but paperwork because of your scuffle will last forever. Besides, I only have one Hebridean Dragon skeleton, and I would appreciate it if it remained intact as opposed to shattered and scattered over my classroom floor.”

She cast a stern gaze over Sebastian and Leander as she used her wand to return the skull to the ceiling. Her gaze lingered on them a moment longer, the tension in the air growing thicker with every passing second as she regarded them. Her silvery eyes, sharp and calculating, seemed to miss nothing and it felt as if she was seeing right through Sebastian; he flushed and turned his head away.

“Let’s get one thing straight; there will be no more foolish, outlandish, mindless teasing and testing of each other. You will conduct yourselves in a way that befits students attending their fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; not as baboons brandishing sticks with no care for the consequences of their actions.”

Another giggle rippled through the room, this time at Dinah Hecat’s words. Sebastian swallowed, trying to ignore the sting of the rebuke. Opposite him, Leander glared, his pride more wounded than his ankle. The usual smug smirk was gone from his pale, washed out face and he sidled back into the throng of the class, shame making him turtle into himself.

“Sorry, Professor, I won’t challenge this dingleberry to a duel again in this room,” Sebastian mumbled as he stowed away his wand and diverted most of his attention to his teacher. As much as he wanted to remain focussed on Hecat’s recap of the Levitation Charm, his eyes couldn’t help but sidle over to where Mia stood.

There were many changes in her since he had last seen her hold a wand. For starters, she wasn’t holding his wand anymore; the white wood of his willow wand seemed more at home in her hand than the honey-brown wood of the wand she currently held. When he was teaching her, her grip was stiff and so tight her knuckles were as white as the wand she held. Her arms trembled from the weight of holding something so precious; now her grip was looser – not so loose that the wand slipped out of her hands - but loose enough to show she was becoming more comfortable with using and holding a conduit for her magic. Her body language was more confident too, instead of hunching over herself and making herself smaller and more inconspicuous, she commanded the space around her, shoulder thrown back as she tackled the lesson with energy and vigour. He didn’t expect her to be so deft with a wand, and so quickly too.

She caught his eye and he smiled at her, his genuine crooked smile with one side of his mouth lilting up while the other remained flat to encourage her with her progress, and despite the fact that she was fighting it, she gave him a small smile back. The sight of it caused flutters in his stomach – unusual, he had only felt that when she smiled at him as they stargazed in the woods – but he attributed it to hunger pangs because he had skipped breakfast.

“Well, I always find that the best way to practice defensive spells is through a teacher-sanctioned duel.” She glared pointedly at Sebastian and Leander, their past indiscretion not forgotten.

“Excellent idea, Professor Hecat!” Leander exclaimed pompously, stepping forward as a contender. “Perhaps you could show us how to properly perform protego in a duel?”

It was a poor attempt at saving face, and everyone in the class saw right through it. Even Hecat frowned in disapproval at Leander’s pathetic attempt to salvage some dignity, as though he hadn’t nearly been bested by Sebastian at the start of the lesson.

“Perhaps that’s something you need to practice in your own time, Mr. Prewett.” She cast an appraising eye around the room at her class.

Dinah Hecat was wise beyond her years, and even though she didn’t hold much stock in what the newspapers had reported regarding her two students, she knew that there was a kernel of truth to it. Sebastian and Amelia seemed to be a formidable team, based on the reports she had read of their fight with the Ashwinders over the summer break, and she was curious to see if that was a fluke or if their connection was more enduring. And if she ended up being an somewhat unintentional Cupid in the process, so be it.

“This duel will be a duet duel. Mr. Prewett, you and Miss. Blume will be partners. Mr. Sallow, perhaps you can pair up with Miss. Calloway. You must only use basic cast, protego, stupefy and levioso! You will forfeit the duel, lose House points and be assigned to so many detentions you will wonder what free time is by the end of it if you ignore those parameters.”

Sebastian nodded and strode up behind Amelia.

“Time to show them a proper Hogwarts welcome,” he smirked, taking his place by her side. Dropping his voice an octave and whispering so no-one else could hear, he added, “stay close to me, Mia. Just like old times.”

Amelia squirmed at his words but she adopted the Teapot Pose in the same way she had seen Sebastian use while he was duelling Leander earlier.

“You may begin.”

Instinctively, Amelia pressed herself up against Sebastian’s back, just as she had done when they were in the woods all those weeks ago. The heat of him radiated into her, warming her to her bones. He cast his Shield charm around both of them as Leander attacked with a Levitation Charm. Sebastian responded, stepping forward slightly as he purposefully miscast his Basic Cast. The spell landed just short of Leander’s feet and the boy laughed at Sebastian’s miscalculation.

“Out of practice since they’ve taken your wand off you, Sallow?”

Sebastian could have parried back verbally, but he decided it would be more apropos to refute the question with a quick, muttered, “levioso” in Leander’s direction.

Amelia let out a cross between a giggle and a gasp at the sight of Leander suspended in the air, arms and legs flailing wildly as he struggled to break free.

“You’re quite good at this,” she begrudgingly complimented Sebastian, puffing out a breath as she put up a Shield Charm against Cressida’s attack on them.

“How perceptive. Thank you.”

They worked in tandem – surprisingly well considering this was only their second duel, and their first duel together with Amelia actively using a wand to defend herself – casting and shielding, alternating between offence and defence until Leander and Cressida conceded the duel, both of them bowing their head and taking a knee, wands aloft in surrender.

“Well done!” Hecat cried out, clapping her hands to draw the focus of the class back onto her. “I gave you a task and you rose to the challenge spectacularly! Points to Slytherin and Gryffindor! We’ve run out of time for today’s lesson; please read over spell combinations that the Levitation Charm can be used in, for both offensive and defensive purposes and submit a summary of your findings in our next lesson. Class dismissed!”

“That was quite something. I imagine everyone will be talking about it,” Amelia said, smile slipping off her face as she realised that she had just added fuel to the fire of the gossip by duelling with Sebastian. It had been at Professor Hecat’s behest, not her own, but it certainly wasn’t helping her case in rebuilding her reputation and untangling herself from him.

“Everyone’s already talking; might as well give them something true to talk about,” Sebastian replied, gathering his book bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Speaking of talking,” Amelia began, struggling to find the words to continue. Her mouth opened and snapped such a few times, amusing Sebastian.

“Later. We’ll talk later, when there aren’t as many eyes and ears on us,” Sebastian replied firmly, stepping towards the door to take him away from a conversation he wasn’t ready to have yet. Besides, he had Charms next, and it wouldn’t do to be late to class. As jovial as Professor Ronen was, he was also a stickler for punctuality, wanting to use every minute allocated to his class for teaching and learning.

“You said that yesterday, so now it’s later,” Amelia persisted, following Sebastian out of the door even though she didn’t know if he was going to be in the same second class as she was.

“How can now be later? Now is now.” There was a shadow of a smirk playing around Sebastian’s lips, his eyes twinkling at the verbal spar happening between them.

“By that logic, we’ll never have that conversation we need to have because now will never be later.”

She was sharp and tenacious and persistent, he’d give her that. Those were traits that, in a woman, would be denigrated in the Muggle world, but Sebastian was quite enjoying the mental stimulation being challenged by her. The feistiness to her was a sharp contrast to the frostiness he was well acquainted with. It was a side he wanted to see more of, a side he had seen glimpses of over the summer break when they were traversing London together, but had never quite been subject to its full intensity.

“Mia,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and running a hand through his hair tiredly. “We will talk; I promise you that. But not now. Later. I have to get to Charms.”

And with that, he strode away from her, long legs spiriting him up the stairs so quickly she had to run to catch up to him.

Chapter Text

“Over here! There is a free seat!”

Amelia’s head swung around to where the disembodied voice came from. Her eyes fell on the same girl that had shown her to her bed last night, had gentle eyes that were like pools of melted dark chocolate and a warm smile, and the girl beckoned her forward.

“Don’t be shy; come sit here. I am Natsai, one of your dorm mates.”

Blue eyes quickly scanned the classroom, taking stock of her surroundings. Most of the students had taken their seats, chatting amicably with the person they were sitting next to. Sebastian had taken his seat next to a blond boy with sharp features; his expression was a mix of haughty and exasperated. Amelia sympathised with the exasperated part; after her verbal spar with Sebastian in regards to ‘now’ versus ‘later’, she found her patience slowly evaporating and her frustration at his ability to talk in circles become more pronounced. It was probably a good thing that Sebastian was sitting in the far back corner of the room, and had someone to sit next to already; Amelia was in sore need of a break from him.

There was only one other student that was sitting on their own; she had yellow lining in her robe, short brown hair that curled around her ears and a face that drew to a point at her chin. Their eyes met, and while the girl didn’t say anything cutting to Amelia, Amelia felt the girl’s eyes rove critically over her, as if the girl was appraising the worth of her. Amelia stared back, evenly, before moving up the stairs towards the free seat next to Natsai.

“Thank you, Natsai,” Amelia said, pulling her books out of her bag. For the second time that day, she could see why Matilda Weasley had said that the Fifth-Years would welcome her into the fold willingly.

“You may call me Natty. That is what my friends call me. Natsai is only when I am in trouble with my mother.”

“Friend?” Amelia fidgeted, shuffling from side to side, her fingers picking away at her cuticles. She had never had someone call her a friend within moments of introducing themselves to her. The sudden elevation of her status left her feeling off-kilter; a rubber band snapping across her chest making it hard to breathe as her intestines writhed around inside of her like snakes engaged in a vicious fight. Even though she was fully clothed, the word friend made Amelia feel as if she had been stripped to skin, vulnerable and exposed in front of the entire class. The unspoken expectation of instant familiarity made Amelia uncomfortable and she forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and she diverted her gaze to the floor.

“Yes, friend. I remember being new here too; you can use all the friends you can get.”

Amelia nodded, non-committal as her attention was drawn to movement at the top of the spiral stairs in the room. A portly man with purple robes, embellished with green vines around his collar, white beard and a cheery voice cleared his throat and made his way down the stairs.

“Ah, fifth-years! I trust you’ve had a restful and enjoyable summer break, but that you haven’t forgotten everything I have taught you last year. Your fifth year is crucial in your progress in Charms; with persistence and rigour to your studies, I am confident that you will surpass the minimum requirement of your Charms O.W.L.s. Shall we begin?”

“Yes, Professor Ronen,” the class intoned, pulling their books towards them so they could surreptitiously riffle through them and refresh their memories on charms from their previous years.

Ronen had asked them what the difference was between Colour Change Charm and a Growth Charm. Leander Prewett, being the braggart that he was, smugly commented that a Colour Change Charm changed the colour of objects while engorgio artificially inflated an objects size so that they aren’t microscopic. Amelia had to stifle a giggle behind her hand when Ronen replied “aside from the obvious?” to Leander; her eyes met Sebastian’s and she could see him whisper something to the boy next to him, a self-satisfied smirk causing Sebastian’s lips to curl upwards. The boy’s lips twitched; whatever Sebastian had said must have been amusing because he was trying to suppress his grin and his laughter at the same time. It was clear that Sebastian found Leander just as annoying as Amelia was finding him; a bonding point for them to discuss when they talked… later, whenever Sebastian decided that was.

“Oh, no, no books for you!” Ronen laughed, waving his wand and summoning all the textbooks back onto his desk. “I should take solace in the fact that you’ve all practiced one charm and one charm only in the holidays since you’ve obliviated your memories of the previous years. I suppose that is better than nothing.” There was no mistaking the dry sarcasm in his voice.

“Obliviated?” Amelia muttered under her desk, shooting Natsai a puzzled frown.

“The Memory Erasing Charm. Pretty much does what it sounds like.”

“Now, it appears we are in sore need of a review. We will start with the basics,” Ronen said, pacing across the front of his classroom. “Form a line along the back; you will need to use the Summoning Charm to retrieve your book off my desk.”

Scrapes of the wooden benches against the wooden floor of the classroom could be heard as the class groaned to their feet and formed a line. Despite Natsai’s gentle encouragement to stand next to her and copy her wand movement and incantation, Amelia didn’t move. The offer was too close to what Sebastian had done with her over the summer holiday, where he had taught her how to remain calm and in control of her emotions, used his wand to teach her scourgify, lumos and nox – the realisation that she had always been able to light the way in the vault with Fig instead of stumbling around in the dark made her squirm with embarrassment – and it was something that felt unique between her and Sebastian.

“Miss. Calloway, down here, if you please.” Ronen pointed to her and beckoned her forward. “It would not be appropriate for me to ask you to complete this task without showing you how to perform the Summoning Charm.”

Amelia pushed herself off the bench, palms clammy as she realised the class had ground to a halt so that all eyes were on them. She fidgeted, wand twitching between her fingers as she did her best not to wilt under the intense scrutiny.

“Stand with your feet apart, draw your arm in an anti-clockwise semi-circle and say accio.” Ronen intoned, purple robes swishing around him as he provided a quick demonstration of the charm. There was so much to take in when it came to Ronen’s movements that Amelia didn’t quite know where to look and what to observe.

Amelia shuffled her feet so that she was almost doing the splits; Ronen hadn’t been specific enough with how far apart her feet should have been; Sebastian always moved around her, behind her and beside her, altering her pose and posture when he was teaching her and that guidance was more comforting than words that Amelia had to make sense of. From behind her, she heard a titter; her head whipped around and if looks could kill, Leander and Cressida would have been stone cold dead on the wooden floor. A few people down, Sebastian shook his head slightly and used his fingers to tell her to narrow her stance and formed a triangle with his hands. Her confidence shaken to its core, she slouched into the Triangular Stance, left foot slightly in front of her right and a shoulder’s width apart, right arm aloft in front of her.

“Accio!” Amelia said as she pointed at the stack of books on Ronen’s desk, the warble in her voice betraying her confidence after her shaky start and her slight humiliation of Leander and Cressida laughing at her.

“Miss. Calloway, you cannot merely wish for the charm to work; you must have confidence and intention behind your voice and movement. You must not be afraid to fail; I guarantee that no-one in here performed a perfect Summoning Charm on their first try. Try it again!”

Amelia could feel everyone staring at her, the gaze of their eyes making her hot under the collar. She was acutely aware that Sebastian was watching her, and that made her stomach quiver; she didn’t want him to see her failures, somehow that was worse than Leander snickering away at her. Her mind raced with a flurry of thoughts, all of them somehow leading back to Sebastian and she remembered what he said. With a surreptitious glance at him, she breathed in deep, held her breath for ten beats to slow her tumultuous thoughts and to centre her, and breathed out slow.

“Accio!”

The gumption in her voice echoed around the walls of the Charms classroom and instead of wishing the book into her outstretched arms, she willed her Charms textbook in there instead. The book didn’t soar with an impressive arc that she had seen Professor Fig use at his home, but it was enough for triumph and a sense of accomplishment to spread through her; a warm glow flushed her cheeks and she was unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face as she turned to the rest of the class, her textbook cradled as though it was the most precious thing she owned. It was a small victory in a sea of uncertainty. Her eye caught Sebastian’s – not deliberately, but he seemed to be the one she’d gaze at for approval – and he smiled the crooked smile she was becoming accustomed to seeing and nodded slightly, corners of his eyes crinkling and softening in acknowledgement of her growing control over her magic.

She returned to where she was sitting and Natsai, after successfully summoning her book back to her without incident, came to sit down next to her.

“Well done!” she praised quietly, nothing but genuine affection and happiness in her voice. “I knew you could do it!”

Amelia nodded, the compliment bringing a tinge of colour to her cheeks.

“You will be quite the force to be reckoned with, if you keep grasping concepts as quickly as you have.”

And that’s even without you knowing about my Ancient Magic, Amelia thought wryly, although she couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth to Natsai’s words.

“Well, there is no point in just practicing without purpose! Any Quidditch player will tell you that! Time for some friendly competition, since it's such a lovely day outside!" Professor Ronen declared, gesturing for the class to head down to the Flying Lawn. "You cannot simply rest on your laurels,” Professor Ronen chirped as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “The Quidditch players amongst you already know that practice is more fun with a bit of healthy competition, and since it is such a lovely day outside, we will be playing Summoner’s Court! Leave your bags in the room; we’ll be back before the lesson ends.”

Wood scraped once more over the floor as the class trundled down to the Flying Lawn. Amelia tried to catch Sebastian’s eye as he walked by but he was engrossed in conversation with the platinum blond boy from earlier. Amelia noted how Sebastian gently steer the boy around objects, how the other boy’s wand tip flicked intermittently with a red glow and she belatedly realised that the boy was blind. Something stirred beneath her ribcage as she watched Sebastian bestow the same care and attention onto another vulnerable person who wasn't her. It was a feeling that was too tight and too loose at the same time; a paradox she wasn’t used to. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and trailed out of the classroom, Natsai by her side.

“You picked up the Summoning charm quite quickly,” Natsai said, falling into step with Amelia “It took me weeks to master accio. It took me months to get anything right when I transferred here.”

“Where did you transfer from?” Amelia’s curiosity was piqued; Hogwarts was such a melting pot when it came to diversity, she had thought all magic children were educated at the school.

“Matabeleland. It is in Africa, which was once home.” Natsai sighed heavily, tone tinged with sorrow, and it reminded Amelia of Sebastian’s demeanour when she had asked him if he was an orphan. She was astute enough to know that Natsai was aching; Amelia reached for Natsai’s hand, and in a rare show of tactility towards anyone that wasn’t Sebastian, she squeezed it lightly. It was a show of kindness to a girl who had shown her nothing but kindness.

“My mother was offered a job here by Professor Weasley and …well, we needed a change.”

Amelia understood that all too well. She had been through a great number of changes in the past month and a half. By now, they had ambled to where the rest of the class had assembled, Ronen tapping at the face of his pocket watch in an irritated fashion.

“Miss. Onai, Miss. Calloway, as you are the last to arrive, you shall be the first pair to demonstrate Summoner’s Court.”

“Follow my lead,” Natsai instructed, drawing her wand from her pocket and taking her stand on the podium. Amelia followed suit, standing behind Natsai so she could watch what she was doing.

With a graceful arc of her arm, Natsai drew a blue boulder towards her, curving it gently until it came to a stop just before the edge of the board.

"Well done, Miss. Onai!" Ronen applauded, with the onlookers cheering for her. "Miss. Calloway, it is your turn. See if you can summon the red boulder to the same point."

Amelia nodded, adjusted her stance and squared her shoulders. She glowered at the boulder she was aiming for, and with a not so graceful arc of her wand, dragged the boulder towards her. Just like when she had learnt scourgify, she was too exuberant and her boulder rolled off the end of the board and crashed with so much force it created a small crater in the ground.

“You must not lose focus,” Ronen sighed as the class jeered at her failure. Instinctively, her eyes locked onto Sebastian; he blinked and tilted his head, rolling an apple in his hands. Try again, he mouthed. Let go earlier and use the loss of momentum to get the ball to stop.

Sebastian had never steered her wrong before so she took his advice under her belt and with her eyes darkening and narrowing in concentration,she tried again. Her arm arced up and the charm was slightly better than the first.

“Not bad,” Natsai commented. “But if you want to improve on it, try this.” Without a second thought, Natsai moved behind Ameila and used her body to guide the novice through the Summoning Charm motion with grace and finesse. It was familiar but different, like when Sebastian was teaching her in the woods, but not like that at all. When Sebastian was moving around her, the scent of spice - star anise and cedar smoke - and the heat of tension that Amelia had never felt before would linger in the air, curling and coiling its way around them. With Natsai, the tension wasn’t there, and neither was the spiciness; instead it was the gentle warmth of a tentative bond forming.

From where he was standing, Sebastian’s sable eyes glinted hard and darkened to umber, narrowing into slits, as he watched Natsai assume the role he had once played for Amelia. Something coiled and writhed in the pit of his stomach, twisting and shredding himself to pieces and an unfamiliar heat flushed through his spine, burning red hot at the tips of his ears. His jaw clenched, molars grinding into gum and his fingers bit into the apple in his hand, obliterating it into a thousand tiny pieces, pips, core and seeds flying in every direction.

“Sebastian!” Ominis growled, grimacing as he was baptised with apple chunks and juice. “What in the blazes was that for?!”

“Sorry,” Sebastian muttered as he used his wand to siphon the mess off Ominis, despite the boy’s protests that he was perfectly capable of managing himself. “Got distracted, that’s all.”

“Does this have something to do with the girl you were cavorting with all summer being paired up with Onai instead of you?”

“No,” Sebastian scowled in a tone that very clearly meant yes.

Ominis sighed, and proving that his blindness didn’t stop him from seeing his oldest friend in his entirety, said, “well, based on what you said about your conduct on the train at the Sorting Feast and the fact that you got up and left during Miss. Calloway’s Sorting, perhaps she would be more willing to be paired up with you had you not behaved like a colossal, Sebastian Sallow-ed sized twat.”

The words only caused Sebastian’s scowl to deepen, because Ominis was right. As much as he was trying to help her from the sidelines, Natsai was having more success than he was.

“I’ll fix it,” Sebastian gritted out, determination lacing his words. “I just… need to figure out what to say and how to say it. And I need to get her alone, where there are no gawkers or gossipers; Merlin knows we don’t need to fan the flames of the rumours that are currently going around.”

The cogs in Sebastian’s mind were turning so quickly Ominis could hear the metal wheels grinding against each other.

“Sebastian!” Ominis growled, clairyovance masquerading as friendship meaning that he knew exactly what the brunet was thinking of. “No! Absolutely not! The Undercroft is ours! Mine, yours and Anne’s, when she comes back. No-one else!”

“But-” Sebastian began, only to be cut off by the quelling stare from Ominis’ milky irises.

“I said no, Sebastian! What part of that do you not understand; the ‘n’ or the ‘o’?!”

“More the general concept rather than the letters,” Sebastian snarked, trademark smirk gracing his face when he knew he was deliberately antagonising Ominis.

“I mean it, Sebastian!”

“Understood. Forget I even considered it.” He smirked once more, knowing that if he let the issue lie long enough, Ominis would forget they even had this conversation. “Anyway, we need to head back to the classroom: Ronen’s calling the class to an end.”

And as if they hadn’t had an argument, Sebastian hoisted Ominis to his feet and walked in tandem, deliberately not making eye contact with Ominis or Amelia as she passed him by.

Chapter Text

Ancient Runes with Professor Silas Sallow was Sebastian’s last lesson of his first day as a fifth year at Hogwarts, and he found that spending three consecutive hours in his father’s presence had a calming and soothing effect on him. Even though his dad didn’t mollycoddle him or treat him differently to any other student, the occasional squeeze of a hand on his shoulder reassured Sebastian that, given what he had been through, he was faring well. The bell rang, and most of his peers scrambled to shove their books in their bag and head down to the hall for afternoon tea. Usually, Sebastian would have done the same - being a growing teenaged boy meant he was a bottomless pit - but he also knew that there was something comforting about holing up in a classroom with his dad and relishing in a brief moment of respite with him. Silas seemed to enjoy it just as much as Sebastian was; as soon as the door to the Ancient Runes classroom clicked shut, Silas reached for his son, arms wrapping around his boy to hold him secure in his embrace. The older Sallow’s smile crept slowly across his face when Sebastian nuzzled into his shoulder in the exact same way he used to do when Silas would hold Sebastian against him as a baby.

“You’ve done well today, son,” Silas murmured, the customary gentle boop of the nose bestowed upon Sebastian. Sebastian’s nose instinctively wrinkled, as it always did, his way of telling his dad he loved him too. “Aesop said that the first few days will be the hardest; I’m proud of you for persevering.”

Sebastian nodded against his dad’s shoulder as he bent down into the hug, breathing in the smell of his aftershave to calm him, and closed his eyes briefly, allowing the façade he had projected to get him through the day to crumble. His shoulders sagged, his muscles relaxed against the heat of his dad’s torso against him.

The hallway outside the classroom hummed quietly, footsteps muffled as students walked by to get to the Great Hall for afternoon tea, but the Ancient Runes classroom was the Sallows’ private bubble. Silas held Sebastian to his chest just that much tighter, fingers running through his son’s curls and tracing patterns on the freckles on his cheek to put Sebastian at ease just a little bit more.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sebastian murmured, a rare show of vulnerability for someone that usually managed to maintain his composure, no matter how tough and challenging his life was. “I just… want things to go back to the way they were. I want to be fine again.”

“And you will, Seb,” Silas reassured with another boop to Sebastian’s nose. “It will take some time; Aesop’s told you that, and I think you know that deep down too, but you have a strong support network here to help you as you transition back from Azkaban to Wizarding Community. There’s no shame in needing to lean on people, even when you think you can cope.”

A rumble echoed around the room as Sebastian’s stomach growled. Silas laughed as Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, colour flushing his cheeks. With a snap of his fingers, a plate of assorted finger sandwiches and Victoria Sponge cupcakes materialised in Silas’ hand.

“Eat, Sebastian. I noticed you skipped breakfast and lunch today.”

“Didn’t want to have to listen to the constant mutterings about me,” Seb admitted, once more rubbing at the back of his neck uneasily. Silas nodded; he could remember what it was like being fifteen, where every little malicious rumour was catastrophised into social suicide, and even though he knew it would pass, being a teenager made the situation Sebastian found himself in more intense and all-encompassing, eating away at him until there was nothing left.

“Well, if that’s the case, I have a job for you to do.” Silas released his hold on his son and nibbled at a smoked salmon and cucumber sandwich. “Professor Fig mentioned that Amelia Calloway needs to get a wand from Ollivanders at Hogsmeade. He specifically asked me to ask you to accompany her so you can keep each other safe from Ashwinders and poachers in the area. I naturally bypassed asking you; I’m telling you as your father that you’re doing this.”

Sebastian choked on the cupcake he had started to swallow without chewing. He gasped a breath at the unwelcome news and glared daggers at his dad, torn between wanting to spend more time with her – his intrigue with her increased every lesson he spent with her, and even though the quivers in his stomach were slightly unusual every time she smiled at him, he yearned to see her smile at him again – and knowing that it was in their collective best interests to maintain a respectable amount of distance until the rumour mill of Hogwarts had stopped churning.

“This is not up for negotiation, Sebastian. You are doing this; not only is it a proper thing to do, it will also count towards your community service hours. Besides, your sister wants some things from Hogsmeade too – two birds, one stone.” There was a note of finality that told Sebastian that he would not win if he tried to argue against it with his father and he decided to save his breath. “Once you finish eating, get your wand from Aesop Sharp – he is aware of the special circumstances and has permitted you to carry your wand for defence purposes only – and then find Miss. Calloway to escort her to Hogsmeade.”

Sebastian nodded, somewhat grudgingly and slowed down his frenetic eating to a snail pace. Silas growled and narrowed his eyes at the diversionary tactics Sebastian was employing – something he had no doubt picked up from his mother; Emerys was exactly the same when she wanted to avoid completing a less than desirable task – and with another snap of his fingers, vanished the plate from the table.

“I was eating!” Sebastian cried in an outraged manner, showering his father with a mouthful of half-masticated crumbs of cake.

“You know exactly what you were doing. Go find Amelia and once she has her wand, you can come back and finish the plate.”

The last lesson of the day was over, and Amelia was glad for it. She had just gone through a day of information overload, and her brain was tired and oversaturated from processing it all. She trudged her way back through the labyrinth halls that made up Hogwarts, the moving staircases inverting her sense of direction until she landed somewhere she vaguely recognised.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower, with its grandiose but thankfully unmoving staircases was a welcome relief. At least from here she could retrace the steps she had taken that morning to get back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Her footsteps slowed; the corridors were empty enough for her guarded blue eyes to drink in her surroundings. The walnut brown wood of the bannisters on the stairs was warm underneath her palms, a stark contrast to the cool clicking of her heels against the tiled floor. Richly embroidered tapestries draped down the walls, silk shimmering under the light while portraits decorated the staircases. It was an eclectic mix of décor and yet somehow managed to exude a warm, comforting feeling, especially with the worn leather Chesterfield sofas, tea trays and fruit bowls scattered around the building.

Amelia walked by slowly, eyes and ears open as she listened and observed; just off to the left she could hear stifled, desperate sobs.

“Won’t somebody please help me?!”

Amelia froze. Part of her wanted to wait and watch and see what others would do, but part of her wanted to rush to the pitiful voice and see how she could help.

“It’s not fair! I hate this school!” There was another small sob and something inside of Amelia broke as she watched a small second year in black and blue robes that were shabby, worn and at least three sizes too big swallow her, making her seem even more smaller. It reminded her of one of the younger girls at the orphanage; she ended up there when her father was killed in an industrial accident, and her mother had relinquished care over her three daughters to the orphanage since she didn’t have the coin to look after them and her sons as well. Something snapped inside of Amelia and she stepped towards the wailing girl.

“Is everything alright? How can I help you?”

The girl wiped her eyes and nose on a sleeve that swam over her hand and cast an appraising eye over Amelia.

“It’s my Gobstones! Those bullies couldn’t handle losing to me so they took my Gobstones and hid them all around the classroom! They’ve levitated them to the highest rafters and I don’t know the Summoning Charm to retrieve them! They think it’s so funny – let’s see what we can do to make Zenobia cry, let’s see what we can do to make her lose her temper so we can point and laugh at her and make her the joke of the school – but it’s not funny! It was my best set – my brother got me that for my birthday!”

“What are Gobstones?”

Amelia listened attentively as Zenobia explained how the game of Gobstones worked. It seemed similar to the game of marbles she had played on the rare occasion at the orphanage; the only difference between Gobstones and marbles was that marbles wouldn’t spray the loser of the game with foul smelling goop. There was a slight note of arrogance as Zenobia boasted that she was the unbeaten champion of Gobstones and other people were jealous of her success, and that was why her Gobstones kept being taken and hidden from her. Amelia could understand why Zenobia was upset that her belongings were being stolen from her, especially since it seemed it was happening because people were sour that they were losing to her.

“Please help me get my Gobstones back,” Zenobia pleaded soulfully as she sniffed once again, and Amelia nodded. Even though Amelia still struggled with the Summoning Charm, she knew in good conscience that she couldn’t leave a young, helpless girl crying in the hallway without at least trying to get her Gobstones back.

“I’ll keep an eye out for them and get them back to you,” Amelia promised, determined to try and make Zenobia’s life just that little bit easier. She was about to walk away when the scent of cedar smoke, star anise and leather wafted by her, a warm, squiggly feeling settling in her stomach as she realised Sebastian was behind her.

“There you are!” he puffed, hands on his knees as he hunched over and caught his breath. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mia. Might be time to have that chat now, if we can.”

Amelia tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she observed him. Slightly flushed and covered in a slight sheen of sweat from sprinting around the castle seemed to enhance his olive skin and darken his freckles and made him more endearing. Her pulse raced at his words, the thought that he was specifically looking for her made blood rush to her cheeks and she dipped her head, blowing air out of her mouth to try and cool her down. She contemplated leaving with Sebastian – she did want to clear the air with him – but Zenobia made out a little squeak and it reminded her that she was already on a quest of her own.

“Now’s not a good time, Sebastian. Perhaps later.” She smiled sweetly at him as she threw the words he had used against her back at him as pointed as a weapon.

“Later?” Sebastian echoed, eyebrows pulling into a tight frown. There was a serrated edge to his tone, as if he couldn’t quite believe that she was blowing him off, and that irked Amelia, especially since he had hypocritically done the same to her earlier in the day.

“Yes. Later. Later can’t be now. I have some Gobstones to find, so you can either help me or not. If you’re choosing not to, make yourself scarce and I’ll find you when it’s convenient for both of us.”

The bushy eyebrows that were locked in a tight frown relaxed as he realised she was challenging him, the same way she did as they were leaving Defence Against the Dark Arts. He smirked and quirked his right eyebrow up at her, amusement twinkling in his umber iris.

Amelia flurried away, legs moving her from the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower to Central Hall to the Astronomy Tower, eyes trained up on the rafters of the roof as she scoured the wooden beams for marbles. She pulled the wand she had borrowed from Professor Fig and aimed it at the sphere, muttering the charm she had learnt from Professor Ronen. The ball teetered on the wooden beam, looking as if it was about to move but not moving much at all. She cursed and tried again, but had little success in retrieving the marble from the supporting beams of the roof. Her eyes tracked to Sebastian as he had trailed behind her as she moved, wondering what she was doing wrong and if he could help her.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m busy making myself scarce, just like you suggested.” He slouched casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her struggle to accio the Gobstones back to her, sardonically amused.

“The longer this takes, the less time we have,” Amelia pointed out reasonably, smirking inwardly as Sebastian’s entire demeanour changed. He straightened, drawing himself up to his full height and with a flick of his wrist, wordlessly and wandlessly summoned the Gobstone down to them. Even though she had seen him use wandless magic before, Amelia gaped at his proficiency and one day hoped that she would be half as good as he was with magic.

“Shall we?” he asked, idly rolling the marble between his fingers. “If it’s Prewett and his crew that have hidden Zenobia’s Gobstones, they’re not particularly imaginative and they’ll hide them in the same places they usually do.”

“You speak as if you’ve done this before,” Amelia commented, falling into step with Sebastian as though they had been walking side-by-side their whole life.

“That’s because Annie and I have done this before.” His eyes sidled over her as she bristled and stiffened at the name before remembering that he had a sister who was named Anne, a coil twisting inside of him relaxing as she relaxed too. He steered them to all the usual jaunts that Prewett would hide the marbles in, and with a flick of his head, gestured for Mia to summon the balls to her.

Amelia drew her wand out from her robe, and adopted the same stance she had used in Charms class. Sebastian moved behind her, in much the same way Natsai had done earlier, correcting her posture and grip. Ever cognizant that Sebastian was watching her every move, Amelia cleared her throat and pointed her wand at the Gobstone.

“Accio!” she cried, and the ball soared into the air in a graceful arc and landed gently in her outstretched hand. She smiled in satisfaction at her success, teeth gleaming pearlescent under the harsh light of Hogwarts and Sebastian smiled at seeing her smile, the corner of his mouth lilting up gently as he observed her delighting in the things he now took for granted, the quivering in his stomach feeling like a flurry of butterflies flitting around in there.

The collected the remainder of the Gobstones – the rest of Hogwarts were still in the Great Hall so the hallways were mostly deserted – and headed back to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“You found them!” Zenobia exclaimed in delight, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Thank you, thank you! Where were they?”

“Same places as last time, Zenobia,” Sebastian muttered. “Prewett?”

Zenobia nodded slowly and Sebastian growled under his breath. The gangly, ginger prick was nothing but a bully, picking on and traumatising younger students to make himself feel better and try and make himself seem better than he was.

“You let me know if he does this again and I'll set him straight,” Sebastian asserted, shoulders squared as his arms crossed over his chest, muscles pulling tight through the thin shirt he wore, something Amelia’s eyes caught and she blushed, turning her head so Sebastian couldn’t see. “And I’ll be by the Transfiguration Courtyard soon for a game.”

“I’d rather play with Anne when she comes back; she’s more of a challenge than you.” Zenobia collected her Gobstones from Amelia and scampered off, leaving a stunned and slightly offended Sebastian in her wake.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” he huffed, running a ragged hand through his hair and down his face. Amelia giggled at his words, and that made Sebastian chuckle too, a deep rumble from the depths of his soul as they both saw the lightly amusing side of Zenobia’s dismissal of him and his lack of skill with the game.

“So, how about that chat?” Amelia prompted once they had both sobered up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Sebastian nodded. “Best to go for a walk before the rest of the student populous swarm out of the hall between now and dinner.”

Amelia nodded back, and together, the two of them fell into lockstep and walked out of Hogwarts, Sebastian steering them towards Hogsmeade.

The breeze teased Amelia’s hair as she and Sebastian walked along the dirt and cobbled path to Hogsmeade. The setting sun cast a golden haze over them; Amelia, walking a few steps behind, noted how the sun made his freckles more prominent, she could see them dot their way from his face down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His chestnut hair rippled in the wind and Amelia noticed it glinted copper under the sun, the yellow undertones of his olive skin made him seem more vibrant and his usually dark eyes had flecks of green and gold in their irises, something that surprised her since she hadn’t seen it before.

Sebastian swallowed as she walked with him; normally verbose, the words he wanted to say to her caught and got stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth, choked on air and masked it by clearing his throat before snapping his jaw shut. Where could he begin? An apology for his out-of-sorts behaviour on the train seemed like a good place to begin, but where would they go from there? His eyes darted from side to side, focussing on small shrubs just off the beaten path.

“Stop here for a moment; these are Lacewing Fly shrubs. Useful ingredient to have for Potions. Harvesting them yourself helps save a few Sickles here and there, and that adds up quick.” He twirled his wand in his hands, a glass jar with a cork lid materialised in his hands and he passed it to Amelia. “Go on, Mia, collect them.”

Amelia accepted the jar with a nod of thanks and opened it, twisting and turning as she chased the moth-like creatures that were darting about. Sebastian smiled, softly, as he watched her move and twine with grace and fluidity he had never expected. It was a more gentle, softer side of her Sebastian had suspected she had but had to mask to keep herself strong while she was on his own. A quiet contentment, one that warmed him from the inside out, as if he had been drinking hot chocolate on a chilly morning, filled him from the toes up as he watched her and for the first time in a long time, he could let his mind idle and appreciate being in the present for what it was.

“I’m sorry.” The words came easier when Mia was distracted, and she stilled, her eyes roving over him as she waited for him to elaborate. “For the way I was on the Hogwarts Express. I was not in a good place, mentally, physically or emotionally and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Especially after what you did at my trial.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

“You didn’t have to, but you did anyway and I threw it back in your face, and quite rudely too. My only defence is Azkaban is… worse than you can imagine.”

Amelia tilted her head to the left in contemplation.

“Not today, Mia. Maybe one day we’ll talk about my time there, but not today. I need to get past it, not relive it.”

There was a vulnerability to him that Amelia had never seen before, a broken teenager beneath his suave, charming persona she was so familiar with; she contemplated reaching for his hand and holding it but it seemed too intimate and yet too impersonal all at the same time.

“So, where are you taking me?” Amelia asked, somehow sensing that changing the subject was what Sebastian needed the most.

“Hogsmeade. We walked from the station to get to Hogwarts, but just up the road from it is a self-contained, Wizarding village. It contains everything you could possibly need from Potion supplies to seeds and plants for Herbology, books for extra reading when the library doesn’t have it, and one of the best public houses in the country. Not to mention Ollivanders – the only place in Great Britain to get a wand that suits you.”

The reason for their little jaunt out of school became clear now; Professor Fig had told Amelia at some point that they would need to get her her own wand, and that her own wand would be more attuned to her, allowing her to produce more powerful magic than what she was already doing. The thought enthralled and terrified her all at the same time, her shoulders tensing and back straightening.

“Relax, it’s Hogsmeade. Nothing too out-of-the ordinary happens here,” Sebastian reassured her, nudging her through the gates to the hamlet and walking through the main street. “Ollivanders is just up here. Get your wand, Mia, and I’ll meet you in the town square in about fifteen minutes.”

“You’re not going with me?!”

Sebastian shook his head; the wand selection process was very personal and it seemed like his presence would be an imposition on something that belonged just to her. His proximity to her might have influenced the right wand choosing Mia; when he and Anne were eleven, Ollivander had made each sibling wait outside while their wands chose them to ensure that the other one’s magic wasn’t confusing the semi-sentient wands.

“I have some things to collect for Annie,” he replied easily, pulling out a piece of parchment and waving it at her. “Go on, you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

With her hand on the brick red door of the building, Amelia tentatively pushed it open and walked inside.

Chapter Text

The bell on the back of the door tinkled as Amelia crossed the threshold, her heels clicking against the floor as she moved to a small bench. Shelving stretched up high around her, boxes of varying sizes haphazardly stacked next to each other. Must and magic clung to the air, the hum of ancient secrets ensconced within the walls somehow setting her on edge and reassuring her at the same time. It was a disquieting feeling of belonging, odd because she had never experienced it before but something she didn’t want to stop feeling because of how comforting it was. Amelia’s fingers itched to fumble through the stacks of boxes – she was drawn to a particularly beaten up box, with the corners crumpled and a thick layer of dust around it – but she resisted the urge and waited at the serving bench.

“Ah, I thought I’d be seeing you,” a hoarse whisper croaked as a wizened man minced his way out to the front. His clothes hung loose on his thin frame, a mix of colours and fabrics that added to the vision of him having existed and transcended beyond the beginning of time. Tufts of white hair poked up from where his glasses were tucked around his ears and his eyes regarded her, missing absolutely nothing. “Eleazar told me you’d be coming for your wand.”

Amelia nodded, chewing on her lip as her eyes darted back to the box she had been drawn to before.

“Let us get started. Hold out your wand arm.” And with a sprightly leap over the bench that defied his appearance, Ollivander used his wand to draw several boxes off the shelves. Amelia extended her right arm as tape floated near her, measuring the span of her arm, the distance between her thumb and pinky finger, the circumference of her biceps and triceps before transforming into a protractor to measure the angle of her elbow joint, bent slightly past 180 degrees.

“Every Ollivander wand is unique; just as no two people are the same, no two wands are the same either. We use three powerful wand cores to generate magic and protect them in layers of wood to enhance the magical properties of the core. We have dragon heartstring core wands, unicorn hair core wands and phoenix feather core wands; the core and the wood of your wand is very telling of your personality, and you will never get the same results when using someone else’s wand because it doesn’t mesh with you.”

Ollivander thrust a wand into her hand. The polished black wood gleamed enticingly and looked like it would be a good fit but it felt like an icicle in her hand, all cold and frigid and unfamiliar. Ollivander huffed and snatched the wand out of her hand, muttering about how that wand wouldn’t do for her at all. He placed another wand between her fingers, this one light and springy to the touch but before Amelia could even glance at it, he whipped the wand from her and shook his head, placing the knobbed stick of wood back in the box and discarding it on his bench. The process continued; with each wand thrown to the side, Amelia became more disheartened while Ollivander became more delighted.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry; I’m sure I’ll have a wand for you here somewhere!”

Amelia smiled politely and vacantly, dead behind the eyes as self-doubt started to creep in. What if there was no wand for her? How was she meant to learn, control, harness and reach her full potential? The thought of being left out from the Wizarding World, of always being an outsider looking in gnawed away at her, burning through her as her pulse beat a rapid tattoo under her skin. Her eyes fell back on the box she had seen earlier, still looking inconspicuous and as damaged as she felt. Ollivander’s eyes seemed to follow hers and he shrugged when she pointed to the box, deftly bringing it down to him with a flick of his wrist. He blew the thick layer of dust off the lid and presented the wand to Amelia.

It was off-white, a hint of honey in the wood when the light hit it right. The woodgrain swirled around the wand and when Amelia lifted the wand out of the box, the handle fitted neatly into the palm of her hand. Tingles shot to the end of her fingertips, a blue, ethereal glow shimmering around her hands as her wand shot fireworks and sparks out of its tip.

“Oho! Well done! I’ve had that wand sitting on my shelf for fifteen years, just waiting for the right person. Phoenix feather core, beech wood, eleven and a half inches and somewhat inflexible. You seemed destined to amount to tremendous feats with it.”

Amelia swallowed and placed the wand back in the box. “How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about that, dear girl. Eleazar has already settled the account. Take your wand and flourish with it!”

Sebastian collapsed heavily onto the bench carved into the tree trunk in Hogsmeade’s town square, scowling heavily. He had just completed the list of errands he had to run for Anne; she had needed some Essence of Dittany, Murtlap root, Galangal, lemongrass, a hybrid cross of lily and fluxwood stems and Stench of the Dead to brew her medicine to keep the pain from her curse at bay. Normally he would no issue with collecting and packaging her ingredients to her using the owls in Hogwarts’ Owlery, but the addition of a copy of Witch Weekly (although since she wanted last month’s edition of the magazine, perhaps it was more apt to call it Witch Monthly) had soured his mood. Emblazoned on the front cover was his and Mia’s mugshots from the night of their joint arrest, with the title suggesting that in nine months’ time, they would both be extremely young parents. Even though he had been utterly frank to Anne when he had asserted that nothing untoward had happened between him and Mia, he could imagine his sister lying on her bed, idly flicking through the pages of the gossip rag and cackling at the half-truths and lies that had been published. Still, with a little more than five minutes to go before he had to meet up with Mia, he thought it was best to know what was being said about him and her in the wider community; he flicked his newly acquired toilet paper open and skimmed the article, eyebrows furrowing into a heavy frown as his face hardened and lips turned downwards with every word he read.

He imagined Mia’s response to the magazine, if she ever saw it, and thought that her lips that looked like they were soft enough to melt into would become pressed into a line so thin they would cease to exist. Her eyes would darken and turn even more glacial than they usually were and he determined that it was in both of their best interests to not pay much attention to the nonsense that had been published, even though it felt like most of the Wizarding World had taken it as gospel.

“Well, I have my wand!” Amelia’s voice, light and carefree, cut through the air and interrupted his turbulent and troubled thoughts. Before he could hide the magazine behind his back, Amelia had snatched the publication out of his hands. Her jubilant mood dissipated as quickly as it had appeared and she shot a wounded, betrayed look at Sebastian.

“It’s not for me,” he explained, rolling his eyes heavenward as he scratched uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “Anne wants it, and since she’s essentially housebound, I’m the courier service for her.”

“And why does she want this?!”

Sebastian shrugged. Far be it from him to try and fathom the mind of his sister. “Probably wants to figure out if she should paint the fictional nursery blue or pink.”

Amelia stared at him in abject horror, mouth agape.

“It’s ephemeral! You know it and I know it! Thought if we could make a bit of a laugh to take the sting and the bite out of it, and the only way to do that is to know what’s being said!” Sebastian defended himself, raising his hands up in mock surrender. “You know, fake it so we make it to the other side.”

There was a bit of method to the madness Sebastian was suggesting and it took the umbrage out of Amelia’s sails. She thrust the magazine back into his hands as if she had been burned by it and sat down heavily next to him, her mood as dark and stormy as a thundercloud. Reputation was a tricky thing to manage, and even in the Wizarding World people were conservative enough to follow and uphold the standards the Muggle world maintained – Sebastian would come out of this relatively unscathed since men were expected to get around while she, as someone who was meant to remain as pure as the driven snow until her wedding night, would be absolutely devastated and maligned.

“This will pass. Please, don’t let something as innocuous as this ruin your time here,” Sebastian implored, scrunching up the publication in his hands. He needed to distract her from her tumultuous thoughts. “Show me your new wand.”

Amelia pulled her new wand out from the pocket of her cloak and presented it to Sebastian. “Phoenix feather core. White beech wood.”

Sebastian nodded as he cast a judging eye over the conduit for Amelia’s magic, noting how similar her wand was to his. They were both shades of white, both exactly the same length too. The wood was hard and unyielding underneath his fingers; he’d wager her wand was about as inflexible as his, not that he was surprised by that in the slightest.

“You should get a wand grip,” he suggested, showing her the checkered pattern grip that adorned his wand. “Helps stop spasms in your hands when you hold your wand for too long.”

Amelia nodded and wondered how she would do that with no money of her own. There was no doubt that Fig would finance it for her if she asked him to, but she also didn’t want to come to rely on him and forget how to stand on her own two feet. There was something comforting and irritating about having a safety net that would catch her when she fell.

“Anyway, we should celebrate your wand choosing you with a Firewhiskey in The Three Broomsticks.” Sebastian threw his head back and laughed at the disgusted look that scrawled across Mia’s face; the memory of the aftertaste of that dratted drink she had had when she was camping with him was as visceral as it was when she drank the amber liquid for the first time. “Okay, okay, Butterbeer for you then.”

Amelia laughed as they stood up, Sebastian pointing to a crooked building that was the pub. Commotion swirled around them, the residents of Hogsmeade screaming and scuttling away. Thunderous footsteps clapped on the cobblestoned footpaths of the hamlet. There was a snort and a grunt; a humongous body barrelled through the town, smashing through houses and obliterating anything that stood in its way to dust.

“Troll!” Sebastian hissed, instinctively drawing Amelia behind him to protect her. “And an angry one at that too!”

“Draw it away from the village!” one of the residents shouted, provoking the troll into targeting them. “There are too many people here – the risk of casualties, fatalities and extensive infrastructure damage is extremely high if we try to take the troll down here!”

Amelia looked at Sebastian; he was jittery and antsy as he bounced of the balls of his feet, wand twirling between his fingers. He was clearly torn between joining the fight against the troll and doing his duty by Amelia and staying with her. Amelia clutched at his upper arm, something that took him by surprise as his breath stilled, his back straightened and his muscles tautened under her touch. She looked at him beseechingly, the same way she did when they had first met in Marylebone Library.

Don’t leave me, she mouthed, and Sebastian nodded slightly, pocketing his wand and drawing her further away from the commotion.

“I’m not leaving you, Mia,” Sebastian confirmed, patting her hand lightly to get her to loosen her grip a bit. “But we do need to get out of here before anything else unexpected happens.”

Amelia couldn’t agree more and as they made to move, another roar ripped around them. The air rushed by Amelia’s face as a club brushed by her; she was saved from the impact by Sebastian pulling her roughly to the ground. She tumbled down, landing heavily on his chest and his arms wrapped around her to stop her from rolling off him and hurting herself from landing on the cobbles. They stilled at the proximity of each other, tension in the air sizzling with electricity between them; it was awkward but comfortable, proper and improper to be in his arms and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Her eyes snapped to his, searching for something – she didn’t know what – and he stared back at her, just as desperate to find an elusive piece of information he didn’t even know he was looking for.

The moment broke – it had to – as the club a second troll was wielding smashed into the ground next to them. Sebastian gently rolled her off him and leapt to his feet, drawing his wand out from where he had stashed it earlier. Amelia followed suit, standing next to him, eyes scanning the environment to see what she could use to her advantage. There didn’t seem to be much, just barrels and broken splinters of wood, but she noted that the troll had an armour plate that was glowing red, the same way the security goblin at Gringotts had an armband. It could have been a coincidence, but Amelia’s gut was telling her that it wasn’t and she made a mental note to question Fig about it later.

“Offence or defence?” she asked.

The shadow of an amused smirk played at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth, eyes quirking at the throwback to the night they had duelled together for the first time.

“You have to ask?”

He fired off a confringo, rapidly followed by a depulso before darting around the tows square, hoping that his spell casting would keep the troll’s attention on him and not Amelia. The troll bellowed, a rumbling baritone that made the glass in window panes shudder in fear and Amelia scampered behind the troll’s legs to fall into place besides Sebastian. She adjusted her posture, widening her stance as she aimed her wand at the beast. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, the need to act fuelling her desire to not be a sitting duck anymore, and she shot a Basic Cast at the troll. It was far more powerful, far more natural than when she had been using the wand Fig had provided to her.

“Good girl!” Sebastian praised from beside her, firing off an incendio in the troll’s direction. “Keep at it; I think we’re weakening it!”

“How long will that take?”

“As long as it takes. We just have to keep working together!”

The troll whirled around, club swinging wildly as it shattered the fountain in Hogsmeade’s village square to smithereens. Sebastian snagged Amelia’s robe sleeve and tugged her behind him roughly. “Get behind me and stay behind me!”

“I’m not some damsel in distress, Sebastian!” Amelia protested, once more firing off a Basic Cast, followed by a Stunning Spell. The troll folded in half, grasping at its head in a daze. “I think I’m doing quite well at holding my own!”

“You are; you’d definitely fit right in at Hogwarts’ most exclusive, unsanctioned duelling club.” There was a pause as Amelia tilted her head at Sebastian, fingers playing with tendrils of hair that had worked its way loose from her bun. “Yes, Mia, it was an invite for you to be my duelling partner at Crossed Wands this year, damn the rumours it would generate.”

Amelia allowed herself a small smile, pride flickering like a flame that couldn’t be extinguished inside of her. It felt good not only to be holding her own, but to be doing it so well Sebastian was impressed by her. It seemed that she was starting to find her feet into the world she had been thrust into without a manual to help figure her way around it.

“Move!” Sebastian grunted as the troll rammed at them. He swung Amelia out of the way, tossing her carelessly to the side as he bore the brunt of the troll’s attack. The club caught him in his midriff, knocking the air from his lungs and for a moment it felt like he was suffocating. He gasped as he flew through the air, crashing into the rubble and cobblestones of the footpath, head and neck hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The world swam around him, colours and noise and light blending and melding together in a whirl before fading to black.

“Sebastian!” Amelia screamed, panic rising up in her throat as she watched a crimson tide pool beneath him. He was hurt, badly, because of her, and she remembered the litany he had taught her. Steadying her thoughts that were unravelling, she breathed in deep, held her breath while she counted to ten and breathed out slow. The hand that held her wand thrust forward automatically, trained on where she thought the troll’s heart would be – if trolls even had a heart – and she felt the familiar tingle of magic surging through her fingers. Eyes narrowed in concentration, she let her Ancient Magic rip through her, annihilating the monster into a shower of troll goop and blood. Ignoring the splatters of troll that were raining down on her, Amelia rushed to Sebastian, falling to her knees as she approached him.

“Sebastian, wake up!” She grappled at his collar and tried to shake him back to consciousness. “Sebastian, come on, wake up!”

There was a faint groan, a wince and a gag at being shaken vigorously, and Sebastian squinted upwards vacantly. His hand crept to his head, blood matting his chestnut locks and he winced again as his fingers brushed against his skull.

“Hello,” he said vaguely, a goofy grin on his face. “Odd sort of place. Do we live here?”

Amelia’s face fell. Sebastian was worse than she had thought he would be. She delved deep into the pockets of her robes, hoping that she had stashed some of the healing potion Fig had given her, but knowing her, she had left them in the pocket of the trench coat she was wearing when they had adventured to Gringotts.

“Who are you?” Sebastian’s eyes, slightly dilated and unfocused, skittered down his uniform and he pawed at himself. “Who am I? Where are we?”

“What do I do?” she wondered, her voice a hushed whisper as she stared despondently at Sebastian. She was not expecting the goofy grin on his face to morph into something that had a semblance of questionable intelligence behind it.

“Gotcha!” he smirked, laughing at the expression on her face. It was a mix of despair, shock and disbelief.

Amelia had to suppress a growl as she pushed him back to the ground, feeling slightly guilty but justified as his head crashed into the cobblestones and a touch more blood spurted out of his wound. “Don’t do that! I was worried about you!”

“You were?” There was no mistaking the wistful, wishful note in his voice. “I’ll be fine once we get to The Three Broomsticks and Sirona gets some Wiggenweld into me.” Wavering, he got to his feet, giving Amelia an appreciative nod as she allowed him to steady himself against her torso. He pointed to a building down the way and instructed Mia to head towards it, stumbling slightly as his world slid in and out of focus. Mia strode on, letting Sebastian lean on her as they walked. He tugged on her robes, pulling her against a wall as a top hat and a reedy voice caught his ear as they moved past a set of rickety stairs.

“What?!” Amelia hissed at him. “We need to get you help as soon as possible!”

“Shhh!” he silenced her and leaned out from the brickwork of the building to see what was happening, as blurred and distorted as it was. The top hat man rankled of Rookwood; the ornate plum purple coat and arrogance that held him upright only confirmed his suspicions. There was a goblin, fully clad in armour with intricate swirls on it and the goblin glowered at Rookwood, irises as dark and hard as lava.

“You told me you could get to the girl. All you needed was a distraction.” Teeth bared to a point snarled at Rookwood, lip curling in an unimpressed sneer. “I gave you a distraction. I gave you two.”

“I just watched two students take down your distraction. Don’t blame me because of your ineptness and your mistake of underestimating your opponent, Ranrok.”

“If you cannot get to the girl, I have no use for you; our alliance will draw to a natural end. If you’re not with me, you’re against me and I don’t take too well to that,” Ranrok threatened, and even though he was only one third as tall as Rookwood, the man had to take a step back because of the intimidating air Ranrok exuded.

Rookwood cricked his neck, bones audibly grinding on each other. “I Polyjuiced myself and pretended to be a suitor to get closer to her, at your behest, Ranrok, and all that happened was that I was turned into a chicken and subsequently questioned by Officer Singer. I had to spend an inordinate amount of gold to get her reassigned to patrol Hogsmeade and buy her silence towards our intentions; far more reliable than using imperio on her to control her. What’s so special about this girl – a student, no less – that you cannot get from another witch? What are you not telling me?”

Sebastian’s hand found Amelia’s and he squeezed it. Brief, but reassuring, as Amelia gaped on in horror, jigsaw pieces slotting together to paint a dark, macabre glimpse of what the future held in store for her.

“We should go,” he muttered, and he tugged her to draw her back to reality.

Their footsteps were hurried, slapping against the ground as they scurried into the safety of The Three Broomsticks. Sebastian stumbled to a barstool and collapsed heavily onto it, right hand grasping at his head. Sirona bustled over to him, tutting as she examined his injury before pressing a tea-towel against him. “Wiggenweld won’t do much for this one, Seb. I’ll let your dad know to come get you, although I daresay he and the rest of the teaching staff have already heard of the troll attack.”

“I can Floo, Sirona,” Sebastian protested, folding his arms against the bar and resting his head on them. Sirona smiled at him in the way a parent would smile at a child when they knew their offspring was wrong and simply reiterated that he wouldn’t be leaving her premises until his dad picked him up. She slid a glass of water in front of him and prompted him to drink up.

“And here’s a face I haven’t seen before,” she commented, sharp eyes raking Amelia up and down, as though she was sizing up the younger girl’s worth. Sirona pulled out a barstool and pushed Amelia onto it, sliding a tankard of Butterbeer in front of her. “On the house. The troll attack has shaken everyone here today, so there’s no doubt that you could use it. I shall have to check in on the other residents of the village shortly.”

Amelia sipped from her flagon, the sweetness of the drink dancing on her tongue and fortifying her as her adrenaline wore off and all she wanted to do was collapse in an exhausted heap on the floor.

“All thanks to this one,” Sebastian crowed sleepily, pointing at Amelia. “Single handedly took down the second troll that came through Hogsmeade!”

“Is that so?” Sirona seemed mildly impressed. “Well done, then! You must be very powerful indeed.” She sighed, wiping down the bar. “There have been some unusual happenings lately. Trolls in Hogsmeade? Usually the only brutes we have to deal with are –” she broke off as the doors to the tavern opened and the man Amelia had seen earlier stormed into the pub.

“How timely,” Sirona sighed, slinging her cleaning rag over her shoulder before barking at the newcomers. “Leave, Rookwood! You and your cronies aren’t welcome here anymore!”

The man in the top hat and flamboyant coat held up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to be like that, Sirona; I’m just here for her.” A finger with a sharp nail pointed at Amelia. “I’ll take her with me and you can get on with your day.”

Sebastian pushed himself to his feet, standing woozily in front of Amelia and using his body as a shield to hide her from view of Rookwood. Sirona moved faster than greased lightning as she stood in front of the two students. The other patrons of the pub surrounded them, wands held aloft as they adopted the Teapot Pose, glares that could petrify a man into stone etched into their face.

“My friend is enjoying a well-earned Butterbeer and is too busy to deal with the likes of you,” Sirona asserted, jaw jutting out in defiance of Rookwood’s demand to hand Amelia over. “I suggest you leave before I call Officer Singer over here and have you removed for trespass on private property.”

“No need for that, Sirona. I can see the calibre of The Three Broomsticks has fallen tremendously over the past year. Perhaps I should take my Galleons elsewhere.”

“The calibre of my clientele will improve greatly once you and your pal leave, Victor,” Sirona retorted back, not missing a beat as she eyed up Rookwood with distaste.

“Always one for theatrics, weren't you,” Victor smarmed, trying once more to step closer to Amelia. The ring that had formed around her closed ranks; Sebastian in particular pulled her into him, as if the broadness of his chest could permanently hide her from Rookwood's view.

“I’ll get you one day,” Rookwood threatened, stepping backwards towards the door they had just walked through. “Can’t sit around drinking Butterbeer forever!”

The tension in the air eased once the doors to the establishment closed on the back of Rookwood and Harlow, but the tightness Amelia felt in her chest remained. Her fingers clenched into fists, nails biting like canines into the palm of her hands and she resisted the urge to pick at her cuticles out of anxiety. Her knee bounced up and down against the footrest of the barstool in a frantic manner. Sebastian pivoted on the spot slowly, gripping the bar to help keep him upright as he appraised Amelia beadily, seeing her in a way he had never seen her before.

“Trolls, Ranrok and Rookwood? What are you not telling me?”

“Not here,” Amelia muttered tightly, flicking her head to the patrons of the bar that were still focussed on her. “I promise to tell you everything later.”

Later.

There was the word that ensured Amelia would be able to let Sebastian in on her secret, only when she was good and ready to and not before then.

“He’s not done with me, is he?” she murmured, sipping from the tankard of Butterbeer she really didn’t want now. The drink was sweet, too sickly sweet and it made her stomach roll and churn like a tempestuous sea.

For all his dry humour and sarcasm earlier, Sebastian regarded her as soberly and sombrely as he could. Flashes of the night his grandfather was murdered, his grandmother was destroyed in a way no-one could fathom and the way Anne shrieked and writhed on the ground as she was cursed rose to the forefront of his mind. The helplessness he had felt that night, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the Siege of Feldcroft, was something he never wanted to feel again. He had to do better this time, had to do different with Mia so she wasn’t relegated to the same fate as members of his family. “No, he’s not done, and you don’t want to know what he’s capable of to get what he wants.”

Sebastian pulled out a barstool and sat down heavily on it, a storm cloud hovering over him as they waited for Silas Sallow to come and collect them from the bar. Amelia watched as the shutters in his eyes rolled down and a little part of him curled up and died inside; walls she thought she had broken through built back up around him, fortified and higher than ever, and she knew that there was something he was hiding from her, just like she was hiding a part of herself from him.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp, Eleazar Fig and Silas Sallow Apparated straight into Sirona Ryan’s bar. Silas paled when he saw how much dried blood matted his son’s hair, the unequal pupil sizes in his son’s eyes and the pale pallor of his skin, and he instantly rushed over to coddle him.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Sebastian muttered, pushing away his father’s hand from where he was pressing a tea towel to his head. There was something emasculating about having his dad fuss over him, especially in front of Mia and that sent a prickly, uncomfortable feeling up his spine. It was almost as if Silas was advertising to the world that Sebastian wasn’t man enough to look after and protect his charge.

“Well, I’m getting Nurse Blainey to give you the once over when we Apparate you back to Hogwarts,” Silas decreed bluntly, and with a swish of his wand, a silvery blue eagle flew off into the direction of Hogwarts’ spires. Even though his son towered over him, Silas looped his arm around Sebastian’s waist, and with a strength that belied his frame, hoisted the teenager to his feet.

Aesop Sharp moved to the other side of Sebastian to support the teenager, woozy on his feet and Eleazar moved towards Amelia.

“A mature troll in Hogsmeade, and you took him down!” he marvelled at Amelia, glowing at just how much she had come into her magic. His eyes grazed over Sebastian and his head injury, then pierced Amelia, acutely aware of how her Ancient Magic seemed most prevalent and prominent when it came to him. Amelia felt the heat of Eleazar’s gaze on him, a level of scrutiny from him that she had never encountered before and in some ways, she felt more exposed than she had been before.

“I suppose we should get back to Hogwarts before any more unexpected encounters occur,” Eleazar said, and he held out his hand so he could Apparate Amelia back to her Common Room and debrief with her without eavesdropping ears.

With her eyes lingering on Sebastian – there was so much said and unsaid between them; the world felt as if there had been a monumental shift on its axis after she had fallen onto him during the troll fight – she took Eleazar’s hand and in a blink of an eye, he had transported them back to school.

From where he was standing, arm supporting his probationer, Aesop cleared his throat and motioned for Sebastian to hand over his wand. “I need to know what spells you used when defeating the troll.”

Silas stared at Aesop, incredulous, while Sirona frowned disapprovingly at him.

“Surely that can wait until tomorrow, Aesop,” Sirona grumbled as she polished glasses from behind the bar. “Look at the lad; he and the lass did a tremendous job of protecting our village and got conked quite badly on the head for it. Let him rest tonight and you can interrogate him tomorrow.”

“Would that I could,” Aesop sighed heavily, sealing Sebastian’s wand in an evidence bag and securing the bag into one of the internal pockets of his overcoat. “But the Wizengamot will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Sallow’s spellcasting; anything questionable that can’t be justified will result in more severe consequences. I need to know to get ahead of the Wizengamot.”

Normally, Sebastian had a brain that could compute and process information at lightning speed, but when he had been bonked on the head repeatedly by a troll’s club and was bleeding from said troll’s club, his mills ground slow and exceedingly dull. Honey-burnt irises, slightly dilated and confused, looked to Silas for guidance. Silas nodded his head, and with a slight squeeze of his son’s shoulder, encouraged Sebastian to answer Aesop’s question.

“Protego, depulso, stupefy, levioso,” Sebastian broke off and chewed his lip. “Bombarda and confringo.”

Aesop’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly; he wasn’t sure if it was because he was impressed or shocked at Sebastian’s ability to perform spells that were beyond the curriculum for a Fifth Year. But then again, Aesop had already figured out that Sebastian had a predisposition to performing magic beyond a typical teenager’s means; he wasn’t sure why he was so surprised to learn Sebastian knew the Blasting Curse. While it wasn’t an Unforgivable Curse, using it was questionable, and Aesop Sharp had his work cut out for him to convince the Wizengamot that it was a justified use of a controlled spell.

“Come on, Seb,” Silas insisted, pulling his boy tighter into him. “Let’s get you looked at by Noreen and then into bed.” A pointed glance Aesop’s way, steely glint in his eye warning the Auror to not question Sebastian any more tonight.

Aesop sighed and extracted himself out from supporting Sebastian now that Silas had a tight grip on the boy. He had his suspicions about how Sebastian and Amelia had defeated the troll, especially since the spells Sebastian had rattled off wouldn’t cause a troll to disappear without a trace; he was almost certain that Amelia had unleashed that mystical power of hers to eviscerate the troll and save both of them. But even Aesop knew when to pull back and with a nod of understanding to Silas, he watched as the father and son Disapparated from the bar.

“Sirona, I’ll need a word with you, if you have the time.” It was phrased as a request, but Sirona was astute enough to know that Aesop wasn’t really asking her. She flung the cloth she was using to polish glasses down and gestured at Aesop to pull up pew at her bar.

“What can I do you for, Aesop?”

Aesop’s dark eyes sidled to the door and skirted around The Three Broomsticks. The premises was empty, save for them, not entirely surprising since it was after closing time. A hushed quiet fell between the two of them, as if it was the calm before a calamity.

“There’s more to this troll incident in Hogsmeade,” Aesop stated categorically. “Something isn’t right here; I mean, I know Sebastian is an extremely talented wizard, but defeating a troll, even with help, is beyond his capabilities.”

Sirona could only nod in agreement. She had noticed odd occurrences throughout the summer and each unusual moment seemed more out-of-place than the last one.

“I need your help. The students come in here, they talk about things that they’ll never talk about at Hogwarts for fear of being overheard.”

Sirona’s eyes narrowed. She was no tittle-tattle and she knew that students would often confide in her as a safe, non-judgemental person to seek advice from. It was what set her apart from her competition at The Hog’s Head. That and her custom-craft Butterbeer, as well as the welcoming ambiance of The Three Broomsticks.

“I’m not asking you to divulge confidences,” Aesop reassured her. “Just keep an ear out for anything… unsanctioned, and if there’s a risk to either Sebastian or Amelia, come straight to me, Silas or Eleazar. Sebastian and Amelia are powerful enough on their own; together, they are… formidable.”

“I can do that,” Sirona said. “Aesop, a word of advice. Don’t push this further tonight, or over the next few days. I’ve watched the Sallow children grow up and grow into the people that they are; the more you probe him, the more he’ll clam up. Let him come to you. He’s a good boy and if he doesn’t go to his dad, he’ll come to you because he respects you.”

Aesop chuckled darkly; Sirona’s words were further proof that while Sebastian grew into a Silas Sallow clone with every passing day, he truly was the embodiment of his mother.

“Look after him, Aesop,” Sirona said as way of dismissing him from the bar, and Aesop didn’t know if she was referring to Silas, Sebastian or both of the Sallows. “He has more weight on his shoulders than he’s letting on.”

Aesop smiled tightly as he turned his back on the bar and limped his way through the darkened streets of Hogsmeade to the closest Floo Flame. His mind raced with the turn of recent events, churned with the knowledge that Amelia’s Ancient Power was growing as she became more cognizant and in control of her other magic and came to the realisation that Sebastian was key in ensuring that the magic she possessed that eluded most witches and wizards could be controlled.

The Gryffindor Common Room buzzed with gentle anticipation when Amelia and Eleazar Fig appeared through the cylindrical passage way. The younger students gaped at her in awe, while the older ones sized her up and down, speculative gleam in their eyes, silence speaking volumes as she walked through the room before collapsing into an armchair in a quiet corner near the window. The attention was not misplaced but somewhat unsettling – after all, the last time the Magical Community had paid this much attention to her was because they thought she was Sebastian’s harlot – instead of someone that had just taken down a troll and saved an entire hamlet from utter devastation.

“Amelia! There you are! I was worried when I couldn’t find you in the Great Hall for afternoon tea or dinner and you weren’t in the dormitory or the library! I heard about the troll attack at Hogsmeade – are you alright?”

The questions flew thick and fast out of Natsai’s mouth as she flew down the stairs and came to kneel by Amelia’s side. Amelia nodded even though she had drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. Anything to steady the tremors that shuddered through her body.

“Here, drink this,” Garreth said, passing her a flagon that shimmered under the lights of the Common Room. The liquid had an amber glow, far more orange than Butterbeer but not amber enough to be Firewhiskey. She eyed him suspiciously, remembering how she had roared and flamed the last time he had given her something to drink.

“It’s not tainted,” he reassured her. “At least, not in the way the tankard was this morning. This is pumpkin juice mixed with a Draught of Calm and a liquid meal; I noticed you haven’t had breakfast, lunch or dinner.”

Eleazar’s eyebrows knitted together at Garreth’s revelation, eyes narrowing as he appraised her and Amelia shrank into herself. Anger was something she thought would upset her from her benefactor, but the quiet disappointment radiating out form Eleazar was somehow worse. The weight of what she had done settled like a stone in a stomach that growled at the mention of meals.

“You have to start looking after yourself, Amelia,” he murmured, dismissing Natsai and Garreth with a gentle smile. “I know you struggle with the concept of eating well when so many people you grew up with are on the brink of starvation, but starving yourself isn’t going to help their plight.”

Amelia nodded tightly, joints stiffer and rustier than a suit of armour left out in the rain for too long.

“I expect to see you tomorrow in the Great Hall with at least two pieces of fruit and some eggs on your plate,” Eleazar instructed, and Amelia imagined that this was what a father figure would do to an errant daughter. The thought of Fig as her pseudo-father caught her by surprise and she shook her head to rid herself of delusions that had no hope of coming true.

“No?” Raised eyebrows this time instead of a scowl, and almost a note of incredulousness in Fig’s voice.

“Not no,” Amelia flustered, blushing and fidgeting at his words. “I mean yes, I’ll try and make it to breakfast tomorrow. I was just caught up in my own thoughts.”

Eleazar opened his mouth to probe just a little further but caught the red flush of her cheeks and thought better of it. While he had never been a teenaged girl before, he was empathetic enough to know that some things were better kept a mystery. He cleared his throat as Amelia sipped from her tankard, the tremors that racked her body slowing to shivers.

“You fought bravely today, Amelia. You are a true embodiment of Godric Gryffindor’s values.”

Amelia’s eyes regarded Eleazar, blue colour somewhat glacial as she listened to him offer up such a bare-faced lie to her. “I wasn’t brave; I just did what I had to do.”

She flushed even more as she remembered that her most powerful magic only unleashed itself after Sebastian had taken a clobbering for her and she wondered what it was about him that elicited such a visceral and strong reaction in her. She thought about the way he felt underneath her as she fell on top of him, all soft and hard at the same time, rough, angular edges smoothed out with a tenderness she wasn’t expecting. She appreciated how safe and secure she felt in his arms, almost as if she had found her way home with him. The warmth of him seeped into her as she had laid on him and made her muscles tighten and stomach flit in a way she had never felt before.

“You could have cowered and run away, but you didn’t. You stayed and you fought. That’s bravery,” Eleazar corrected gently, lips curving up into a parabola. “Your magic is powerful, Amelia; that can’t be stifled and it can’t be ignored. Use it responsibly; every magical action has a magical and non-magical reaction.”

“Newton’s Third Law?” Amelia asked, trying to tie magic back to something tangible she understood, and Eleazar nodded approvingly.

“Magic is a blend of physical and metaphysical energy; sometimes Muggle Physics concepts are just as apt at explaining how magic works as magical explanations are. You should consider taking Magical Theory as an elective next year; you’re certainly astute enough to cope with the complexities of the course.”

“I will,” Amelia promised, although she wasn’t sure if she was promising to consider Magical Theory as a class or promising to take the class as an elective.

“Good. Head upstairs and get some rest,” Eleazar advised, and with a swish of his periwinkle blue robes, he was gone.

Blainey had poked, prodded and tapped his skull with her wand to assess if he had a brain injury and would need to be lobotomised before fixing Sebastian and giving him the all clear to return to normal activities. With Buttons tucked under his arm, Sebastian rolled heavily from side-to-side, trying to find a position that was comfortable enough for him to sleep in.

Soft, shallow breaths emanated from the chair that Silas Sallow was dozing in, hands resting against his paunch, reading glasses knocked askew as he slept. He shifted, grunting, and Sebastian briefly considered waking his dad up and offering half the bed he was sleeping in to the older Sallow. Not that Silas would take him up on it; Sebastian slept like a tornado, twisting and turning and cocooning himself in the doona, hitting and kicking in his sleep. He had been like that ever since he was a child; Silas had copped too many knees to an incredibly sensitive place when Sebastian was younger and had crawled into bed with him and Emerys because he couldn’t sleep after he had a nightmare. It certainly helped justify why the twins were the only children he and Emerys would have.

Sebastian grunted once more, flopping onto his stomach and plumping up the pillow his head dropped against. There were too many thoughts swirling around his head, each one competing against each other to rank on the totem pole of importance.

Why, in Merlin’s good name, were trolls sent to Hogsmeade? He knew Ranrok had sent them as a distraction, but how did the slimy, two-faced jacked-up little goblin know Mia and he was going to be in Hogsmeade at that same time? Coincidence? It seemed unlikely. Was someone at Hogwarts feeding information to the goblin? Perhaps, but who and why would anyone do that? What would they stand to gain?

Why was Rookwood working with Ranrok? Rookwood was well known for being disparaging to non-wand holders; how did his agenda align with Ranrok’s? Although, as Sebastian reflected on the interaction he had spied on, it seemed like their allegiance was tenuous at best, the pair of them walking on a tightrope as they navigated around each other. Rookwood was best at torturing and maiming and making others suffer – that was his way of exerting power he already wielded – while Ranrok simply wanted power to create his new world order.

And then there was Mia. Sebastian couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt in his arms, how neatly she slotted against him. Her hair had tumbled over him and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wrapped around him, the heat of her seeping through his shirt and searing his skin. He knew his heart was threatening to break free from his ribcage as he realised her lips were millimetres away from his; all he had to do was raise his head and he would have found out if her lips were as soft and plump and as luscious as they looked. There was something different in her eyes, a deeper, more profound connection forging between them.

He didn’t understand why Mia was preoccupying his thoughts in the way that she was – he was friends with a lot of girls in his year group, simply because he was Anne’s brother, and none of them had ever stuck in his mind as much as she did – and it was peculiar for Sebastian to not understand something. He wondered if he stuck in her head the way she stuck in his; was she tossing and turning in bed with the same knot of confusion he was trying to unravel?

“Dad,” he said, turning once again so he was facing Silas, prodding his shoulder. “Are you asleep?”

“Yes. Settle, Sebastian.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“It helps if you stop talking, son.”

“I can’t get my brain to switch off. I keep thinking about things, about how the world isn’t making any sense anymore.” Sebastian hesitated, choosing the words he wanted to divulge next. Did he want to talk about Mia and how she lived rent-free in his head? Not particularly, not until he had sorted out his confused thoughts. Did he want to discuss Ranrok and Rookwood, or would that dredge up traumatic memories from The Siege of Feldcroft?

Silas hummed quietly, slipping back into his doze.

“Dad, Ranrok and Rookwood were in Hogsmeade. They were talking about how they wanted to get to Mi-” Sebastian caught himself just in time. “Amelia.”

Silas stiffened, stretching from where he was slouching and turning laser beam eyes on his son. He had seen first-hand that Amelia possessed a power that was rare in the Magical world and he worried that by aligning his son with Amelia, he had unwittingly placed a target on Sebastian’s back. Not that he wasn’t worried over Amelia and what Rookwood wanted with her, but Sebastian was his son and ensuring his safety took priority over everything. “What do you mean?”

“They were talking about how Ranrok needs Amelia and Rookwood is meant to get to her for him.” Sebastian swallowed, well aware that the tips of his ears were flushing red as he scratched uneasily at the back of his neck.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Sebastian could feel the weight of Silas’ gaze on him, sharp and piercing and seeing through the wall he had erected to hide his burgeoning and confusing feelings towards his friend. He half expected Silas to brush him off, tell him to go back to sleep and that they would deal with it tomorrow, but his father dragged a hand wearily down his face and heaved out a sigh.

“Ranrok is not a goblin to be trifled with, and Rookwood is exceptionally dangerous, as you know. This isn’t something to take lightly.”

Sebastian mimicked his father and sat up in bed a little bit straighter, hand raking through his hair in an anxious fashion. “What do we do, Dad?”

“We do nothing. You focus on your O.W.L.s and keeping up with your community service and extra-curricula activities. I will liaise with the appropriate people and we’ll make sure Amelia is protected and we’re prepared in case Ranrok and Rookwood try to get to her again.” There was another pause as Silas chewed on his words, wondering how to articulate his thoughts without raising Sebastian’s hackles.

“I know you care about her, son, but whatever your personal connection is with her, put it aside. This is bigger than you and I need to know that you’re safe. I’ve lost my parents to Rookwood’s monstrosity, and Anne too; I can’t risk you either.” Silas’ finger found the tip of Sebastian’s nose, and as always, Sebastian’s nose crinkled up at the contact.

“I love you too, Dad.”

There was a pregnant pause, giving birth to more pauses.

“We will find a way to protect her, won’t we?” Sebastian hugged Buttons closer to his chest, inhaling the scent of charred chocolate and cigars to calm the anxiety that was rising up in him on Mia’s behalf. “We won’t just let them take her?”

“We will. The staff of Hogwarts always look out for their students. We just have to be smarter than them, stealthier than them. We can’t let our guard down for a second.”

The room fell quiet once more, Silas pushing his son back down into the plush pillow, tucking the doona tight under the lad’s chin, Button’s secured safely in his arms. Slender fingers traced constellations around the freckles on Sebastian’s cheek, occasionally carding through his hair to help settle him into a fitful slumber.

Even though nothing had been cleared up, one thing was for sure; whatever was coming for Amelia, Sebastian wasn’t going to let her face it alone.

Chapter Text

The troll attack in Hogsmeade only fuelled the flames of the rumours that were flying around the Wizarding World regarding Sebastian and Amelia, but instead of both of them being denigrated and shunned, they were being praised and lauded for their quick thinking, bravery and teamwork in taking down the troll. Amelia was fast becoming known as someone that would defend herself and others to the hilt when faced with adversity. Sebastian had redeemed the Sallow name and reimaged himself from a teenaged miscreant wreaking havoc across the Highlands in his spare time to a maturing boy standing on the precipice of manhood, doing whatever it took to protect the same hamlets and villages he had once terrorised.

Amelia, who preferred a quieter life, was uncomfortable with the attention and new found admiration of her, but she couldn’t deny the warmth that spread to her extremities when she saw the high regard and genuine respect that most of her peers held for her. Sebastian, on the other hand, weathered the change of perception of him much better; he was finding that more and more students were looking up to him as a leader in the school, even though he wasn’t a Prefect or a Head Boy and he had no aspirations to be one.

But with the praise and admiration came more scrutiny into the budding friendship between Amelia and Sebastian. Eagle-eyed fifth years had noticed how Amelia would seek guidance from Sebastian every time she learnt a new spell, how Sebastian would always beam with pride and encouragement at her when she accomplished a feat a lot of them took for granted, how Amelia was always sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking at her, and how Sebastian was always eyeing Amelia when he thought she wasn’t looking at him. Even the teachers of their joint classes seemed to be conspiring to push the two together; Sebastian and Amelia inevitably found themselves paired up and working together on term-long projects in Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration.

The days after the troll attack blended seamlessly into weeks, and in the blink of an eye, nearly two months since the first day of school had passed. Sebastain had moved back into the Slytherin Dormitory and resumed his role as Beater and Vice-Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, grumbling about having to attend training at five in the morning nearly every day and yawning his way through his morning classes since he was so tired after practice. Amelia hadn’t heard much from Professor Fig in terms of discovering more about Ancient Magic, so she spent her days focussing on completing homework and her project work with Sebastian. After classes were over for the day, she would scamper down to the library, take up post at a desk on the mezzanine level – it was always quieter up there – and she’d pour over the books she had pulled off the shelves, eager to absorb every scrap of knowledge she could acquire.

Amelia hadn’t expected Sebastian’s presence to become part of her library routine, but one day he had sat down opposite her, flashed her his crooked smile as he tugged his reading glasses out from the knot in his tie and pushed them up the bridge of his nose and lose himself in whatever he had chosen to study. She barbed glances at him, watching his eyes dance across the page of the heavy tome he was reading in a brown blur, his left hand scrawling across a piece of parchment so quickly he smudged the ink and the chicken scrawl that passed for his handwriting was even more illegible than it would have been had he not smeared his handiwork. She learnt his tells; when he was engrossed in his work, his tongue would poke through his lips, when he was frustrated, he would tug at his hair, fingers twisting and knotting around his chestnut and mahogany curls. As his eyes fatigued, he’d pull his glasses off and use his knuckles to knead at his eyes, and when he got lost in thought, he’d chew on the end of his quill. Normally, all of this would annoy Amelia, but she found it strangely endearing when it was Sebastian that was distracting her from her reading.

Just as Amelia learnt about Sebastian, Sebastian used his keen observation skills to figure out Amelia. He noted the way her finger would underline the words she was reading, the way her blue eyes clouded in confusion when she didn’t understand something and her eyebrows furrowed as she made a mental note to ask someone about it later. He discovered that she would absentmindedly mutter under her breath, tap her fingernails on the table as she read and would pick at her cuticles when her mind was processing something extremely complex. The pair of the would work in the library until Madame Scribner would hustle them out at closing time, chiding them for skipping dinner; Sebastian was never worried since he had a stash of food in his trunk at the foot of his bed in his dorm, but Amelia’s stomach grumbled in agreement with Madame Scribner’s scolding, especially since Sebastian had noticed that she only ate a meagre amount at breakfast in the Great Hall and was never there for lunch. As they gathered their ink, books and parchment in their book bags, Sebastian would snag some fruit and a handful of nuts from one of the bowls and press it into Amelia’s hands as they climbed the stairs to a deserted Central Hall. He learnt that she preferred pome fruits to citrus and would endeavour to give her apples or pears instead of oranges. They would nod at each other and move towards their respective Common Rooms, both aware that the tension between them was growing but neither daring to believe that the other person felt the same as them.

It was two days before Halloween when there was a break in their routine. With a weary sigh – Professor Sharp’s homework was still incomplete and it was due tomorrow – Amelia threw her book bag down on the ground, pulled out her inkwell and quill and set herself up for some intense studying on the uses and dangers of the Erudus Potion. A flick of her wand had books levitating off the shelf and landing in a haphazard pile near her, threatening to topple over when the pile grew too high. Sebastian had shown her how to do that, but she hadn’t gained the same mastery as he had; he was able to stack the books in order of importance and neatly too. She settled into her chair, twisting and shifting until she was comfortable, picked up the first book in her pile and started to read. So engrossed in her work, it took her a few hours to realise that she was alone; there were no heavy sighs, scratching of the quill against parchment (other than her own) or quiet murmurs that she had become accustomed to. The lack of Sebastian’s quiet presence just as distracting as Sebastian’s presence was. He had become a constant, a moon watching over a darkened sky and the lack of him was disconcerting, to say the least. Worried thoughts swirled around her mind; why wasn’t he in the library?

Was he in detention?

Perhaps, but she was aware when that happened because he always got detention for provoking Leander into mouthing off at him in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. His unpunctuality didn’t win him any favours either; Professor Onai had Seen that he would be late three lessons in a row, and had pre-emptively addressed his tardiness before it had even taken place.

Running an errand for someone else to clear some community service hours?

Possibly, but Sebastian always dragged her along on those adventures too, even for something as small as a delivery from Hogsmeade to one of the outer-lying hamlets in the region. He had claimed to do so because it was helpful for her to get to know her surroundings, but she couldn’t help but feel there was another hidden motive behind his actions. Not sinister; the more she got to know him, the more she realised Anne was right – Sebastian was a good man, loyal and respected by the folk in the hamlets – but he excelled in keeping parts of himself shrouded in mystery.

Was he cavorting around with another female?

She had heard other students talk about Sebastian and his charming nature – she had seen and experienced it first-hand – but the thought of Sebastian arm-in-arm with a woman that wasn’t her sent a spark of irritation up Amelia’s spine. It took her a moment to put a pin in that – she wasn’t his keeper and he was a free agent; he could frolic with whoever tickled his fancy.

Amelia tossed her quill to the side and she contemplated leaving the library earlier than usual to seek out Sebastian, but her eyes trailed back to her parchment – her essay on the Erudus Potion was still five inches short of Professor Sharp’s requirements, and he was not a Professor she wanted to cross – and she knew she had to complete her homework before scouring the castle for Sebastian. The metronome of the clock ticking slowed to a crawl as her thoughts strayed back to Sebastian, pulling her focus away from her essay. She eventually finished, just in time for Madame Scribner to chivvy her out of the library, tutting at all the books Amelia had pulled off shelves, the crumpled up balls of parchment that littered where she sat as she revised and reworked parts of her essay. Scribner moaned that once again, Amelia had skipped dinner before pressing a plate of cold chicken salad into her hands, finger wagging at her as she said, “eat it once you’re outside the library, and not a moment before then.”

Amelia smiled her thanks, a rare moment of compassion shown to her from the normally crotchety librarian and she headed out the door to an empty Central Hall. Under normal circumstances, she would farewell Sebastian and head to her bed in Gryffindor Tower, mentally drained and physically spent from her exertions of the day, but the absence of Sebastian meant that the day was anything but normal for her. Her legs ambled along the stairs, dawdling through hallways and staircases that revolved as she climbed them as physical exhaustion overcame her, but her mind was too wired and too switched on for her to go to sleep. Amelia knew that she would toss and turn, bedsheets rustling underneath her with every movement, annoying Cressida and Nellie to the point where they would evict her from the dorm and not let her back in.

The tinkle of music caught her ear, a haunting, beautiful, sad melody that somehow made her heart ache and eased her aches at the same time. She was drawn to it, steps slowing to a crawl so she could listen in rapture. She followed the evocative notes, each step pulling her further away from the Gryffindor Common Room. The tune seemed to seep through the gaps in the cement between the stone walls, settling deep in her bone marrow, tattooing her in a way that was invisible but indelible all at once.

The music led her down a narrow hallway she had never noticed before; it was plain and bland and compared to the grandiose and grandeur of other parts of Hogwarts, it was inconspicuous. It was a forgotten room in one of the furthest corners of the school, and she pushed the wooden door open. The stairs creaked quietly underneath her weight as she climbed until she peered into the room the music was emanating from, body freezing as her brain processed what her eyes were seeing.

Sebastian sat at an old, polished baby grand piano. His gunmetal grey reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose, his Slytherin robe tossed to one side on the floor and the sleeves to his shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing freckled forearms covered in a thin layer of dark hair. His expression was focussed as he lost himself in the melody he was playing, eyes closed as his upper body swayed backwards and forwards in time to the music, his hands and fingers moving fluidly over the ivory keys.

The sight of him lost in the moment – so vulnerable, soft and tender – stunned her; it was such a stark contrast to the sharp, cocky to the point of arrogant, quick-witted boy she so often encountered and was coming to enjoy, despite how exasperated he made her. She had seen first hand that Sebastian was extremely talented with his wand, but she never expected that talent to extend to his hands too. She wondered what it would feel like to have his hands dance over her instead of gliding over piano keys and she shook her head, the flush rising to her cheeks at the illicit and tantalising thought.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said quietly in what she thought was an interlude in Moonlight Sonata.

It was almost comical the way Sebastian seemed to jump out of his skin at the intrusion, his fingers slamming against the piano keys in discord to the melody he had been playing. He blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing ever so minutely, as if he was deciding to ream her out for stumbling upon a side of him he wanted to keep hidden from anyone that wasn’t named Sallow or inviting her to see him in all his forms.

“Here I am,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers played a ditty absentmindedly.

“I missed you in the library today.” The look of sardonic amusement on Sebastian’s face had Amelia flushing as red as her hair and she fumbled to make it sound like it was a friend concerned over another friend instead of her pining over him. “I’ve gotten so used to you being there, you not being there was a stark change.”

“Sure,” Sebastian huffed out a laugh and turned back to the piano. “Sometimes I like to change things up a bit, take a bit of time for myself.” He paused, brown eyes piercing right through her, as if he was appraising whether she was worthy of his next confession. “It usually happens when things become overwhelming, and it is especially bad today.”

There was another poignant pause, notes of sadness filling the air. Instinctively, Amelia stepped closer to him, bridging the distance between them and paused, curious to know if it was alright for her to place her hand on his shoulder or if that was crossing an unspoken boundary between them. Her hand hesitated, half outstretched towards him before she pulled back.

“This is the first birthday I’ve had without my grandparents, first birthday I’ve had without Annie by my side most of the day. This might also be the last birthday I have with her too, the last birthday meal my parents, Anne and I will ever have at The Three Broomsticks. Anne’s dying. No-one wants to acknowledge it, but she is. Every time we meet, the light in her eyes just dies out a little more.” Sebastian grimaced as the words dripped from his lips, bitter as poison, and he couldn’t bear to see the look of sorrow on Amelia’s face so he shifted once more, angling himself so Amelia could only see his back. “This is why I don’t tell people; I don’t need their pity.”

“It’s not pity, Sebastian. I’m sad for you.”

“It’s one and the same thing.”

“It’s not.” Amelia paused, shuffling forward to close the distance between them even more. She was so close, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon assailed Sebastian’s nostrils and it left him strangely exposed and comforted at the same time.

“I don’t have siblings – at least, none that I know of, let alone a twin that I’ve shared everything with – so I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. It doesn’t mean I can’t see that you’re hurting, and that makes me sad.”

The words cut through Sebastian like a knife, emotions he didn’t even realise he had been suppressing welling to the surface like a tidal wave. Wet pooled underneath closed eyelids, clinging to his impossibly long eyelashes and he swallowed gruffly, intent on not letting them fall in front of company. He didn’t want to be the cause of her suffering, especially not suffering for him. He didn’t want anyone suffering because of him; it was why he had kept quiet about his memories around The Siege of Feldcroft, why he hid the effects Anne’s curse had on him, twintuition making him feel each and every bite and snarl the curse did to Anne.

“Don’t. I’ll find a way to get through it; I’ve done it alone for the past nine months, and I can do it some more.”

The tension between them ratcheted up a notch. Amelia hovered behind him, the weight of what was unspoken tying them together, inextricably binding them in a way that was unique to them. Sebastian leaned back, ever so slightly, seeking comfort from her proximity, even though their bodies never met. He blinked rapidly, the water that had welled in his eyes evaporating as he glanced up at her.

“You’re not alone, Sebastian,” she murmured quietly, the gravity of her words settling over them like a thick, warm blanket. “You have me.”

A small smile, sad, and one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know.”

There was another beat of silence, more poignant than the last. Sebastian chewed over her words, realising that she was right; Mia wasn’t showing her pity, but sad support when he needed it the most. Compassion for the pain he carried within and never let show on the surface. Her gaze softened, glacial eyes melting as she regarded him evenly.

“Do you want to play?” Sebastian offered, scooting himself off the stool and offering the seat up to Amelia.

“I don’t know how to play,” she admitted, chewing her bottom lip nervously, baring her soul to make herself just as vulnerable and tender as Sebastian was in the moment. Learning how to play the piano was a rite of passage for all young ladies in the Muggle world; just one more thing that had been ripped and stripped away from her because she had been unceremoniously dumped at St. Calloway’s Orphanage. “The Sisters at the orphanage… they could barely afford to feed and clothe all of us; having money to spend on a piano would have been seen as a luxury and a frivolity. But I’d hear music, snippets here and there, and I’d pretend that it was me, that the raw talent was me.”

“Stop pretending, Mia,” Sebastian said, gesturing to the seat that he had just vacated. Amelia sat on the verge of the wooden stool, fingers hovering anxiously over the keys. Sebastian loomed over her; the air was thick with the scent of star anise and smoked cedar wood, dried parchment and dusty leather and she breathed in deep.

“Put your right hand here,” he said as he guided her hand to the keys, jumping at the unexpected electric shock that jolted through him from the contact. “This is middle C. Think of this as your baseline. Your thumb rests on it, and your fingers rest on the four white keys next to it.”

His hand covered hers and Amelia’s eyes glanced down at the touch. How had she not noticed that his hands were just as freckled as his face, although a shade or two lighter? His fingers were long and slender, as paradoxical as him as they were calloused and smooth all at the same time. How had she never seen the arteries and veins that protruded from underneath his skin, the tendons and ligaments contracting and relaxing as his fingers moved with practiced ease over the piano keys.

“Every C note lies to the left of these two black keys – sharps and flats. This is what C sounds like.” He leaned over her, his face so close to hers they were millimetres from his cheek resting against hers, his thumb pressing insistently down on hers so that they both hit the right note. “Then D - ” another insistent press of their index fingers as he made them work their way up the scale, murmuring the note names as they played.

“Try a scale without me,” he instructed, pulling his hand away from her to rest on the piano stool, and Amelia’s hands jerked up the keys, lacking the finesse and fluidity that Sebastian had. She scowled at how jarred the notes sounded, at how the sound reflected her lack of confidence.

“Relax your hand, loosen your wrist,” he advised, once more moving his hand over hers to massage it free. “You’re far too stiff.”

“I don’t want to hit the wrong notes,” Amelia muttered, as if her need for control justified her tenseness.

“You hit the wrong note, you hit the wrong note,” Sebastian shrugged. “Happens to everyone and the world carries on turning as if nothing ever happened. But the looser you are, the more easier playing will come too.”

She nodded, and with a shake of her hands, tried again. The notes were still stilted, but not as much as her first attempt. With each note, her hesitation melted; she wasn’t thinking about what she couldn’t do, she was focussing on what she could do instead. She smiled at the progress, head turning to face Sebastian as he rested his chin on her shoulder, intently observing the movement of her hands, the sharpness of her fingernails. Their eyes locked, searching for something in that elusive, tentative, fleeting moment between them. He was so close to her, all he had to do was lean forward and she would find out if his lips were as tender and warm as they seemed.

Sebastian’s insides burned hot and cold, fire and ice as his heart leapt into his throat, thudding so loud he was positive Amelia could hear the frantic thumping of it. She was so close the only thing he could smell was her, the only thing he could feel was her breath tickling his skin. All he had to do was lean forward and he would find out if her lips were as sweet as he imagined them to be. This wouldn’t be his first kiss – that dishonour went to Ominis during a game of spin-the-bottle that went a bit wrong; Anne has never forgiven him for robbing her of a first that should have been hers - but it would be his first kiss with any profound meaning behind it. He moved, tentative, his nose nestling neatly against hers.

The air shifted, boundaries of friendship blurring as their unspoken feelings bloomed like roses growing in the cracks of light that shone in the darkness that surrounded their lives.

“Is this what you want, Mia?” he murmured, eyes closed, wanting to move but not daring to unless he had her blessing. His fingers had moved from the piano to cradle the side of her face, fingers feathering over her skin, as gentle as a lover’s caress.

“Is this what you want?” she parried back, the uncertainty tinging her voice betrayed by how she pressed towards him, the heat of both of them seeping into each other, imprinting and scorching them even though the temperature of the room had dropped by several degrees.

Then tension between them was palpable, every moment stretching into an eternity. The space between their lips was nearly non-existent – one of them had to be brave enough to close the gap, but neither of them seemed to want to make the first move – and the world seemed to dissolve into the distance. The connection between them was magnetic, two stars orbiting each other until their gravitational pull drew them together in a blinding explosion.

“Ahem!” The loud, obnoxious sound of someone clearing their throat shattered the moment, fragments of broken glass littered at their feet. The sprang apart, Amelia blushing so furiously it was hard to see where her skin stopped and her hair began, while Sebastian rubbed feverishly at the nape of his neck, looking anywhere but at Amelia and the professor that had almost caught them in a most compromising position.

“Mr. Sallow, Miss. Calloway, you are aware that you are out of bed, out of bounds and out of curfew too?”

“Sorry, Professor Sharp,” they intoned in unison, even though they didn’t plan it that way.

“Sebastian was just teaching me how to play the piano,” Amelia added. Unnecessary, since Aesop Sharp hadn’t asked for any further details, and Aesop’s eyes sidled over them, as if he was seeing through any excuse they could offer up.

“Is that what you youngins call it these days?” Aesop’s lips twitched, as if he was suppressing a smile, but he couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice. “Consider yourself lucky that you caught me in a merciful mood. I will not be deducting points from Gryffindor or Slytherin for your transgressions, nor will you be getting detention. This is your first and last warning; any more piano practice during lights-out hours, in out of bounds rooms of the castle will result in more severe consequences. It would behove both of you to be aware of the fact that Hogwarts still has an engagement clause as part of the Code of Conduct for Staff and Students. Should the pair of you be caught in a more… scandalous position, you may be forced to be betrothed to each other. Just something for you to keep in the back of your mind.”

Suitably chastised, Amelia nodded and slipped out of the room, intent on getting back to the Gryffindor Common Room before she could wind up in more trouble.

Aesop sighed as he judged Sebastian. As much as he looked like his father with every passing day, he grew up to be more and more like his mother.

“How did you know we’d be here?” Sebastian asked, eyes still trained on the scuffs of his boots.

“I knew you would be here; you are your mother incarnate and she would come here to play when she was upset and overwhelmed too. I know your birthday this year is tough for you and your father, especially after the loss of Samuel and Sophia Sallow, and I know Anne’s predicament isn’t easing any of the stress and tension either. It seemed cruel to punish you when you’re already suffering. I wasn’t expecting Miss. Calloway too.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, eyes finally rolling upwards so he could glance at Aesop Sharp from under his eyelashes. “Thank you.”

“Sebastian, it would be prudent for you to follow all of Hogwarts’ rules and regulations to the letter while the Wizengamot is watching you. I managed to smooth over your use of questionable spells when you took down that troll at the start of the year by pressing the point that it was used defensively and not offensively, but you’d be best to not give them any reason to reconsider your consequence from this summer.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, one hand scraping through his hair as he ruminated over his probation officer’s words. “I understand, Professor Sharp.”

And on that note, Sebastian dismissed himself and strode back to the Slytherin Common Room.

Chapter Text

The fire in the Gryffindor Common Room crackled, embers and smoke curling up from the flames and floating towards the chimney stack, heat a stark contrast to the rain that was pouring down outside. Amelia coiled herself up tightly on the crimson, velvet cushion of the sofa, knees drawn to her chest, face resting on her knees as she let the heat envelop her. Her mind whirled, thoughts cycling through her at a million miles an hour as she analysed and overanalysed what nearly transpired between her and Sebastian. The teacup held in her hand trembled slightly, the spiced cinnamon and apple liquid scalding her as it dripped onto her skin. She cursed at the pain, dropping the china on the floor and cursed again as she saw the splinters of porcelain shattered on the ground.

Much like her friendship with Sebastian now.

It was all too much. Too fast. Too conflicting. Too… perplexing.

“Amelia?”

Natsai and Garreth stood at the foot of the stairs, concerned eyes trained on her. They had fast become Amelia’s closest confidants in the Gryffindor Tower as they had taken her under their wings as she adjusted to life at Hogwarts, making sure that she always had somewhere to sit in the classes that they shared together, had a spot at the Gryffindor Table when she made her way down for breakfast in the Great Hall. It was a kindness that Amelia had never been shown before, but the more frequently they latched onto her and talked to her, the more Amelia found herself looking forward to their company and she found herself having friends that had her back no matter what, for the first time in her life.

Natsai’s appearance was prim and proper, a robe tied tightly over her nightgown and her hair tied up in a braid. Garreth, on the other hand, appeared in a pair of cotton navy pyjama pants, forgoing decorum and standing there sans shirt. Amelia’s eyes danced over Garreth’s torso, the freckles from his face stretching down his neck and covering his pectorals, much like Sebastian, and the similarities between the two cousins made Amelia’s heart thud horrendously in her chest.

“You look like you want the ground to swallow you up whole,” Garreth stated as he jumped over the back of the sofa and bounced onto the seat next to Amelia. Unfortunately for Amelia, her brain was so fixated on Sebastian that she heard the word ‘swallow’ as ‘Sallow’, and blushed furiously, burrowing her head even further into her knees.

“Amelia? What is wrong?” Natsai, more perceptive than people gave her credit for, placed a hand on Amelia’s shoulder as she knelt beside her friend. She raised an eyebrow at Amelia’s pretzeled form, the teacup lying splintered on the ground. “This is not like you at all.”

Glacial blue eyes peeked out from between interlocked fingers that covered her face. Amelia sighed heavily as Natsai untangled her from the Gordian knot of limbs. “Something happened… I’m not even sure where to begin with it.”

Garreth snorted; ever since he had met Amelia, he had learnt that she liked to speak in riddles. It was almost like a defence mechanism for her; hide behind smoke and mirrors and no-one would get to know the real her, no-one would be able to peel back the layers and expose the vulnerability she was trying to mask. “Cryptic as usual, Ames.”

Amelia frowned and glowered at Garreth. He held his hands up in mock surrender and shrugged; underneath his jovial personality was a perceptive, sensitive man and just like Sebastian, Garreth had sussed out that Amelia had a strong, visceral reaction to her name. He knew from watching his second cousin interact with Amelia that Sebastian had his own name for their friend; what that name was was a secret between them, and so Garreth did what Garreth did best. In order to keep Amelia happy, he came up with his own nickname for her. Unfortunately for him, it appeared to have backfired.

Amelia bit her lip and shifted uncomfortably, tugging her hair over her eyes as a shield to protect her from the judgement of Natsai and Garreth. “I… I was with Sebastian. In the Music Room.” She hesitated, feeling the flush rise to her cheeks as she remembered the searing heat of him pushed against her back, the electricity that jumped from him to her as their thumbs and fingers pressed on the ivory keys of the piano, the air vibrated with anticipation of what was to come.

Natsai and Garreth shot each other a knowing look. Garreth was working hard to suppress the grin that was threatening to spread across his face; he wasn’t blind and he had seen the way Amelia would gaze at the Slytherin table when they were joking over scrambled eggs and bacon, watch her blue eyes scour for Sebastian and when she saw him, shoot him a small smile and light up when he shot her his crooked one in return.

“He was teaching me how to play the piano.” Amelia shifted again, a furtive glance at Natsai and Garreth before deciding she could trust them to keep her secrets and ploughed on. “We sort-of kissed.”

“Sort of?! How can it be sort-of kissed?!” Garreth demanded, his eyes twinkling in wry amusement. “You either did or you didn’t.”

“Garreth! Don’t interrupt!” Natsai scolded, thwacking Garreth’s legs. “Let Amelia speak.”

Amelia opened and closed her mouth, jaw working as she tried to find the words to continue but couldn’t. The synapses between her brain and her mouth were misfiring and as much as she wanted to control the narrative, she couldn’t.

“Amelia, it’s just us. Garreth and Natty. You can tell us anything,” Natsai reassured her, her soft hands holding Amelia’s and squeezing it lightly. Brown eyes met blue, warm and inviting as Natsai held her friend in an embrace. “We won’t judge, we don’t judge.”

The words were as comforting as Natsai’s hug and Amelia swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. “I didn’t plan for it, I didn’t expect it… it just happened.” She heaved out a long breath, a gentle exhale releasing the tension that had coiled up inside of her. “It was like we were both standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff and neither one of us wanted to be the person to tell the other one to jump. And neither one of us would jump without the other one.” Amelia sighed again, heavy and troubled. Everything she thought she had known about her friendship with Sebastian had shifted, irrevocably, and she wasn’t sure how she could go back to the way it was before their near kiss. She wasn’t sure she wanted to either.

“Why didn’t you kiss him?” Garreth pressed, shifting his weight as he settled in for a night helping Amelia decode and demystify her turbulent feelings. “He’s a good looking man and underneath that cocky exterior, he’s genuine and kind. If we weren’t cousins, I’d make a play for him myself.”

Amelia’s lips twitched at Garreth’s last comment. “Is that what you meant when you introduced yourself to me and told me you knew Sebastian intimately?”

Garreth laughed, a belly laugh that radiated the same warmth that Amelia was getting from the fire and slung his arm around her. “You’re deflecting, Ames. This isn’t about me and Seb, this is about you and him.”

“Ames?” Amelia’s eyebrows had climbed so high they were in danger of falling off her head and there was a note of caution and disgust in her tone as she repeated the moniker.

“Ames. The more I use it, the more used to it you’ll get. You don’t like Amelia – I can see it in your face – and I’m not calling you a name that makes you wither up and die every time you hear it.”

Amelia nodded; she couldn’t fault Garreth’s bizarre logic, and she had to admit that Ames would grow on her the way Mia had. And yet, somehow hearing ‘Amelia’ coming from Natsai wasn’t as grating; perhaps it was because Natsai always had a gentle smile and open mind when she called Amelia by the name the Sisters had bestowed upon her.

“So, what happened after you almost-but-didn’t kiss him?” Garreth asked, summoning a tankard from a vacant table and muttered a spell to fill it up with water.

Not for the first time that night, Amelia felt the heat rush to her face, cheeks so hot she could have cooked a Sunday roast on them. The memory of Professor Sharp walking in on her and Sebastian, nose to nose, lips millimetres away from each other, cautioning them that if they were caught in a more scandalous position, they would be forced to marry, was mortifying, and she wanted nothing more than to dissolve into a pile of skin and bone on the ground.

“A teacher walked in” Amelia admitted, grimacing as the look of displeasure and disappointment on Professor Sharp’s seared itself into the annals of her memory. “Professor Sharp was not best pleased, to put it mildly.”

Garreth hooted with laughter while Natsai shared in her friend’s embarrassment.

“It could have been worse,” Natsai began. Ever the optimist, Natsai was always trying to find the good in bad situations. “It could have been Sebastian’s father that interrupted you. Or Professor Fig.”

The thought of the man that was her pseudo-father walking in on her while she was behaving in a most undignified, most unladylike way, was even more humiliating and Amelia groaned, hiding herself away by pulling her hair over her head and bowing it until all she could see was the triangular tessellations in the carpet.

“Do you like him? I mean, really like him?”

Amelia paused at the question Natsai had asked. It was fair to say that when Sebastian was in close proximity to her, she couldn’t think of anything but him. Her eyes trailed over his body as she tried to count his freckles, her stomach quivered every time his shirt pulled tight and she could see his muscles flinch and relax as he moved. She wondered if she occupied his thoughts as much as he was occupying hers, if he was as obsessed with her as she was with him. But those thoughts were illicit and forbidden and not what a young lady should be thinking of, especially of a man she wasn't betrothed to. That had been ingrained into her by the Sisters of St. Calloway's Orphanage and Amelia tempered and censored her thoughts, resolving to not think about the moment again.

“I… don’t know. It’s confusing. I’ve never thought of anyone in that way, and well, it’s Sebastian. He’s my friend.”

“A friend you almost kissed,” Garreth pointed out with a silly, self-satisfied smirk on his face, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she didn’t want Natsai to know about her Ancient Magic, she would have let her emotions unleash and turned him into a chicken for his sly remark. Instead, she contented herself with a glare that was so fiery it would have reduced the boy to cinders. Garreth laughed; Amelia’s reaction had told him everything he needed to know.

“Garreth Weasley, go away! You are not helping!” Natsai snapped, throwing a pillow at his freckled face and Amelia laughed as the pillow caught him and exploded into a puff of feather.

“Fine,” Garreth huffed, spitting feathers out of his mouth and making a show of stomping to the stairs that led to the boys dormitories. “Ames, just know that feelings are messy.” His eyes slid from Amelia to Natsai and he was eternally grateful that Natsai’s attention was focussed on the other girl. “And it’s usually better to speak about them and get them out in the open than it is to let them fester. They don’t go away by ignoring them.”

“What you need to do now is figure out what you want,” Natsai advised, shifting to where Garreth had once been sitting. She held out an arm and Amelia snuggled into the side of her friend, resting her head on Natsai’s shoulders. Under normal circumstances, she would have refused but her encounter with Sebastian had exposed every raw nerve she had and she needed physical contact to ground her back to reality.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Amelia spat out bitterly. If what she wanted mattered, Sebastian wouldn’t have hesitated when her entire body was screaming out for him to hold her, for him to kiss her. “It’s never mattered.”

“Whatever confusion you’re feeling, that moment was real. So now you have to decide what you want. Do you want to push forward with Sebastian and see if there’s something more, risking your friendship with him or do you want to pretend it never happened, preserve your friendship with him and always wonder what if?”

There was a beat of silence as Amelia digested Natsai’s words, her body softening into Natsai as she weakened under the weight of the decision she had to make.

“Do you think he feels the same?” The words were tentative, as delicate as shards of glass being glued back together again, and the clung to the still air of the room. Amelia’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if asking the question itself might cause something inside of her to break even further.

Natsai tilted her head so her cheek was resting on top of Amelia’s head as she considered her words. “I’ve seen the way Sebastian looks at you over breakfast, how he smiles at you when he thinks no-one else is looking. I can’t say with certainty if he feels the same as you, but I can tell you that I don’t think you’re the only one confused by this.”

Amelia let the words settle on her chest, the weight of it comforting and lingering and contrasting sharply to the fluttering feeling of uncertainty that was making her stomach clench with anticipation of the unknown. She didn’t have the answers, and perhaps she didn’t need them at the moment, but she knew she wasn’t going to figure it out in one night. She would have to let it sit, marinade and allow herself to get comfortable with being uncomfortable until she knew exactly where she stood with Sebastian.

“Thank you for listening, Natty,” Amelia murmured, feeling more peaceful than she had since she had returned to the Common Room. “I needed to hear that.”

Natsai smiled, knowing and quiet, and with a nod of acknowledgement, went back to her bed, leaving Amelia to stare at the flames of the fire in quiet contemplation.

Sebastian’s heart raced as he tornadoed his way from the Music Room to the Slytherin Common Room. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallways, still reverberating with the unresolved tension left behind in his near-kiss with Mia. He had hoped that their proximity with each other in a more private setting would have provided him with some clarity towards his feelings towards her, but it had backfired and instead left him more confused and puzzled than before.

What was he supposed to do with the growing, electrifying connection between them?

Introspection was getting him nowhere, and the feeling of confounding confusion was making Sebastian more and more nettled and agitated. Even though he was physically exhausted – he had been up since before sunrise due to Imelda’s unrelenting Quidditch training regime, and as Vice-Captain, he had to set a good example by turning up to practice, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and ready to go – his mind was churning, as tempestuous as a raging storm. He knew himself well enough to know that there was no way he was going to get to sleep tonight and instead of subjecting his dorm mates to his relentless tossing and turning, he would seek out the person who could take this ugly bag of snakes and lay them out straight for him; he would have to see the person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The cold air of outdoors pressed against his skin as he flurried from the Common Room to the Viaduct Courtyard. Fat drops of rain lashed against his skin as clouds obscured the light from the moon, saturating his shirt and making the thin cotton go translucent. He shivered; in his embarrassment and haste to leave Professor Sharp in the Music Room, he had left his Slytherin robe heaped on the floor.

Not that it mattered much, with what he was intending to do.

A little voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s urged him to stop and reconsider his half-baked plan in light of the fact that he was on probation and had no wand on him, but the thought of his mother made something deep inside of him ache. Even though he had seen her for his and Anne’s birthday dinner, it wasn’t enough; he needed the comfort and safety of his mother after he had nearly defiled her classroom.

The puddles on the stairs from the Viaduct Courtyard to the Boathouse splashed noisily and Sebastian glanced over his shoulder furtively, all senses heightened and on alert after he had already been caught out of bed after curfew. Knowing his luck, he was bound to be caught by one of the Prefects, ghosts or teachers on patrol; he knew his dad was on perimeter watch but Sebastian wasn’t sure where his father was patrolling. Not that he really cared; all that would happen was that he’d lose Slytherin a few House Points and spend a few nights in detention. All of that paled in comparison when it felt like he was having a heart attack while simultaneously losing his mind.

His breath came in gasps as he tumbled down the stairs, gravity pulling him down faster than his legs could carry him. How the hell had he and Anne walked up all those stairs when they first set foot at Hogwarts all those years ago? He remembered gripping Annie’s hand tight as their necks craned to look up at the spires of the Ravenclaw Tower, casting an imposing shadow over them and making them feel small and insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Anne had lagged behind him, slightly more timid and unsure of what the future had in store for her; Sebastian had no qualms and tugged her along with him impatiently. The world had felt so wide and open, and yet so certain, as if there was a path for him to follow that he couldn’t and wouldn’t deviate from.

But that was before everything became more complex.

Before he complicated everything.

Before Mia.

He knew that there had always been something between them, but when had that feeling morphed into a compulsion on acting upon that? What if she was just caught up in the moment with him, or she felt he was pressuring her into something she didn’t want to do? He had asked, in utter sincerity and he was prepared to stop if she said no and instead of getting a straight answer out of her, she had simply thrown his words back in his face.

Sebastian exhaled sharply as he sidled into the Boathouse, gently banging his head on a stone pillar to stop his mind from ticking over. The smell of damp wood, seaweed and salt water seeped into his nostrils and he breathed in deep, counted to ten and breathed out slow. When had life become so complicated? Was this what it was like being sixteen? If it was, he didn’t want it; he’d stay a fifteen year old teenaged miscreant forever. Lights flickered in the distance, catching his eye through the gaps in the wooden planks catching his eye. He walked to the ramp, waves of the lake licking at the soles of his boots and he stared longingly towards Aranshire.

Annie was there, and she was the only one who knew how to uncomplicate and simplify life for him.

The swim across the lake wouldn’t be too bad. Sebastian had learnt how to swim in the rough ocean near Feldcroft, with rips and waves that would curl and twist over him with his grandfather, so setting a fast pace breast-stroking the width of the lake would be a breeze; he just had to make sure he avoided disturbing the Giant Squid and didn’t fatigue and drown. From there, all he had to do to was follow the winding, meandering path up the edge of the cliff face until he reached the borders of Aranshire.

The water was cold, a thousand blunt knives scoring his skin as he dove into the murky water, muscles seizing up at the sudden change in temperature. He surfaced, breath coming in strangled gasps as his lungs burned, hair flattened and plastered to his face. Leaving his robe back in the Music Room had now become a blessing in disguise; a long, flowing robe would have produced so much drag he would have been exhausted before he had even swam halfway across the lake. His legs powered through the water, brackish water churning around him as his arms scooped water away from him. His muscles burned but every stroke took him closer to where he wanted to be, and that knowledge propelled him towards the riprap along the shore of the Black Lake.

Sebastian staggered onto the shore, boots sinking into silt as he pulled himself up on the jagged edges of the lake’s shoreline. He shivered violently, not from the chill of the water, the ice-sheets of rain falling against him, but from the thoughts that trundled through his mind, frayed at the edges and unravelling him thread by thread.

The wind bit at his skin, chapping his lips and drying salt on his cheeks, crust forming to hold the veneer of him together on the outside while he collapsed and crumbled on the inside but he persevered, steps picking up pace as he got closer and closer to Aranshire.

He was going home, escaping the prison Hogwarts had now become. Home was what he needed; Annie to untangle his muddled up emotions and his mother to help him figure out how to navigate forward from this point forward.

The roses and lavender blossomed in the garden – Silas had charmed the flowers to remain in perpertual bloom – and Sebastian crept to the window of his home. Amber light bathed the living room; he could see the shadow of his mother playing at her piano against the wall, her body swaying backwards and forwards in tempo with the notes she was playing. Anne was curled up on the sofa, the dark mahogany of the sofa’s wooden legs a contrast to the deep blue velvet of the Chesterfield, eyes drooping as the book in her hand slipped through her lax fingers. Her hair was loose, crimped and wavy from where the braids she had twisted into a bun had unravelled, making her seem older than she actually was. Emerys stopped playing, rushed over to her daughter and with a gentle kiss to her temple, Emerys led Anne up the stairs to her room. Sebastian could imagine Emerys pulling the doona tight under Anne’s chin, blowing out the candles that lit her room and closing the door quietly as Anne slipped into a slumber.

He stealthily moved to the back of the house, and just like when he was seven, placed his foot in the trellis that the ivy was growing on and used his muscles to hoist himself up until he had reached the window to Anne’s room. Anne always slept with the window ajar, just like Sebastian did, so it was no difficult feat for him to widen the opening and shimmy through it into her room, a tangle of arms and legs tumbling onto the foot of her bed.

Anne’s room was a peaceful contrast to the turmoil that represented everything that made him Sebastian Sallow; everything had purpose and place in her room, and it was unlike the organised chaos that mirrored his personality and governed his life. The cloud cover broke, allowing a sliver of silvery light to shine into Anne’s room, catching her eyes as they snapped open to attention upon his intrusion.

Quick as a flash, Anne reached for her wand.

“Depulso!” she whispered harshly, and Sebastian found himself flinging backwards into a wall. His neck snapped back from the force of it, head smacking into the support beams of the walls.

“Annie,” Sebastian groaned as he picked himself up off the ground, twisting his neck so his bones cracked and released the pressure and stress that he was carrying. “Don’t do that; it’s just me!”

“Seb?” Anne gasped, somehow finding the strength to rush out of bed to her brother’s side, cuddling into him so she could support him on his feet and hug him at the same time. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Hogwarts?”

Sebastian exhaled once more, the enormity of what he was about to confess crashing and burning between them. “I need to talk to you, Annie. I need your help.”

Anne gave him a soft, knowing smile as she settled herself back under her doona and patted the side of her mattress for Sebastian to sit on. Sebastian pulled his boots off and burrowed his head into the crook of Anne’s neck; her pulse was beating under her skin, slow and steady, enough of a reassurance for Sebastian to know that while she was dying, it wasn’t at a frenetic speed.

“How did you get here?” Anne asked, tutting as she wringed water out of Sebastian’s saturated shirt. “Get under the blanket; you’ll catch your death of cold if you don’t.” And without waiting for Sebastian to protest – he always ran hot while she ran cold – Anne flicked the feathered cover over him and let the warmth radiate into him.

“Swam and walked,” Sebastian shrugged, as if the answer should have been obvious. He shifted, scooting closer to Anne so he could shake his shaggy hair out over her, just as any big brother would do to annoy their little sister. Anne’s reaction did not disappoint; she shrieked as the cold spray hit her and pushed her brother out of her bed and onto the floor.

“Shhhh!” Sebastian cautioned, picking himself up off the ground for the second time in five minutes. “Ma doesn’t know I’m here. No-one knows and I’d like to keep this unsanctioned excursion from Hogwarts to myself!”

There was a beat of silence, the moment stretching into eternity. Anne stayed still, knowing that if she was the one to push forward and break whatever was between them, Sebastian would become as tight with information as a clam with lockjaw would be; her gift to him was keeping silent until he was comfortable enough to move forward.

“Is this about Amelia?” she asked when Sebastian sat there, playing with the threads of her blanket. Perceptive too, she had picked up exactly how much Sebastian liked her when she had visited him in the holding cell before his trial, and having met Amelia, albeit briefly, she could see how her guarded, feisty attitude would make her brother’s heart palpitate whenever he was near her.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked over to her and away again, focussing on the woodgrain pattern on the floor. The flush rising to his cheeks and the way he scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably told Anne everything she needed to know. Anne had to bite back the smile that threatened to break free; Amelia must have made an incredible impression on Sebastian because Anne had never seen him so flustered and unsure of himself when it came to flirting with members of the fairer sex before.

“Everything shifted earlier tonight. One minute I was teaching her scales on a piano, y’know, the way Ma taught us, and then the next…” he trailed off, leaving Anne to fill in the blanks herself.

“Were her lips drier than Ominis’?” she asked, dark humour lacing her voice. They were nearly one year on from when Sebastian had stolen Ominis’ kiss from her and she was still upset by the incident, even though she had taken matters into her own hands and given their blond friend a thorough education on the difference between hers and Sebastian’s lips.

Sebastian tilted his head to one side, expression inscrutable as his eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t know. We… we didn’t get that far. I almost kissed her… the moment was there and I hesitated. It felt like if I did, everything would change and if everything changed, then I ruined what we have.”

“Only thing constant in life is change, Seb. That’s a concept you’ve always struggled with; you are so like Mum in that sense. You hate change, you hate when things don’t go to plan, you hate having to adapt and not have things go to your schedule.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Annie,” Sebastian revealed quietly, baring the depths of his soul to his sister the only way he knew how. “But I don’t know how to be around her. What if it was just a moment for her? What if this is making things more complicated than they need to be? We both have our own demons to carry; do I really need to burden her with me?”

“You’re not a burden,” Anne retorted sharply, tutting again at her brother’s lack of self-worth. “But you need to figure out how you feel before you go further with Amelia. If it’s fleeting, you don’t want to be the cad that charmed her under false pretences. If it’s real, then you owe it to yourself and her to see if you can last each other a lifetime. But you can’t keep running from this, Seb; it will always catch up to you.”

Well, that made things as clear as mud to Sebastian, but he understood the gist of what Anne was saying. As much as it pained him to do it, he would simply pretend that the moment in the Music Room was a lapse in judgement and act as if it never happened. It was the only way forward for him since he had no clue if Mia liked him the way he liked her and he had too much pride to allow himself to get hurt by her so it was better to cut his losses before he reached that point.

“Thanks, Annie, I needed that.”

Anne smiled and shifted once more, promptly kicking Sebastian out of her bed. He yelped at the sudden loss of balance, arms outstretched to cushion his fall. “Anne! What was that for?!”

“Firstly, for calling me Annie all the time. Secondly, I’m not sharing my bed with you; I want to get a good night’s rest and you swat flies in your sleep. I would rather not be hit by your arms and legs flailing about as you dream. Thirdly, while this is not a queen sized bed, when I am in it, it is at maximum occupancy. You can sleep in your bed in your room or you can stay in here and sleep on the floor.”

Sebastian considered going to his own room to sleep in his own bed, but he heard the heavy footsteps of his mother pottering around the house. On balance, it seemed safer for him to stay hidden in Anne’s room for the night before he made the arduous journey back to school before anyone worked out he was missing. He huffed out a breath and yanked a pillow out from underneath her head.

“I’m using this for the night then,” he said, flipping onto his stomach and settling on the floor. Anne growled and Sebastian simply smirked up at her, his petty revenge for having to sleep on the floor. “Goodnight, Annie, sleep tight, don’t let the Dugbobs bite.”

Anne couldn’t help the smile that crept over her face as she also drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The heat of her seared his skin, ever neuron in his body on fire as electrical impulses shorted his brain. His eyes flickered open and closed, dark brown eyes so darkened with desire for her that it nearly impossible to tell where his irises stopped and his dilated pupils began. He was so close to her he could melt into her, fuse himself to her and become one with her if he let his inhibitions go and she didn’t refuse him.

“Sebastian,” she breathed out, softening and yielding to his ministrations, his hand running through her tresses, silk between his calloused fingers before coming to rest on the side of her cheek, thumb gently caressing her skin. “Sebastian, please.”

“Please what, Mia?” his voice was gravelly and hoarse, whatever semblance of sanity he had was hanging on by a thread.

Her breath hitched as she chewed on her lip, blue eyes glacial and warm at the same time, an act that made his stomach clench in anticipation. Did she not know how alluring she was when she did that? He swallowed, audibly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down in his throat out of anxiousness and anticipation. Her fingers slipped around his shoulders, supple strokes against his skin until her fingers curled into the nape of his neck. He groaned, a desperate, keening noise that had never escaped from him before and pulled her closer.

“Please, Seb, I want you, I need you.”

The words did him in; his lips pressed feverishly against hers. Every nerve in his body was on fire, every sense in overdrive as he committed the way she slotted into his arms as though she was meant to spend a lifetime there, the way her tongue licked against his lips so he could taste the nectar that was her, the aroma of vanilla and lavender and something elusive that was unique to her, the wet smack of her lips against his, to his memory.

“Sebastian,” she moaned against his mouth, her hands sliding from the valley of his neck and resting on his shoulders, pulling him as close to her as she could, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. She was trembling so much – from desire, Sebastian hoped – that she was making him shake too. Her hand clamped down on his shoulder, the pressure a pleasant surprise and Sebastian gasped into her mouth at the sensation.

“Sebastian,” she whined again, almost as a desperate scream, her grip becoming too tight on him, fingernails biting into his skin, and it occurred to him that this sensation was not part of his fantasy.

The teenager’s eyes snapped open to attention. There was a hand on his shoulder, and there was someone in the room uttering his name.

Unfortunately for him, the woman grasping at his shoulder as if her life depended on it and screaming his name was his mother.

“Ma?” he groaned, blinking as Anne’s room swam into focus and he woke up from his fantasy. He shifted on the floor, cognizant that his school shirt was a wrinkled mess and the pants he was wearing were painfully tight. He grimaced, rolled himself onto his stomach and yanked the doona off Anne despite her mumbled protests – he justified it because he knew his need was greater than hers – and cocooned his lower half in the feathery blanket to save himself some embarrassment. “What are you doing in here?”

“I should be asking that of you,” Emerys responded tartly, and even though her askance and annoyance laced her tone, she still sunk to her knees to wrap her baby boy up in a tight embrace. Sebastian’s head slumped onto her shoulder; he needed Emerys to hold him when he had first come out of Azkaban and even though it was nearly two months later, he still relished in the feeling of being safe and secure in her arms. It was clear that Emerys needed Sebastian’s proximity just as much as Sebastian needed her as she cradled his torso into her and peppered his cheek with kisses. “But you’re safe and that’s what matters the most.”

“I love you too, Ma.”

Emerys nodded against him, relief giving way to anger as she sharply cuffed him upside the head. Sebastian pulled away, rubbing at the sore spot.

“What was that for?!”

“That was for making your father have a conniption when he and Aesop couldn’t find you at Hogwarts!” Emerys snarked, hoisting Sebastian up to his full height and holding him to account for his impulsive actions. “How did you get here without anyone noticing you absconding?!”

“Swam and walked,” Sebastian muttered, shrugging and grimacing as the salt from the lake had crusted his shirt. The smell of seaweed and brine clung cloyingly to his skin, and Emerys wrinkled up her nose at the stench. She wondered how Anne had been able to put up with the off-putting stink the whole night and her dark eyes appraised the room; Anne had left the window to her room wide open and a cool breeze cut through them.

Emerys could feel the ire inside of her rising like lava, a pyroclastic volcano about to erupt. She pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, breathing in deep and breathing out slow to quell the rage inside of her, just like Silas had taught her to when they were younger, but it was no use. It had been a sleepless night for her husband and long-standing friend as they scoured the grounds of Hogwarts to locate the errant boy. Emerys hadn’t slept either when Silas had sent her a Patronus message to reveal that Sebastian was missing, fretting over the irrefutable fact that her genius son was, once again, behaving like an idiot, and tearing herself to shreds internally for not being able to leave Anne alone to search for him.

But here he was, standing in front of her, salt crystallising in his chestnut hair glinting like diamonds under the harsh light of day, rumpled uniform on his body with the recklessness she thought Azkaban had dampened lingering in the depths of his eyes.

“Swam and walked?” Emerys repeated, voice artificially light as she stepped steadily towards her son. Sebastian stood his ground as Emerys approached him; there was nothing for him to do but weather the explosion and hope he’d make it out to the other side relatively intact.

“You just left! No note! Bed empty! No explanation! And to top it all off, you did all of this while you’re on probation! What, in Merlin’s name, is wrong with you?!”

Before spending three weeks in a holding cell, enduring a Wizengamot Trial and then being sentenced to a week’s community service in Azkaban, Sebastian would have fired up and just exploded back at his mother, but he had grown up and matured; he knew that his mother was really just letting off steam because she was so worried about him and his impulsive decisions.

Sebastian glared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze and see the worry lines carved like granite into her face, see the disappointed downturn to her lips, the exhausted slump of her shoulder. It gnawed away at him, the guilt compounding his already confused and turbulent feelings. The need to escape yesterday night had been all encompassing; it consumed him until there was nothing else flitting around in his head. The physical exertion of the swim and the walk had helped keep his mind occupied and stopped him dwelling on what had nearly happened in the Music Room between him and Mia, but if his dream was anything to go by, pretending it hadn’t nearly happened was going to be more challenging than he thought.

From where she lay in her bed, Anne speared Sebastian a glance and he stared back, expression impassive and unreadable as he shook his head slightly. There were some things the twins held sacred and secret from their parents, and this was something Sebastian wanted to keep shrouded in mystery until he had worked through his own thoughts and feelings and decided on a way forward.

“I just needed to clear my head,” Sebastian gritted out quietly, struggling with justifying his insane choices in a way that would give his mother some clarity to his actions.

“Yes, because swimming three miles across a lake with a Giant Squid in it is the ideal way to gain clarity in confounding times,” Emerys growled with a sarcastic roll of her eyes, gripping at the roots of her hair as she did when Sebastian frustrated her beyond belief. “The Wizengamot is watching you, Sebastian! You set one foot wrong and there’s nothing your father, I, or Aesop Sharp will be able to do to lessen the severity of the consequences they issue you. Part of your probation condition is that you remain at Hogwarts! They did you a kindness to let you continue with your education instead of snapping your wand in half and you’re squandering it! You are gambling with your future and your life and this isn’t a game anymore, Sebastian!”

Sebastian flinched at the stark words, the bluntness of him reminding him just how close a shave he had had with the Wizengamot over summer. Emerys Sallow wasn’t wrong; she never was when it came to him, somehow knowing what his moves and intentions were without him ever disclosing anything. A part of him yearned to go back to the days where an argument between them led to him storming off to his room to sulk. It would culminate in her cuddling him after they had both calmed down, and together they would forge a way forward with unspoken sentiment lingering between them. Everything seemed so simple then; everything could be solved by his mother with a stern word and a flick of her wand.

But the word wasn’t so simple anymore.

Emerys could see the conflict scrawl across her son’s face, the way that shadowed rings lined the bottom of his eyes screaming louder than words that he wasn’t sleeping. His shoulders were hunched up under his ears, his back ramrod straight as he leant against Anne’s bedroom wall. Every muscle seized with stress meaning Sebastian was moving like an elderly man riddled with arthritis instead of a sixteen year old boy in the prime of his life. Emerys softened, her hands reaching for his and she squeezed them lightly, and for a moment, Sebastian could pretend that his mother would make everything perfect in his world.

“Go clean up, son,” Emerys instructed, summoning a towel from the linen cupboard in between Anne and Sebastian’s room. “Leave your uniform outside the door; I’ll wash and dry it for you before you wear it again. Then breakfast before your sister and I escort you back to school.”

Sebastian nodded, arms wrapping around his mother in a tight hug as he heeded her instructions. He wasn’t entirely sure how to right a world that had shifted irrevocably on its axis, but for the first time in a long time, he knew he wasn’t completely alone.

Amelia woke up from a fitful slumber with a jerk; the Gryffindor Common Room had become an ecosystem where students hummed and milled around while they interacted with each other in the most noisy fashion. Despite her best efforts to push him from his mind, Amelia’s subconscious always brought Sebastian and his lips to the forefront of her dreams. She rubbed at the crick in her neck that had formed and scrubbed the grit out of her eyes. Her hair was a mess, her customary bun dishevelled and unravelling and she could feel the string of saliva trickling down her chin from where she had drooled in her sleep.

All in all, not one of the best starts she could have had to her morning.

Her blue eyes surveyed her uniform critically; it was so wrinkled it resembled an elephant’s skin and the odour of charred smokiness from sitting in front of the fire all night had embedded itself into the fabric of her clothes. With a glance from the side of her eye – Cressida and Nellie were walking arm-in-arm out of the portrait door and Natsai helping the teachers supervise breakfast in the Great Hall as part of her Prefect role – Amelia knew the fifth year dormitory would be empty.

She scurried up the stairs, pushing past an affronted Leander Prewett who smirked at her flustered and ungroomed appearance, which simply made her mood more sour. She pulled off her shirt and skirt and lobbed them into her laundry hamper in frustration and sat on the edge of her mattress, head buried in her hands as she remembered that she had Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms as her first two classes of the day. Classes that she shared with Sebastian and there was no doubt that the two hours between them would be stilted and awkward.

She yawned and contemplated burrowing herself under the doona until this had blown over, but it seemed the universe had other plans for her. Eldric, the owl Eleazar had purchased for her, pecked relentlessly at her hand, hooting quietly for some treats as she relieved him of the letter he carried in his beak. The envelope was thick and heavy, embossed with the Hogwarts crest on it and sealed with the signet of Eleazar Fig.

Sebastian was momentarily shoved from her mind as trembling hands split the envelope open and unfurled the roll of parchment inside.

Miss. Calloway,
Please see me at your earliest convenience. I have made progress on our findings from our adventure through Gringotts and I am very much looking forward to sharing it with you.
Regards,
Professor Eleazar Fig.

It was a blessing in disguise – now she had a legitimate reason to not attend class that was just about to commence – and that knowledge invigorated Amelia to face the day. She rummaged around through the armoire she shared with Natsai and pulled out a new set of clothes for the day. Once she was suitably attired, and she had splashed her face with water to wake her up just a little bit more, Amelia Floo’d to Professor Fig’s office, entering as the bell rang for first period.

“Ah, there you are!” Eleazar exclaimed delightedly, holding out his hand so he could lead her to a chair for her to sit down on. His eyes narrowed as he took in Amelia’s appearance. As much as she had tried to make herself presentable, no amount of make-up could mask the dark rings that shadowed her blue eyes, dulled down through exhaustion and tiredness. Stress weighed down on her; her shoulders were slumped, skin dry and dehydrated and she surreptitiously hid a yawn behind her hand. The skin around her fingernails and cuticles were bloodied and ripped, a sure sign that something was making her anxious.

“Amelia, what is wrong?” Fig sat down opposite her, hands steepled in front of him as though he was deep in thought. He cocked his head, watching her tense and squirm at the question. “Are you in trouble?”

The honest answer, Amelia knew, was yes. She was in trouble with her burgeoning feelings towards a certain, freckled-faced Slytherin heathen – the Sisters had always told her that emotions had no place in a successful courtship, that partnerships were forged for financial stability instead of love – and as much as she needed to squash them, the way he had interwoven himself into her life seamlessly and without her even noticing was alarming and disconcerting and uncomfortable. How was she meant to remain in control of herself and keep him at arm’s length, like the Sisters had told her all ladies had to do until they were married, when he was always around?

But that wasn’t something she was able to share with Fig – her guard hadn’t dropped to that extent with him and silence was a virtue – so she simply chewed her lip and glared at him, not-so-subtly pressing him to move on.

Eleazar Fig was astute enough to pick up on the uncomfortable, guarded vibe Amelia was radiating out of her in spades and knowing that Amelia’s Ancient Magic leaked out of her when her emotions were wild and unbridled, he thought it prudent to move on; he had no desire to be turned into a cockerel by her fit of temper.
“I took the locket we found to George Osric. He and his colleagues in the Department of Mysteries examined it and managed to find a hidden compartment! Naturally, they investigated and within that compartment was this!” He gestured to a piece of parchment, the edges frayed and yellowed with age, with the ink faded and barely visible.

“It’s a map of Hogwarts’,” Fig continued, smirking slightly as he watched Amelia’s eyebrows tug together tightly as she studied the map. “But other than that, we can’t work out why it was hidden. George and I are stumped; there is nothing out of the ordinary about this.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing out of the ordinary?” Amelia asked, tapping her finger impatiently on the bottom right hand corner of the map. The parchment powdered under her fingertip, disintegrating under her touch and she winced. Everything she came into contact with decayed and putrefied, much like her friendship with Sebastian because she couldn’t keep her selfish desires for him under wraps. She wiped her hand gingerly on her robes and shook herself to focus back on the task at hand.

“There’s footsteps moving all over the Library. They seem to be leading down a set of stairs and then I can’t see where they go.”

Eleazar smiled at Amelia in a satisfied way. He had a hunch that Amelia would be key to decoding the secrets of the map, and with any luck, exploring and harnessing the full extent of the mystical power Amelia embodied.

“That would be the Restricted Section of the Library,” Eleazar explained, rubbing a hand across his cheek in a contemplative fashion. He wondered what they would find; the Restricted Section of the Library was that for a reason, and even staff couldn’t access all of it.

“Let’s go find out why it’s on the map!” Amelia exclaimed, excited not just to learn more about Ancient Magic, but to also have a legitimate reason to avoid class with Sebastian. She bounced to her feet and scuttled to the door, eliciting a dry chuckle from Eleazar.

“Slow down, dear girl. We need to strategize; we went into Gringotts woefully underprepared and barely made it out by the skin of our teeth,” Eleazar cautioned, whirling with speed and agility that belied his age to collect Wiggenweld Potion, Edurus Potions, Focus Potions, Mandrake plants and Chomping Cabbages from the eclectic furniture in his office. “As excited and enthused as I am to discover what is there, it would be prudent to plan our trip as best as we can. The path we’re on is extremely dangerous, and that’s without factoring in the threat of Ranrok and Rookwood.”

A sober, sombre cloud dampened their enthusiasm as the peril that the Wizarding World was in, a world that they were both integral parts of now.

“Work with Professor Hecat on your defensive magic while I prepare and research for our foray into the Restricted Section,” Eleazar instructed, voice firm and steady so there was no room for Amelia to argue with him. They both knew she was stubborn enough to try anyway.

“But sir, it’s just a book! How hard can it be to retrieve a book from a library. Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but is that not the purpose of a library; to peruse and borrow books of interest?”

“I believe you have Defence Against the Darks Arts with her now; wait here and I’ll write a note to excuse you for your tardiness, and a note asking her to hone your skills further.”

Amelia scowled in his direction as Eleazar scribbled away on a torn bit of parchment and ignored her protests.

“There you are,” he said, opening the door to his office as a way of dismissing Amelia and handing her the note. “Off to class with you now. I’ll be in touch when we’re ready to go.”

On that enigmatic note, Eleazar disappeared back into his office, door closing with a gentle thud behind him. Amelia crushed the parchment in her hand and glanced at the clock on the wall of Fig’s classroom. It was only half nine in the morning; she still had one and a half hours of class before the morning tea bell rang.

Classes where there was assigned seating by the teachers and she had been placed next to Sebastian because they had become so dependent on each other.

Her heart thudded with anticipation of seeing him again after her momentary weakness in the Music Room – was he feeling just as awkward and confused as her? Did his feelings run as intensely as hers? Did she play on his mind as much as he played on hers? Or was the Music Room just a lapse in his judgement and he would discard her as though she was a used tissue? – and those thoughts made her even more uncertain and unsure.

She heaved a sigh since the door to Fig’s office remained resolutely closed, and with mincing steps, headed to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, braced to meet her fate.

Chapter Text

Silas Sallow had been partnered up with his wife for a quarter of a century and married to her for slightly less than that; it was inevitable that he had picked up some of her habits. The most prominent one was him pacing up and down feverishly outside the gate of Hogwarts’ main entrance, as she often did when she was stressed, overwhelmed or livid. He was fuming, worried and frustrated at his son’s impulsivity, and it was causing the vein in his forehead to throb prominently and had induced a head-splitting migraine. In the distance the bell for the start of the day rang and students scuttled around to get to their first period, underscoring Sebastian’s conspicuous absence.

“Sit down, Silas,” Aesop Sharp grumbled as he sipped from a steaming cup of Darjeeling tea. The liquid was smooth as it went down his throat, warming up his cold and frosty persona and fortifying him to see Emerys Sallow surrounded by the family she had grown with Silas. “Wearing a hole in the pavement won’t make Emerys, Anne and Sebastian appear any faster. They’ll turn up when they’re good and ready; you know Emerys said that she was making sure the twins ate breakfast before coming here.”

“I can’t,” Silas ground out, pivoting sharply to face Aesop. “What will the Wizengamot do to Sebastian since he’s violated the terms of his probation?”

“I don’t know,” Aesop said, swilling the dregs of his tea and tossing the leaves into the soil of the garden. He cleared his throat, pulled down the waistcoat of his three-piece suit and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the overcoat he wore. Sebastian’s wand was secured there – it always was when it was in Aesop Sharp’s possession – and Aesop handed it over to Silas. While the wand wasn’t his son, Aesop hoped that the tangible connection to Sebastian would help settle him.

Silas twirled the wand absentmindedly in his hands, a trait Aesop realised Sebastian must have picked up subconsciously from his father. He traced the knots and splinters in the wood, cracks in the wood fracturing just like Sebastian was destroying his future. He winced as he thought of the scars Sebastian carried on his forearm, carved into himself as a form of self-flagellation, and Silas wondered if Sebastian was sabotaging himself as another form of reprimand. Punishment for witnessing his grandfather’s murder, his grandmother stripped of her dignity and her life, for not holding Anne back from leaving the Feldcroft cottage and her subsequent curse, punishing himself because he couldn’t reconcile the fact that he would have to adapt to a life without her while she would not.

“Sebastian could never stay out of trouble, even as a boy. He was forever pushing boundaries, forever seeing how far he could go without getting caught. I thought Azkaban would have cured him of that; he was such an emotional and physical wreck when he came back to Hogwarts. I thought that would have been enough of a deterrent for him to pull his head in.”

Aesop remained quiet, his gaze thoughtful and pensive as he stared out over the rocky outcrop that surrounded them. He was not a father, and the cards life dealt him meant he would never be one – that ship had sailed when Emerys chose to build her life with Silas instead of him and Persephone died during the raid that went wrong – but he could feel the pain and desperation that was leaching out of Silas. Aesop could only imagine what it would be like to watch your progeny head down a road that no parent wanted for their child. The sun glinted in his eyes, a golden glow giving him hope that despite how dark Sebastian’s future seemed, he could convince Silas that it was a new day, a better day to try and get Sebastian back on the straight and narrow.

“He’s your son,” Aesop said, and there wasn’t a trace of bitterness or jealousy in his words. “You of all people know there’s more to him than rebellion. This could be just a phase, part of being an adolescent.”

“I know that. I teach adolescent everyday so I’m well aware of them crossing lines. It’s just harder to cope with when that youngin is your son and he is intent of breaking the law all the time as if he’s some sort of lost cause.”

“Then it’s up to us to show Sebastian he’s worth more than what he thinks he is.” Aesop rose to his feet and clapped an arm around Silas’ shoulder. Silas’ head turned towards Aesop, head tilted in contemplation as he ruminated over Aesop’s words. Aesop had used the term ‘we’, as if he was going to be an integral part of Sebastian’s redemption when it should have been him and Emerys that played that role for their son.

But then again, Emerys and he were stretched too thin, emotional exhaustion and mental fatigue from the strain of Anne’s terminal diagnosis and searching for a cure, grappling with their grief from the fallout of the Siege of Feldcroft had meant that they had neglected all the warning signs that their son was drowning under the same turmoil as they were. Even though Sebastian was trying to keep his head above water – albeit in a misguided way – he was rapidly sinking and there was no lifeboat to reel him back to shore since his parents were too preoccupied with trying to save themselves. In a lot of ways, Silas and Emerys had failed their son; they had left Sebastian to his own devices in the hopes that he would figure out how to swim against a rip tide that was dragging him under.

“Be honest with me, Aesop; why did you take on the role of Sebastian’s probation officer?”

Aesop squirmed; Silas’ dark eyes bored holes into him, as if he was seeing through the tough exterior of Aesop Sharp to uncover the truth about him. Aesop shifted under the weight of Silas’ heavy stare, the crispness of his starched suit a stark contrast to the jelly like substance his insides had been reduced to. His fingers clenched the rim of the teacup that was still in his hand, so tight the tips of his fingers went white.

Baring his soul wasn’t something Aesop Sharp was accustomed to; the Auror training program had beaten emotional vulnerability out of him a long time ago. He blinked, eyes as hard and unwavering as obsidian trailing to the ground.

Truth?

Aesop took on the role for one reason and one reason only.

He could remember the day he was introduced to Emerys, both of them first years as they gaped in wonder at the Slytherin Common Room. He could distinctly hear her laugh, her genuine one that rumbled and belted out from the pit of her belly instead of the dainty giggle she reserved for people she wasn’t overly fond of. He could see the sheen of her hair glint under the afternoon sun as the pair of them studied on the Flying Lawn in their third year, watched on as she grew from a young girl who was unsure of her place in the Magical world due to her Muggle background into a strong, accomplished young woman. Introduced his best friend to her within months of starting at Hogwarts, oblivious to the fact that Emerys was as taken and impressed with Silas as he was with her, until he watched them waltz at the Celestial Ball in their fifth year, watched Emerys sneak Silas into the armchairs near the fire in the Slytherin Common Room before sitting on his lap – a move so forward it drew gasps of shock from everyone around them and earned Silas his first ever detention for allowing such frivolity to occur – and pressed her lips heatedly against his. The gnawing feeling of loss was as damning and heartbreaking now as it was then for Aesop and he slowly distanced himself from Emerys and Silas as their relationship grew and matured into what it was today, licking his wounds in peace so he didn’t disrupt their blossoming happiness.

He took on the role of Sebastian’s probation officer because he knew that it would make Emerys happy. Knowing that Sebastian was being entrusted into the care of someone she had grown up and trusted would put her already troubled life at ease. Emerys had always valued loyalty, always cherished family, even when that family was as splintered and broken as they were. As much as he loathed to admit the fact, a small part of Emerys remained locked in Aesop’s heart, never fading into insignificance and it served as a constant reminder that it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.

How could he say all of that to her husband, though?

“I did it,” Aesop began slowly, deliberating over his words as he chewed on his tongue. “I did it because it would give Emerys peace. She deserves it; you deserve it too, after all your family has been through. I knew that if I took this on, it would be one less thing for the Sallow family to fret over. One less thing to feel burdened by.”

Aesop stepped away from Silas, hands shoved back in his pockets as the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was a mask of shame, poorly hidden under the scragginess of his beard, voice as raw and jagged and honest as it had ever been. “I… care about her, Silas. I always have and I always will. You too, but in a very different way. It’s the least I can do for her – after everything she did for me while we were at Hogwarts together. It’s the least I can do for both of you. I know I will never have what you and Emerys have built together, and I have no desire to take that from either of you.”

A deep breath as Aesop’s confession was damning him to a lifetime of regret. There was no way Silas would be forgiving enough to let a man who was still in love with his wife anywhere near his family. If the shoe was on the other foot, Aesop knew he’d be doing whatever it took to keep Silas away.

“I took on the role as Sebastian’s probation officer because I know, deep down, this is as close as I’ll ever get to still be a part of her world and life.”

There was poignant, pregnant pause. The air stilled, heavy with the emotional depth of Aesop’s confession.

“Well, it took you long enough to admit that out loud,” Silas sighed, a small smirk dancing around his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know you’re in love with Emerys. I’ve known for a long time and I’ve never begrudged you for it.”

“What?!” Aesop was mortified; there was nothing he wanted more than the ground to open up and sweep him into the pits of a fiery hell. His deepest, darkest secret wasn’t actually a secret?

“Everybody knows, except for Emerys herself; you’re not as subtle as you think you are, and she’s blind to romantic intentions from anyone but me.” Silas sighed, raking his hands and rubbing at his forehead. “I also know you to be a good man with a strong moral code; I know that you will never make any move to draw Emerys to your side, and even if you did, Emerys wouldn’t recognise it as such. Emerys holds you in such high regard that she said she wanted you to be the guardian of any children we had. Insisted that it would be you over my brother, not that Solomon deserves it after the way he’s treated Emerys, the children and me. You could have been part of our life a lot earlier, had you not distanced yourself, but I understand why you did. You’re the brother I wish I had instead of the one I got.”

There was another pause. Aesop held bated breath as his eyes flicked to Silas. The man held no animosity towards him; his body language was just as relaxed with him now as it had been when they were children growing up together.

“Thank you, Silas,” Aesop said quietly, recognising the gift Silas was offering him. Silas smiled at Aesop and they clasped each other’s hand tight, a promise to stick around for each other no matter what.

The gate to the main entrance creaked and rattled open. On the other side stood Emerys Sallow, flanked by Anne and Sebastian. Silas’ grin grew until it covered the bottom half of his face; nothing filled him with more joy than having his family in his arms and he held them out as an open invitation.

Emerys marched straight into his arms, her chin coming to rest atop of his head and she breathed in the scent of him, as she always did to calm herself down. Silas craned his neck up, summoned a bouquet of lavender and roses behind his back into his hands and presented it to Emerys. Her usual, sharp expression softened at the gesture, as only Silas could soften her, and she sagged into his arms as he pressed a kiss into her cheek.

Aesop averted his eyes, choosing to focus on Sebastian instead of the romantic interlude playing out between Emerys and Silas. Sebastian’s eyes seemed to be clouded over in confusion, the defiant spark that was buried in the sable irises had been replaced with a quiet uncertainty. Aesop sighed; instead of a young boy that had nothing but rebellion going for him, he saw Sebastian as lost and confused, struggling to find his place in a world where he had so much to gain and had lost so much already.

“What happened, Sebastian?” Aesop said quietly, pulling his probationer to one side. “Was you leaving about what I interrupted last night?”

“Amongst other things,” Sebastian admitted quietly, also averting his eyes from his parents amorous endeavours. Normally, he would groan and cover his eyes – as any child would do at seeing their parents engage in romance – but this time it was because he didn’t need the reminder of the boundary he had almost crossed with Mia, the boundary he desperately wanted to cross if she wanted it too. But she hadn’t, and the only way he could see forward was obliviating that night from his memory, no matter how much it haunted him in his dreams. “I needed to clear my head; Annie’s the one that’s usually good at taking jumbled up thoughts and straightening them out for me.”

Aesop nodded, understanding but it would still come with a reprimand. The boy didn’t take to most authority figures well, but the reprimand served as a reminder of what his little jaunt could have cost him. “You cannot just take off without letting anyone know where you are, Sebastian. Come to me, next time, and I will square it with the Wizengamot beforehand; you don’t have the freedom to move as you want anymore. I told you this before; it is prudent and imperative that you follow their rulings to the letter. It reflects poorly on both of us if you don’t and I won’t be able to smooth out any other indiscretions on your behalf if my standing is diminished with them while I’m meant to be your probation officer.”

Sebastian nodded mechanically but as Aesop observed him, he could see the boy’s mind was elsewhere.

“Sebastian, you are not alone in this.” Silas’ hand clapped gently on Sebastian’s shoulder and he gave it a small squeeze. “You have me, you have your mother and your sister, and Professor Sharp too. We’re here, whether you like it or not.”

Sebastian pivoted slowly on the spot to stare at his dad, incredulous. He did know that, deep down; that was precisely why he left school grounds, swam across a seaweed-knotted, Dugbob infested lake and trekked over arachnid-crawling switchbacks in the dead of night to get to Aranshire. Not to mention the fact that Samuel Sallow had taught him how to swim and after his first birthday without the stoic yet gregarious man, Sebastian wanted to pay homage to him somehow.

Silas seemed to have a telepathic link to his son’s inner thoughts and with a steely note in his voice, added, “by owl. And you’re Vice-Captain of the Quidditch team; use the Prefect’s bathroom next time you feel the need for a midnight swim.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Come here, son,” Silas said, softening as he booped Sebastian on the nose. “While I’m disappointed that you didn’t stop and think about your actions, I am glad that you chose to go somewhere safe and you didn’t do anything more reckless than a swim across a dangerous lake. You’ve come a long way since summer.”

Sebastian nodded against his father’s shoulder, nuzzling into him in a silent apology for all the grey hairs he had caused Silas to sprout overnight. Silas patted his boy clumsily on the crown of his head and gently tugged Sebastian off him. He flicked open the lid of the pocket watch that had once belonged to Samuel Sallow and glanced at the time. It was coming up to ten; Sebastian was meant to have been in class nearly an hour ago. Knowing his boy, there was no doubt in Silas’ mind that Sebastian had overslept while he had been at home and that was the reason he was so late returning to Hogwarts. And since Emerys was unaware that Sebastian was being sequestered in Anne’s room until she had gone in to administer Anne’s pain medication, it was nearly nine in the morning by the time his location had been discovered.

“Time for you to go to class, Sebastian,” Emerys said, flicking her head towards the doors of the castle. “As mad as I am that you’ve jeopardised your probation, I will never not love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Sebastian nodded once more and pulled away. Aesop Sharp held out a forestalling arm, over which Sebastian’s robe was draped. “You left this in the Music Room last night,” he said, lips twitching as Sebastian flushed and Anne smirked in the background. It was clear that Sebastian had confided in Anne, of all people, rather than his parents. It was a titbit of information that Aesop would use to explain the extenuating circumstances of Sebastian’s disappearance to the Wizengamot should they question his absence, and he winged a silent prayer up to whatever higher power existed that the Wizengamot would take pity on Sebastian’s home life and give him a free pass for his transgression.

“While I have both of you here, there’s something I would like to discuss with you, Emerys and Silas,” Aesop added as the three adults watched Sebastian retreat into Hogwarts. “It’s about Sebastian, but it does involve your whole family too, and I think it would be beneficial due to everything that has happened in the past year. However, I need your consent before we proceed down this path further. Shall we go to my office?”

Emerys shot Silas a questioning look. Do you know what this is about?

Silas shrugged. Aesop is a man of mystery when he wants to be. If it’s going to help all of us when we aren’t in much of a position to help ourselves, I think we should take him up on it. At the very least, we should hear him out.

Emerys tilted her head, twirling her finger so it wrapped a curl of hair around it. Do you trust Aesop’s intentions? He did lose our son last night.

Silas’ face pulled into a scowl at Emerys’ implication and an overwhelming need to defend Aesop coursed through him. Our son absconded of his own volition; that had nothing to do with Aesop. If anything, Aesop was up half the night with me trying to find him. And I have no reason not to trust Aesop; I’d trust him with my life.

Silas held out his hand to Emerys; she took him by the hand and allowed him to lead her on to Aesop’s office, as she always did when Silas was so sure of something he’d stake his life on it.

Amelia kept her head down as she doodled on a piece of scrap parchment. It was a theory lesson on Boggarts and Professor Hecat was out the front, lecturing and writing down key points on the board, something she expected them to be copying into their books. Despite herself, her eyes slid over to the vacant seat next to her; she had been dreading going to class and having to sit next to Sebastian after their almost-kiss, but turning up to class and not seeing him there made her feel just as awkward and uncomfortable.

Was he skipping class just to avoid her?

The rejection felt like Sebastian had just slapped her across the face. Her insides froze and burned at the thought of Sebastian tossing her aside like yesterday’s news, but if she was honest with herself, she should have expected it. Everyone walked away from her, everyone left her when they had taken what they wanted from her; why did she hold any expectations that he would be different?

It was stupid of her to hope that was the case, and that strengthened her resolve to pretend that the night in the Music Room hadn’t happened. Everything she touched burned to ash; she was cursed and ruined anything good that ever happened to her, but perhaps she could salvage what she could if she tempered down her emotions and guarded herself around him.

The door to the room creaked open and the whole class turned around to see what the intrusion was. Sebastian leant against the doorframe, eyes skittering around the room so that he didn’t look at her.

“Ah, Mr. Sallow, I’m not sure what I’m more impressed by; your ability to consistently be late to class or your ability to be nonchalant towards your tardiness,” Professor Hecat snarked, silver eyes regarding him evenly as he squirmed under the intensity of her gaze.

“Apologies, Professor. I’d say it won’t happen again but we both know that would be a lie.”

“At least you’re honest about your shortcomings,” Professor Hecat said, snapping her fingers to gain the class’ attention on her. “50 points from Slytherin for your lateness – a point for every minute of my lesson that you’ve truanted – and I will see you in detention tonight to make up the time you’ve missed.”

“Yes, Professor,” Sebastian mumbled, shuffling to his seat next to Amelia. He pulled out his quill and notes, slid his reading glasses out from the knot in his tie and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, one hand raking through his hair as he squinted at the textbook lying between him and Amelia.

Sebastian appeared almost as awful and wretched as Amelia felt; there were shadows under his eyes and a tightness to his jaw that she hadn’t seen before. Stubble lined his cheek and chin, a clear indication that he hadn’t taken the time to shave, like he usually did. His eyes were dull and weighed down, and even though they were looking at the textbook, Amelia knew he wasn’t reading any words; his eyes were stationary instead of moving across the page in a blur. The pretence was the only thing that was keeping both of them from falling apart, but Amelia knew that the awkwardness between them was a gaping wound covered by a poultice; it was better to rip the poultice off quickly and address the heart of the issue than it was to fester and rot.

“Sebastian, are you okay?” she ventured timidly, not entirely sure what to expect. Her voice was soft and tender, as if she wasn’t sure if he would even deign to answer her.

His nod was so brief and so minute that if she blinked, Amelia would have missed it. His lips – lips that Amelia had come so close to feeling against hers – drew into a line so thin they almost disappeared into his freckles as he stared at the textbook and scribbled away in his notebook, determined not to look at her so he could maintain his composure. Somehow his lack of acknowledgment of her despite his proximity to her was worse than when he wasn’t sitting next to her at all.

“You won’t even speak to me anymore?” It was phrased as a question, but Sebastian and Amelia both knew it was meant as a statement. “Is this because of last night?”

“No,” Sebastian confirmed, voice low and harsh so it didn’t carry across the room. “It’s because I already have one detention from Hecat for arriving late to class; there is no doubt in my mind that she’ll make it two if she thinks I’m disrupting your learning by talking to you instead of listening to her.” He watched her face crumple, watched the light in her eyes dim as her walls drew up and something inside of him twinged, despite him trying to fight it. “Later, Mia. We’ll talk later. I know we need to.”

“And when will later be, Sebastian?”

“Well, not now, Mia. Now can’t be later, can it? Otherwise later would be now.”

Amelia’s eyes rolled so hard at the deflective words she could see inside her own skull. After two months building up a companionship with him while they were at Hogwarts, Amelia had hoped they’d moved beyond the circular argument he was trying to bring back.

“Mr. Sallow, Miss. Calloway, is my lesson interrupting your chit-chat?” Professor Hecat’s voice cut through them like a knife, sharp and stilted. “The pair of you seem to be engrossed in quite the private conversation over there.”

“No, Professor,” Sebastian muttered, shooting daggers at Amelia. No doubt he was going to be punished even further for Amelia’s insistence that they talk. Amelia remained impassive as she stared back at Hecat, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Miss. Calloway, please pick up your books and relocate next to Miss. Sweeting; I daresay she won't be nearly as distracting as your previous seat partner. Mr. Sallow, I suggest you keep that head of yours down and not say a peep for the remainder of this lesson.”

Amelia flushed bright red in embarrassment at being called out, but she knew that Professor Hecat was not a professor to test so she swept her books into her arms and moved across the room, fully aware that Leander Prewett and Cressida Blume were smirking and laughing at her as she did so.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for the disruption to my lesson, and since you are so intent on talking to Mr. Sallow, you can continue your discussion when you join him in detention, Miss. Calloway.”

Amelia gritted her teeth and nodded, eyes flashing back to Sebastian. He merely quirked an eyebrow at her and mouthed “told you so” with a neat shrug of his shoulders before following his teacher's advice and returning back to summarising the notes in his textbook.

As subtle as Amelia and Sebastian thought they were, their interplay wasn’t missed by Professor Hecat. Threads of plan started to weave together in her mind. Eleazar had asked her to hone Amelia Calloway’s defensive magic, and she had seen first-hand how Sebastian and Amelia’s duelling techniques complemented each other. Perhaps she could tie the two together; the detention that the two of them would serve would be at Crossed Wands – the unsanctioned duelling club students mistakenly thought teachers were ignorant to. If anything, the teachers followed the underground fight club rankings as eagerly as student did, often placing bets amongst themselves and trading less than desirable duties based on the outcomes of each match. Sebastian would have to duel with Amelia to initiate her into the club and then practice with her and the training dummies that had mysteriously been relocated from her room to the Clock Tower (Hecat suspected Sallow and Brattleby had masterminded the whole thing but had no evidence to prove it) before she was ready to learn incendio.

It was certainly and unorthodox detention – most professors would have them write lines instead – but Dinah Hecat was wise beyond her years. She could sense Eleazar’s desperation in trying to hone Amelia’s magic up to a point where she could use it to defend herself in an offensive and defensive manner and was intent on supporting him in his cause. She could see the bond between Sebastian and Amelia – as strong as it was, it waxed and waned on days that ended in ‘y’ – and she knew that the best partnerships were founded in stability and strength, something that she hoped to indirectly cultivate between them.

If it happened to push them closer together… well, that was something that Dinah Hecat excelled in.

After all, if she hadn’t paired Silas Sallow and Emerys Dawson up as duelling partners in their fourth year at Hogwarts all those years ago, Sebastian Sallow wouldn’t have come into existence and she wouldn’t have been able to do the same for him.

Chapter Text

Amelia Calloway stormed her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the thunder of her stomps reverberating around the hall. The rough start to her day had only gotten worse; after being issued a detention by Hecat, she had made an utter fool of herself in Charms class and had to weather the humiliation of being mocked by Cressida – surprisingly Leander didn’t join in. When she tried to intervene with classmates taunting Poppy Sweeting by deliberately pulling the whiskers out of the Kneazels they were looking after in Beasts class, Poppy had merely side-eyed her, measuring her worth before turning on her heel and storming off.

She threw her bag down on the floor of the classroom in a huff, her glare deepening as she saw her co-conspirator in her detention casually sitting on a chair that he had tilted back against the wall, nose buried in An O.W.L.s Best Friend: Defence Against the Dark Arts Study Guide. The metal frame of his glasses glinted under the light of the room and Amelia’s stomach squeezed as she watched him read, as she would have done if they were sitting in the mezzanine of the library instead of detention.

“Sit down,” Sebastian said, without looking up from his book or blinking. His hand flicked smoothly and a chair skittered out from underneath a vacant desk. “Hecat usually likes to make all of us stew before issuing out her punishments.”

Amelia snorted as she sat down. “You seem all too familiar with this, Sebastian. I’ve gathered that you spend plenty of time in detention.”

He peered at her over the top of his glasses, mildly amused at her astute, yet obvious, observation. “It’s not by choice, but I spend enough time here to keep me well rounded. If you want to make the most of your time at Hogwarts, you have to be prepared to bend the rules, just a little.”

“You, Mr. Sallow, have plenty of first-hand experience on that front, don’t you?” Professor Hecat closed the door to her office closed with a gentle thud and shuffled her way down the stairs. She frowned at his words, eyes narrowed in silent reprimand at Sebastian encouraging the new student astray.

“What am I doing today, Professor?” Sebastian asked, pushing his chair off the wall so it hit the ground with a hefty bang. “Lines? Rearranging the knick-knacks in your cabinets? Dismantling the Hebridean dragon and reassembling it like a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle?”

Dinah Hecat growled at the boy’s impudence, using her wand to clip him upside the head with a book she had levitated towards him. Sebastian winced at the spot where the book made contact; between his mother smacking him upside the head that morning and his teacher whacking him with a book, his head was not having a good time of it today. It seemed like no matter how much his mother and his teachers tried to knock some sense into him, it didn’t stick.

“A little harsh, don’t you think, Professor?” he quipped, but the respect and admiration he held for Professor Hecat glimmered in his eye.

Despite it all, Dinah Hecat’s lips twitched. The boy was a surrogate nephew to her; when the Sallow twins were younger, Emerys and Silas would bring them into the castle while the planned for the upcoming term. Dinah would always usher the children into her room when they scampered around outside her door and set them up with some reading. Sebastian would drink in every word she put in front of him; he’d devoured every word and pepper her with questions on things he didn’t understand, to the point where Dinah would sigh exaperatedly every time she heard his high-pitched, squeaky voice eek out questions even she didn't have answers to. It was then that she twigged Sebastian Sallow was as bright as his father had been as a child and as relentless and strong-willed as his mother, and she resolved to keep him on an extremely tight leash in her classroom so he could stay on the straight and narrow with her.

“You earned it, Sallow; it’s not harsh at all. I’m not here to entertain your quips and sarcasm.” Hecat turned on her heel, softening her stance slightly as she approached Amelia, arms crossed and she tapped her fingernails against her arm impatiently. “As for you, Miss. Calloway, I trust you understand your part in the transgression that landed you in detention.”

“Yes, Professor.” Amelia’s eyes darted to Sebastian; he was studiously avoiding her gaze as his eyes danced all corners of the classroom. It made her stomach plummet and her heart clench painfully.

“You are both going to spend this detention engaging in practical tasks. I suggest you pay attention to the job; sloppy work may result in you being sent to the Hospital Wing and I would rather not do the mountain of paperwork that goes along with student injuries garnered under teacher instruction.”

Sebastian’s curiosity was piqued; he slid his glasses into the knot of his tie, as he always did, and hastily shoved his study guide back into his book bag. “A pop quiz? That’s unorthodox.”

“For you, yes, but not for Miss. Calloway. You are to take her down to the Clock Tower –” Dinah Hecat broke off, pointedly glaring at Sebastian with so much intensity he quailed under her gaze. Even though he appeared calm on the outside, his heart was beating so frantically he was surprised he hadn’t keeled over and dropped to the ground like a stone.

She can’t know about Crossed Wands, he thought desperately. It’s a secret; if she knows, it’s not an underground duelling club anymore. She especially can’t know that I’m a co-founder of the club, or that I stole repurposed her training dummies for the benefit of the group with Lucan last year.

“And practice duelling with her.” Her pointed gaze met his abashed and slightly guilty one, and Sebastian reluctantly nodded, understanding his true assignment. “Once complete, return here for follow-up. That will be all.”

Both Amelia and Sebastian understood themselves to be dismissed as Hecat made her way back up into her office. The lack of a buffer between them allowed an awkward silence to fill the gulf that had grown between them over time. Amelia stared at Sebastian, her face blank and unreadable; Sebastian met her gaze, hard and unwavering. It was a Mexican stand-off; neither one of them wanted to stare at the other, but neither of them could look away. Amelia broke first; she cleared her throat, cheeks aflame at the attention she was getting from Sebastian, fidgeted and grabbed her book bag off the floor. Snapped out of it by her sudden movement, Sebastian followed suit.

The duo walked in awkward silence to the Clock Tower; previously, all eyes were on them because of how close they were growing. Now all eyes were on them because of how distant they were from each other. Whispers trailed behind him; the tips of Sebastian’s ears went pink and Amelia tugged her hair down over her eyes, peering guardedly through a curtain of auburn as they walked.

The tension grew between them, invisible ropes tightening around them and binding them together in discomfort. Amelia slowed down to a snail’s pace, feet shuffling against the stone floor while Sebastian strode to Lucan Brattleby, a scrawny third year Amelia recognised from the Gryffindor Common Room, muttered a few terse words in a tone that brokered no room for argument and slouched against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Lucan frowned, lips pursing tight together as he observed the tenuous relationship and the very obvious strain between his star dueller and the newcomer he was training. How they would form a successful partnership, he didn’t know, but he’d reserve utter judgement until he had seen them in action. Sebastian had vouched for Amelia Calloway and her prowess with duelling; Lucan was at least curious enough to give her a shot in the ring with Sebastian to see if there was any truth to his decision to bring Amelia into their fold.

Lucan cleared his throat, loudly to gain the attention of his followers. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back for a new year of Crossed Wands! This year we have some long-standing members return to defend their titles - ” Lucan gestured at Sebastian, who was still leaning against the wall, buffing his half-bitten nails on the sleeve of his shirt. “Old members attempting to best them, and new opponents eager to test their skill!”

A raucous cheer rang around the room and Lucan revelled in it, as if he was a jester holding court over them.

“To start our year off, we have our defending champion, Sebastian Sallow, partnered up with a new contender, Amelia Calloway versing Nerida Roberts, Hector Jenkins and Constance Dagworth!”

Sebastian pushed himself off the wall, drawing his wand from his robe as he took centre stage on the floor. His wand whipped through the air, as pointed as a sword being brandished, and he bent his spine into a deep curve, as was customary during a friendly duel. Amelia copied his actions, tentatively standing by his side and adopting the Teapot Pose, waiting on tenterhooks for Lucan to start the duel. The boy snapped his fingers, the crack of skin signalling the duel commencing magnified around the arena.

“Offence or defence?” It was almost instinctual for Amelia to say at this point.

A quirk of a bushy eyebrow and a lilt of his lips so his crooked smile graced his face. “You have to ask?”

The duelling floor erupted in a shower of multicoloured sparks. Sebastian, unsurprisingly, advanced on their opponents, corralling them together so that Constance, Nerida and Hector’s backs were pressed up against each other.

“Levioso!” Amelia cried out, delighting as they all hovered in the air, arms and legs flailing about as they tried and failed to break her spell. Sebastian barked out a laugh, delighting in her delight, the first genuine moment of connection they had that wasn’t stilted in awkward, uncomfortable interactions.

“Depulso!” A shot of purple flew out of the end of Sebastian’s wand and the group crashed into the ground. Groans of pain rumbled around the room as Constance, Nerida and Hector picked themselves up off the floor, dusted themselves off and assumed their battle stance.

Amelia fired off a Basic Cast at Nerida; Nerida twirled with a grace Amelia could only wish she had when it came to duelling. The air crackled with the force behind Amelia’s cast; Nerida’s Shield Charm deflected the flash of light into a suit of armour. The clatter of metal hitting the ground caught Sebastian by surprise; he turned his head towards the noise, distracted, and Constance’s flipendo catapulted him off his feet and he landed heavily on his shoulder. He groaned, hot, stabbing pain radiating out from the impact site as his arm hung limply out of its socket.

Duelling had dislocated his shoulder.

Again.

Not that Sebastian was surprised; he had long since discovered that all his ligaments were incredibly flexible – courtesy of his mother, apparently – so most of his joints were unstable. They popped out with any unnatural movement and Sebastian had learnt how to slot them back in so he wasn’t spending half his life stuck at the Hospital Wing. His motto? A Healer for the minor injuries, self-reliance and ignorance for the serious. It was a belief that had been reinforced since he had learnt that the Healers weren’t able to cure Anne – what was the point of them if they couldn’t do that – and his mistrust in the medical system grew. If he could avoid any medical intervention and treat himself, he would.

Amelia gasped involuntarily and her eyes widened in panic. While she was used to duelling with Sebastian, she wasn’t used to the chaos and frenetic offence and defence he was alternating between. She especially wasn’t used to duels when they were missing their usual synchronicity. The strained pull between them made every action feel just slightly off. Her gaze fell on Sebastian; despite everything that had transpired between them in the past day, she couldn’t temper down the worry and concern in her eyes as she watched him wince and roll heavily back onto his feet. His eyes met hers, brown eyes so dark they were almost black and he noticed the way she tensed her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched and clenched, the flare of her nostrils and the glacial gleam in her eye, all signs that her Ancient Magic was roaring through her body, ready to let loose on their opponents.

Breathe, he mouthed, shaking his head subtly to try and calm her down. An explosion of uncontrolled rage and magic on his behalf wouldn’t end well for anyone in the room. She held his gaze, drawing in a gulp of air, counting to ten before exhaling slowly through her nose as Sebastian rose to his feet and stood in front of her as a protective shield.

“I’m okay,” he lied, ignoring the fact that his shoulder had snapped out of its socket and his arm was trailing behind him like a deadweight. He grabbed his wand before it hit the ground – that was an automatic forfeit and he was damned if he was going to lose – with his right hand and readjusted his stance, silencing Lucan before the referee could call the duel to a halt because of a serious injury. Lucan was outraged as he gesticulated wildly, heavy scowl carved like granite into the usually happy-go-lucky Gryffindor’s face.

“You are not okay!” Amelia scowled before screaming, “protego!” The slice of a razor bounced off her Shield Charm and she directed it towards Nerida. Their opponent dove, but it was too late; the spell sliced through her shirt as easily as a knife sliding through hot butter and took the fight out of her. Nerida gasped and took a knee, holding up her wand in surrender so Amelia could pluck it out of her hand.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins and Amelia whirled around to face Constance and Hector. Sebastian grimaced, pain flaring through him, as he sent another confringo their way. The heat of the flames burned around them as Amelia’s eyes were drawn to him; she could see the exertion of battle take its toll on him, sweat trickling down his brow, hair falling into his eyes and accentuating the flush that had risen to his cheeks. Sebastian’s eyes roved over her; she was equally as dishevelled as him, blood and heat colouring the apple of her cheek, tendrils of hair escaping her customary bun. Perspiration made her school shirt cling to her form, accentuating the movement of her muscles as she stirred around him, shielding him and striking offensively against Constance and Hector until they bent their knee and surrendered too; Sebastian struggled to draw his eyes away from her, his heart thudding against his ribcage as his stomach flitted away.

“And the victory goes to Calloway and Sallow, newcomer and reigning champion of Crossed Wands!” Lucan cried, the silencio Sebastian had cast on him finally wearing off. “Hard luck to Jenkins, Dagworth and Roberts, as they have been eliminated from the competition. Keep an ear out for the next round of Crossed Wands – where we duel to the end until we determine our school champion!”

The crowd dispersed, scuttling around to get back to their respective common rooms before curfew set in and the prefects and teachers began patrolling the hallways for anyone out of bounds. Nerida, Constance and Hector sulked and spat out vitriol as they moved past Sebastian and Amelia. Sebastian, a seasoned veteran, had thick enough skin to weather out their sour mood and he ignored their baleful glare as he slinked into a small storage cupboard to fix his shoulder; Amelia shrunk into herself as the words bit into her.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Lucan said as he came to stand by her. “They thought this would be the year that they could take Sebastian on and eliminate him from Crossed Wands – that flipendo from Constance was strategic, since everyone in the club knows his shoulder is his weakest point – and they weren’t counting on the two of you pairing up together to take them down.”

Amelia nodded at the empty words, but the golden victory she shared with Sebastian now felt hollow and pointless. She shrugged away from Lucan and headed to the storeroom.

Must and damp and the stench of mould assailed her nose; she gagged reflexively and tentatively shuffled into the room. Wooden crates were stacked up against each other so high they dwarfed her and threatened to squash her as flat as a pancake if they toppled onto her. Training dummies were scattered to the four corners of the room, the smell of gunpowder lingering against the scorch marks on their shields. She could hear quiet cursing coming from behind the crates.

“Sebastian?”

She received a grunt of pain as a reply.

“Sebastian, let me get you to Nurse Blainey. I’m sure she can right you in a second.”

“No!” The refusal was terse and harsh and followed with a jerk as Sebastian tried to manipulate his shoulder back into the socket by himself. “I can do this; I’ve always done it by myself in the past. I just need something to distract me from the pain.”

“Distract you? How?”

Sebastian’s mouth twisted, not quite a grin, not quite a grimace. “We did need to talk.”

“Now?! Surely we can do that later, when you’re not trying to contort yourself so unnaturally to fix yourself up again.”

Sebastian flashed his teeth at her, pointed and bared, a feral smile. “No time like the present.” He fidgeted again, right arm bracing his left as he failed to rotate the humerus back into his scapula. Amelia sighed as she knelt by him, gently placing her hands over his and mimicking the movement she had seen him try to do.

“You first,” Amelia gritted out, the wince on her face echoing the glower that flashed across Sebastian’s. There was a pop as Amelia managed to grind Sebastian’s arm back into its socket and a relieved sigh as the swelling and pressure that had been building up dissipated. He rolled his shoulder, wiggling his fingers and bending his elbow just to get the feeling back and test his range of motion.

“Me?! You were the one that was so desperate to talk to me that you landed up in detention, if memory serves correct,” Sebastian smirked, laughing as the scowl on her face deepened. “And my memory usually does serve correct, since it’s eidetic. I was the one that wanted to remain silent on the issue.”

“Fine.” Amelia huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, as she so often did when she was acutely uncomfortable and unsure of where she stood with people.

Sebastian noted the shift in her posture, the way she turtled into herself and had her curtain of hair fall over her eyes, shielding her from view, hiding the truth of her from him. It reminded him of how she pulled away after they had been caught by Professor Sharp, leaving him bereft with the taste of what could have been lingering on his lips.

“Mia,” he said, softly, reaching out for her even though he wasn’t sure if she was going to pull away from him.

She flinched, a jerky movement away from him, well aware of the scrutiny of his unwavering gaze. “Don’t, Sebastian. I can’t… it’s just bizarre.” The words stumbled out of her mouth, drunk and guarded at the same time. It was as if she was trying to let him in, but her instincts were driving her to keep her at arms-length. “We were about to… and then we didn’t and now everything is more complicated and awkward and…” she breathed in deep, forcing her eyes up to meet his despite her gut screaming at her to stop. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” She bit her lip; saying the words out loud meant her admission was real.

“And you think I know what to do?” Sebastian asked rhetorically, one eyebrow raised with a dry chuckle. “That I’m not wrecking myself from the inside out, racking my brains trying to figure out what the hell happened? Whether it was meant to be or just a moment of insanity we shared?”

Amelia’s insides froze at his words. Insanity. Is that what he thought it was? A lapse in judgement? Momentary weakness in his highly emotional state? Was she merely ‘flavour of the month’ and now he had gotten close to tasting forbidden fruit, he was deciding she was rotten – everyone thought of her that way, so why would he be an exception – and didn’t want to risk it?

The thoughts clawed away in her mind, unbidden, twisting and turning something that could have been special into something that was tainted and vile. She shuddered at the ruined memory and stuffed it into a box in the dark recess of her mind, intent on never revisiting the moment that could have happened between them.

Silence stretched between them, thick and palpable and suffocating. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing at the walls she was erecting in her mind. Something deep inside of him twisted at the realisation that she was pushing him away without even wanting to hear his motivations and intentions towards her. The rejection felt like she had slapped him across the face; instinctively, he retreated too, vulnerability that slipped through the cracks in his cocky façade evaporating into nothing, just as he tampered down on his feelings towards her too.

“I suppose we should just pretend that what nearly happened didn’t,” he offered up, voice flat and monotone, as a reprieve for her and condemnation for him.

Amelia nodded, swallowing audibly to keep her emotions under wraps. She had to; the alternative was too much to comprehend at the moment. “Sebastian, you’re my first friend. Not just at Hogwarts, but my first friend ever. You have no idea how much that means to me, and I don’t want to lose that. I need you as my friend. Can we be that? Friends?”

But as the words left her mouth, she felt the sting of it and she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince – her or him.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he nodded slowly, expression blank and impassive, his own mask slipping firmly into place.

“Right. Friends. We can do that.” His voice was sharp and jagged, cutting Amelia to the bone, a sensation she wasn’t expecting. He rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders and stretching them out as he moved towards the door, his footsteps echoing through the chasm was growing ever wider between them. “You should see Hecat before curfew kicks in, otherwise you might end up back in detention.”

Amelia remained frozen to the spot, listening as Sebastian’s footsteps grew softer and softer until she couldn’t hear him anymore. She let out the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding and sagged against the wall.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this; she wasn’t supposed to feel like her heart was burning and freezing all at the same time, the bile climbing her throat like a tsunami rising up within her. She wasn’t supposed to feel this much from something that wasn’t even real.

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But it mattered more to Amelia than she could ever admit.

Chapter Text

Even though he was a Slytherin and his Common Room was buried deep in the bowels of the castle, Sebastian Sallow could often be found loitering outside the Fat Lady’s Portrait. No-one who had been at Hogwarts for a while was surprised by that; it was common knowledge that Garreth Weasley and Sebastian Sallow were quite closely intertwined. Being second cousins and quite literally growing up in each other’s pockets would do that – they spent Christmas, Easter and summer holidays at the residence of Samuel and Sophia Sallow before their demise – and the tight friendship that had forged between Garreth and Sebastian had followed them into Hogwarts as they navigated the treacherous waters of being Sorted into different Houses, demonstrating that Gryffindors and Slytherins could get along, despite the popular notion that the two Houses were sworn enemies.

Sebastian paced, measured and controlled on the outside while he spiralled inwardly, and the Fat Lady glowered at him. Her hair was dishevelled, face ruddy and sore, a remnant of the revelry she had partaken in earlier in the evening. Each step cut through her hangover like barbed needles skewering into her brain and she muttered uncharitable words – something about getting Sir Cadogan to slice his legs off if he didn’t stop that infernal racket – in his direction. Sebastian simply scowled back and stomped his feet on the ground just that little bit louder, twisting the proverbial knife into the Fat Lady’s back so she was hurting just as much as he was on the inside. It was spiteful, but he was in no mood to be charitable. He hoped Garreth would appear with what he needed; his nerves were shot and he needed something to smooth and soothe his rough edges.

“What’s wrong, cousin of mine?” Garreth’s voice drew Sebastian’s pacing to a halt, his cheery visage a foil to the storm that raged across Sebastian’s face.

“Dislocated my shoulder.” It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth and it was all Sebastian was prepared to reveal to Garreth.

“Ah.” Garreth winced in sympathy; having dislocated his knee before he could empathise with Sebastian’s plight. “Wouldn’t Nurse Blainey be better than this?” He held up a small tin containing a blend of Mallowsweet and Alihosty along with some paper.

The scowl on Sebastian’s face deepened, lines carved like granite into his face and he tried to snatch the tin away from Garreth. Garreth, anticipating Sebastian’s moves, stepped back sharply, holding his precious commodity over his head. There was more at play, something his cousin wasn’t divulging that was making him act as aggressively as a tiger trapped in a cage, of that much Garreth was sure, and having seen Amelia flurry back to her dorm, agitated and distressed, Garreth knew something had transpired between the two.

“Astronomy Tower?” the redhead suggested, slinging an arm around Sebastian and leading him away. Sebastian nodded; Garreth was a good substitute in the absence of Annie, and since this wasn’t something he wanted to divulge to his sister over an owl and he had already been read the riot act over absconding to get to her, he didn’t want to risk it again. Ominis might have been a confidant Sebastian would have considered, but they had had a mild falling out since Ominis was being stubborn and righteous. Sebastian couldn’t manipulate his oldest friend into revealing the location of the Scriptorium he had read about in one of the books in the library, and a small rift had started to grow between them.

Their footsteps echoed through the quiet hallways as they Disillusioned themselves, ducking into alcoves every time a Prefect patrolled near them. Leander Prewett sailed perilously close to them; Sebastian had to resist the urge to hex the ginger twat out of vindictive pleasure for all the times Prewett had tried – and failed – to best him. There was something mildly amusing about imagining Leander Prewett hexed to be less than immaculate; bat-bogeys flapping around his face would have delighted Sebastian no end, but he tempered down that urge so that he and Garreth weren’t discovered sneaking around the school when they should have been tucked up in bed.

The pair made it up to the top of the Astronomy tower, the cool breeze wrapping itself around them like a blanket. Sebastian and Garreth sat down next to each other, backs leaning against the tripod legs of the giant telescope that was mounted close to a balustrade and they slotted their legs through the narrow openings in the safety rail.

Garreth pulled out the tin he had stashed in his robe pocket, pinched a small amount of leaves in between his fingers and crumbled them into dust before rolling it up in paper. Sebastian snorted at the meagre amount Garreth had taken and rolled up the rather generous amount of leaves he had helped himself to. A muttered incendio to light up their joints and they breathed in deep, Garreth’s eyes boring deep holes into Sebastian.

“Want to talk about it, Seb?”

Sebastian dragged on his cigarette, fingers squeezing the paper between his fingers, a baleful glare shot Garreth’s way. The last thing he wanted to admit was the problem gnawing away at him wasn’t passing irritation or frustration – it was the keening sense of loss that stemmed from rejection.

“Does this have something to do with Amelia?” Garreth ventured. Brave of him, since all the warning signs that Sebastian didn’t want to acknowledge whatever was paining him was there; fists clenched so tight his half-bitten fingernails clawed into his skin, jaw tense and unmoving, brown eyes so hardened and dark they were almost black. His leg bounced in an irritated fashion as they idled off the Astronomy Tower balcony and his hair stood on end, frizzed and more unruly than usual, a sign that Sebastian had been raking his hands through it in frustration.

“No,” Sebastian snarled in a tone that clearly meant yes, a violent exhale of smoke and plume directed at Garreth’s face.

Garreth grimaced, swatting away at the smoke and coughing pointedly, even though the smoke didn’t bother him. He knew Sebastian well enough to know that it wasn’t the end of the conversation; all Sebastian needed was a little prompting to open up.

The silence stretched out into eternity between them, long and awkward. Garreth kept his gaze focussed on the frown that marred Sebastian’s face, while Sebastian studiously avoided meeting Garreth’s eye. Sebastian was well aware that Garreth was studying him and he turned his eyes upwards to the stars. It reminded him of camping with Amelia over the summer, the memory racing to the forefront of his mind, unwarranted, and it burned. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“You sure about that?” Garreth pressed, shifting slightly, well aware that he was poking a very large bear with a very small stick. “It seems like you’re mighty cheesed off at yourself.”

“Not me,” Sebastian ground out, taking another long drag from his blunt. The words felt too tight, constricting his chest that even a huff couldn’t relieve. His fingers twitched and he flicked the ash away. “Her.”

There was a beat of silence. Internally, Garreth crowed, knowing his initial train of thought was right, but outwardly he remained impassive, waiting for Sebastian to let the words flow from his mouth. The jovial, prankster personality of Garreth Weasley often masked the more perceptive, emotionally aware side of him; it was a side that gave Garreth profound insights into the people he cared about and it was the side of him that had twigged quite early on that Sebastian and Amelia had deep feelings for each other, but both of them were scared that the other one didn’t feel the same way. Watching two of his closest friends dance around the proverbial elephant in the room was excruciating, but at the same time, it wasn’t Garreth’s place to divulge Sebastian and Amelia’s confidences to each other either.

“It’s complicated,” Sebastian sighed, once more running a hand through his hair. “But she never gave me a chance to make it simple.”

“I know, Seb. Feelings are complicated and messy and often unrequited. Believe me, I know.”

Sebastian let out a puff of air, a cross between a laugh and a huff of annoyance. “Natsai still not giving you the time of day, in the way that you want?”

Garreth nodded mutely, leg nudging against Sebastian’s in silent comradery. Sebastian offered a wan smile back as the cousins leaned against each other, Garreth rolling them both another blunt for them to consume as a way of drowning their sorrows before they Disillusioned themselves and traversed the castle to get to their Common Rooms.

The conversation, Alihosty and Mallowsweet would lessen the ache that had settled into his chest, but as he stumbled into his bed and drew the curtains closed to hide himself from the world – too emotionally wrecked and too tired to even change from his uniform into his pyjamas – Sebastian realised that the emptiness that clawed away at him wasn’t any easier to bear.

The days blended into weeks that morphed into a month and a half after Amelia had told Sebastian that she needed him as a friend in her life, but time did not quell the cavernous, hollow feeling that lingered within her, intensifying every time she let her mind wander to their near-kiss and their subsequent conversation in the storeroom after Crossed Wands.

To Sebastian’s credit, he had made it easy on her; after a few days of keeping his distance, no doubt licking his wounds in private, he began to sit next to her in class again, laughing and joking with her, holding her to her word of being her friend. Their library study sessions became routine, with him passing her fruit and nuts from snack bowls when Madame Scribner kicked them out of the library at closing time, as he did before their almost-mishap. But as much as Sebastian’s pretence was to take the sting out of Amelia’s retreat, she could see his mask slip every now and then, see how deep her knocking him back had cut him, a strain that remained unspoken between them. She watched him interact and flirt with others – she knew it was part of his personality, but it irked her every time he graced Samantha Dale and Nerida Roberts with a roughish wink and a cheeky grin, or playfully tussled with Imelda Reyes while calling her ‘Mel’ and have her not retaliate at him - and Amelia had to bite down on her tongue so hard she drew blood so that she didn’t overstep her bounds as his friend and wind him back to her.

After all, she had been the one that wasn’t willing to risk losing his friendship for something more.

But it still didn’t take the ache from heartbreak as she watched him pursue anyone that had a discernible pulse.

Amelia had always prided herself on keeping her emotions close to her heart, hiding her innermost feelings behind an armour of logic and rationalism; it was bewildering and disconcerting to come to the realisation that Sebastian had managed to slink his way under all her defence mechanisms and make her feel the full spectrum of human emotion. The longer she spent in his orbit, the more she felt the boundaries she had worked so hard to construct crumble into quintessence of dust. Sebastian’s gravitational pull was hard to escape; no matter how much she forced herself to try and pull away, she kept getting pulled back to him.

It was a Thursday afternoon when everything started to come to a head. Amelia found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror in the girls’ bathroom, using her fingers to comb her hair back into the bun that sat at the nape of her neck and securing it in place with a scarlet ribbon. For the first time since their library study sessions had resumed, Amelia found herself critically appraising her appearance, wanting to look more refined and polished than she usually did. She tried to smooth down the straggles of hair that seemed to stick up and frizz no matter what with a bit of water, bring the shimmer and shine she envied in Samantha Dale’s cheeks to her own by pinching them so hard she broke the thin blood vessels under her skin. She rummaged through her bookbag to look for the rose-tinted lip balm Fig had bought for her when he furnished her with school supplies, as well as her eyeliner and applied the finishing touches to help smooth out her rough edges. Logically, she knew Sebastian didn’t pay too much mind to her appearance – one that she and others around her could always find fault in – but this wasn’t for him; it was for her, a way for her to try and stop the ache from chewing her up and spitting her out, as though she had lost control over her own life.

You’re friends, she reminded herself sternly, staring at herself until the mantra sunk in as she judged her new look. It was too much, too unnatural, too unlike her and she splashed her face with water and scrubbed her skin raw until her skin was bare. Just friends. That’s what you wanted.

But she wasn’t sure it was what she wanted it anymore.

She shook herself to strengthen her resolve in her decision and scuttled down to the library, taking up the space regulars knew was hers and Sebastian’s in the back corner of the mezzanine level. Her pit-stop in the bathroom had meant she was late; Sebastian’s eyes flicked up at her as she sat down opposite him, a quick and easy smile shot her way with one corner of his mouth lilting up into a gentle curve.

“You’re late, Mia,” he teased, peering up at her from the top of his reading glasses and pushing a plate of sliced apples and pears her way.

Amelia nodded absentmindedly, spreading her books and scrolls over her half of the table to distract herself from the fact that she could still feel Sebastian’s eyes raking over her. The quiet energy that had been dormant but never extinguished sparked back into life; Amelia could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up on end due to it. She cleared her throat awkwardly and despite herself, let her eyes meet Sebastian’s.

“Are you planning on studying in silence today or are you going to distract me with your antics?”

“I’m insulted you think so little of me; of course I’m here to study!” Sebastian huffed out a laugh as he shucked off his robe and rolled his sleeves up, eyes still fixated on her. “Why don’t we talk about you not distracting me?”

“How have I ever distracted you?! You’re the one that chews on the end of your quill like you’re crunching on chicken bones!”

Sebastian simply tapped his fingers against the table in a staccato pattern, picked at his fingernails and pointed at her. It was a speared barb and Amelia had to back down, knowing she was being hypocritical. Sebastian laughed quietly in his victory and turned his gaze back onto the book he was reading. Amelia got the hint and tried to focus on the words dangling on the page in front of her but she kept getting distracted by the way his fingers would brush through his hair as he got lost in thought, the way his tongue poked through his lips and his face tugged into a frown as he puzzled something he didn’t understand out in his head.

As the hours passed, they fell into their familiar rhythm; quiet companionship punctuated by quiet jokes, hushed laughter and banter that teased the line of friendly and flirting. Sebastian was his usual self – charming, teasing and flirtatious – but there was a sadness and a sharpness that lingered around him. It was hard to ignore, especially when he looked at her and his mask slipped; she saw through the cracks in his armour and uncovered the vulnerability he was hiding and it made her heart twist and squeeze painfully in her chest.

But at the call of his name, Sebastian would turn and give his attention to someone else, charming them just as easily as he had charmed Amelia and Amelia felt as if he was repelling her and holding her at arms’ length. Close enough for them to be friends, but not close enough for her to matter. Amelia didn’t know if this was his coping mechanism when there were still so many things unsaid between them, or if that was just his nature. Either way, it made Amelia feel small and unconsidered, made her a fool for ever believing things should be different between them and that she would be different to him.

She bit her lip and turned her eyes downwards, staring so intently at her page that the letters began to swim with all the water that was pooling in her lash line. She blinked, swiping them away angrily; she had no-one to blame but herself for the turn of events.

But then Sebastian did something that neither of them expected. He threw his quill down and reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. He jumped at the spark that shot up his arm; the brief contact was enough and even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him not to let go, he broke their connection. His voice was low and gravelly, a whisper as he asked, “are you okay?”

Amelia nodded, not daring to speak lest her voice cracked, not raising her eyes from her page. Sebastian snorted, clearly not believing her but he also didn’t know if it was his place to push the point. He cleared his throat and tossed an envelope her way. “Macmillan just handed it to me.”

Grateful for the distraction, Amelia eagerly shredded the envelope and devoured the contents of the note. She gathered up her belongings, hastily shoving them into her bag. “Professor Fig needs to see me,” she muttered at Sebastian’s questioning glance. “Matter of urgency. I should go.”

And without waiting for Sebastian to reply, she strode out of the library, leaving Sebastian to wonder what she was up to.

Eleazar Fig was hunched over his desk, the map he had out last time Amelia was in his office occupying his attention, murmuring quietly to himself as he waved his wand over the tattered piece of parchment. The door to his office slammed open enthusiastically and Amelia trotted into the room, breathing heavily as if she had ran all the way to his office. His eyes swivelled up; there was a thin sheen of sweat covering Amelia’s skin, her cheeks were flushed and her hair was falling out of its bun, and Eleazar Fig had to suppress the quiet chuckle that was about to burst forth from him. In her eagerness to learn more about Ancient Magic, he figured she had run.

“I trust you’ve been well, Miss. Calloway,” Fig smiled genially, gesturing at the floral chintz armchair in the corner of his room. Amelia collapsed into the chair, relishing the reprieve her legs had from racing through the castle to get from the library to his classroom in record time. “Professor Hecat tells me you’ve taken to your new wand nicely and that your defensive magic skills are shaping up well too. Not that it surprises me; you’ve always had competency and capability within you.”

Amelia’s lips twitched, pride welling up inside of her as she heard the compliment her teachers were bestowing on her. Her exhaustion faded as she basked in the praise, a warm glow radiating out from her torso. “There’s still so much for me to learn, though.”

“And you will,” Fig reassured her. “The pursuit of knowledge never ends. You could live to be two hundred and fifty years old and you will only have scratched the surface of all the knowledge the world has to offer. Patience, child. It will all come together in time.”

Amelia nodded. The truth to his words couldn’t be negated.

“It is in the pursuit of knowledge that I summoned you, Amelia,” Fig continued, fingers steepled together as his elbows rested on the desk in front of him. “I’ve heard back from Osric and his colleagues; they have been working to see if there was a way of detecting what lay in the Restricted Section of the Library without us having to utilise you to find out what lies within. Their efforts went in vain; it was an exercise in futility. Unfortunately, we have no choice but to venture there ourselves.”

Amelia nodded, shifting the weight of her in her seat. Anticipation, adrenaline and apprehension stirred within her; whispers of what was contained within there ran rampant through the student body. Some thought literature that Madame Scribner thought was too raunchy for her sensibilities were squirreled away from inquisitive eyes, others thought rare, Dark materials were being held in stasis as per requests by the Ministry of Magic. Shadows lurked in the labyrinthine halls, secrets that were best left dormant and only unearthed by those that were cunning and daring enough to seek them out. The notion of being part of uncovering those secrets ignited a fire in her belly.

“When shall we go, Professor?”

“It would be prudent to embark on this task sooner rather than later. But there will be dangers, arcane protections and traps designed not just to test your physical prowess, but your mental acuity too.” Fig’s grin broadened as Amelia jumped to her feet, relishing in the challenge it presented. She riffled through the partitions of her bookbag and withdrew some Wiggenweld Potion, some Mandrake Roots, stashing them in the same pocket her wand was stored in. Her head cocked to the door; it opened with a slam and Phineas Black barged in, pushing past Amelia as if she was nothing but an inconvenience.

“Ah, Professor Fig,” Black exclaimed pompously, striding past Amelia as though she were invisible. “I must commandeer your time at once! I have work for you! Come to my office at once!”

“Headmaster, I must protest! I have a student with me and my schedule is extremely busy; I can’t just drop my commitments and run at your beck and call!”

Black squared his shoulders, eyes narrowed as he glared at Fig. His hand swept at his hair, locking strands that had slipped out of its sideways pompadour back in place as his lips twitched under his seedy moustache in annoyance. “Your student and your schedule will wait. Indefinitely, if need be.”

Black turned sharply on his heel, pointedly looked at Fig as he tapped arrogantly on the face of his pocket watch and stormed out of the room, door rattling in the frame as Black slammed it shut. Fig tugged at the sleeves of his overcoat in an irritated fashion, uncharacteristic scowl etched into his face. He sighed heavily and shot an apologetic look Amelia’s way.

“It appears that there are other more pressing matters I must attend to,” Fig muttered, rolling his eyes in a sarcastic manner. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but I’m afraid we must postpone our adventure to a later date.”

Amelia nodded and nodded her forgiveness at the unexpected turn of events. The cogs in her mind were churning, threads of a plan weaving together to showcase her initiative and her resourcefulness, tenacity and bravery. If Fig wasn’t able to accompany her down to the Restricted Section of the Library, she would simply complete that task on her own. She had spent fifteen years of her life navigating a tough and challenging world around her without guidance; this would be a cinch. How hard could accessing books be?

But first, she needed to know how to access the Restricted Section of Hogwarts’ Library. Fig would have been able to use his clout as a teacher to allow her in, but she didn’t have him backing her play. Her brow furrowed, thin lines drawing together as her forehead wrinkled. There was only one student that she knew of that spent more time than her in the library, and she had seen his umber eyes dance over the locked gate in the bottom corner of the library before sidling over to track Madame Scribner’s movements, mentally noting when she was leaving her desk and the area unattended and how long her absence lasted.

Amelia stretched as she rose to her feet. Friends asked friends for favours, didn’t they? After all, Garreth was constantly asking her to sneak potion ingredients out from Sharp’s storeroom for him. Natsai was always utilising her to proofread her essays.

There was nothing for it; she was going to have to ask Sebastian for help with sneaking into the Restricted section of the library.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 26th August 1884

The sun glimmered through the arched windows of Hogwarts’ Library, a soft, golden glow casting ambient warmth into the hall. Dust and musty parchment, old leather and tannin lingered in Sebastian’s nostrils, an earthy, damp smell that reminded him of the cellar library his parents had collated at their Aranshire home.

The ten year old twins had been brought to Hogwarts by Emerys and Silas a few days before the school year started so they could plan and prepare for their classes. The McCleerys had gone on vacation and were unable to watch Sebastian and Anne in Aranshire, so the parents had no option but to bring their children in with them; Agnes Scribner had seen the dilemma Emerys and Silas faced and had offered to let the children into the library so they could read quietly and stay out of trouble.

Anne had finished the fairy-tale book she had been reading and she had decided that she didn’t want to read anymore; the tale of Sir Lancelot, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere had inspired her creativity and she had doodled away on scraps of parchment Agnes has scrounged up for her in between stocking books on their shelves. Anne had then clamoured for pastel paints so she could complete her masterpiece; Agnes had taken her by the hand to go see Emerys for supplies, with a strict order at Sebastian to stay in the library and out of the way.

That had been nearly ten minutes ago; in that time, Sebastian had finished the tome he had been reading and he sauntered through the bookshelves, finger trailing over the spines of other books as he tried to pick something that interested him. There wasn’t much that tickled his fancy; they had been coming to the library for the past week and he was getting bored. He had power-read through everything he wanted to read and there wasn’t much else for him to do; his frustration levels peaked at not being able to roam free through the Highlands with Garreth, Andrew Larson, Amit Thakkar and Mel Reyes instead of being stuck indoors. A shimmer glinted at the corner of his eye; he pivoted slowly on the spot to face a wrought iron gate.

To Sebastian, the gate was an oddity, stretching as high as he could see against a backdrop of knowledge, but not quite reaching the false ceiling; there was a small gap that was just large enough for a small body to roll through. The gate didn’t match the library’s eclectic yet mundane aesthetic. It piqued his curiosity and he abandoned the notion of selecting another book to peruse. Instead, he stepped closer to the gate, fingers curling around the bars that restricted his access to the library. The metal was cool to the touch, a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin, and Sebastian pressed his face against the rails, squinting to see what lay within. He could make out the silhouette of more bookcases, could sense the air was heady with mystery and apprehension. His fingers traced the lock in the gate and he rattled away at the barrier, as if he could shake his way through to the area that he was barred from. The gate squeaked in protest but it did not open.

Sebastian’s dark brown eyes shot a furtive look over his shoulder. “Anne? Madame Scribner?”

The silence in the library spoke volumes as an impulsive, reckless, curious ten year old boy hoisted himself up the rail, arms and legs pushing him further and further up. His muscles screamed under the exertion of what he was doing, sweat trickling down his temple and saturating the back of his shirt as he grunted with every movement, but he was slowly making his way up the gate. His eyes flicked to the floor – the ground seemed so far away from him – before flicking up – the gap at the top of the gate seemed equally as distant – and Sebastian began to second-guess his decision to gain access to whatever was behind the gate, regardless of the cost.
But he was also stubborn, and his stubbornness strengthened his resolve as he tugged himself further up the gate.

He found a punishing rhythm; legs compressing and pushing him up as his arms dragged him higher, a rest to breathe before starting all over again, but he kept his eyes locked on the books that had been locked away behind the gate. That was his prize; that was what he was working to unlock.

“Sebastian Silas Sallow, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?!”

The outraged shriek of his mother was so loud and so high-pitched the birds on the lake squawked in protest. Sebastian’s head swivelled to the direction of the door; Anne stood there, mouth agape as the paint pots splattered on the ground around her. Madame Scribner had a scowl etched into a face, anger and fear mingling together; an expression Sebastian thought he should get used to seeing on the librarian’s face since he seemed set on becoming a menace to her when he started at Hogwarts. Emerys Sallow stood behind both of them, anger, shock and sheer terror making her seem taller and more of a force to be reckoned with than she usually was.

“Ma?” he eeked out, scrambling for purchase against the gate so he didn’t slip in his shock at her appearance.

Emerys’ glare was sharp enough to cut right through him, shredding him to pieces. From where he was up on the gate, Sebastian’s jaw clenched, jutting out defiantly as if his stubbornness could outmatch her temper.

“Accio!” A swift arc of Emerys’ wand drew Sebastian from three-quarters of the way up the gate back to the security of terra firma. Sebastian glowered at his mother, well aware of the impending explosion from her. “Did I not tell you when you were seven that you were not to climb on structures that were more than three times taller than you? What gives you the right to defy that?! Did you not realise that your father and I put these restrictions on you for your safety?! What would have happened if you slipped and cracked your head open?! Did you stop and think about that?!”

“You told me I wasn’t to climb the lattice onto the roof of the house.” Sebastian stared at his mother, resolute that he hadn’t broken any of her rules because she hadn’t been specific enough with them, well aware that he was playing with fire as he uttered his retort. His fists clenched by his side, fingernails leaving moon-shaped indents in his skin.

Emerys could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, rage making her turn a magnificent shade of magenta. Her son’s ability to twist words and find loopholes for his own benefit was the bane of her existence, and it was something Sebastian knew that he excelled at, and he exploited it whenever he could. Emerys and Silas were always on the backfoot when it came to their son on that front.

“You knew exactly what I meant when I told you that!” Emerys growled, resisting the urge to grab Sebastian by the collar to shake some sense into him. “Your consequence for not following rules and expectations your father and I set out for you is coming, just as soon as we go home.”

Trepidation settled between them, thick and suffocating. Sebastian could feel the rage steaming to the surface; a veritable pressure cooker about to blow in the worst possible way, frustration and anger leaching to the surface. Every neuron in his body was on fire; his face as red as his temper as the words he couldn’t swallow spilled out of his mouth.

“Consequence for what?!” Sebastian snapped back, squaring his shoulders as he revved up for an argument. “You never explicitly told me not to do this! You’re punishing me for nothing! It doesn’t matter if the thing I do wrong is big or small; you always delight in making me suffer! You’re the worst mother ever and I hate you!”

Every molecule in the air stilled as a small inferno ignited in a recycling bin. Without even looking at it, Emerys waved her hand and doused the flames. Anne sucked in a breath, her eyes wide open in horror at the words that Sebastian had thrown down like a gauntlet; she shook her head in dismay at her brother, knowing that Sebastian had crossed a line he couldn’t come back from without difficulty. Emerys gasped, swallowing her reaction to his words so that her hurt didn’t come out and she could remain in control of the situation.

“Agnes, please take Anne up to Silas’ office and ask him to come down here.” Emerys pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing in deep and breathing out slow as she regarded the younger clone of her husband standing in front of her. There was something unreadable in her dark eyes, hardened and cold as she stared down her son.

“You hate me? Do you really mean that?”

The honest answer was no, but Sebastian was too recalcitrant and headstrong to take back the words he couldn’t unsay. There was no point; the damage was already done. He swallowed audibly, shame a prickly, uncomfortable feeling snaking down his spine and he shrunk back into himself. It wasn’t just the words that stung, but the weight of her disbelief – how could a child that she had grown, birthed, nurtured and cherished throw those words out so carelessly and callously? It was something Emerys could hardly fathom, and instead of continuing to lock eyes with him in a Mexican standoff, she turned her back and walked away from him, scribbling on a piece of parchment, her disappointment clouding the chasm widening between them.

Silence stretched between them, seconds feeling like eternity until Silas had barrelled his way into the library. All he had to do was look at his wife’s forlorn face, the snap of thunder that was his son’s expression and know that Emerys and Sebastian had fallen out again.

“What happened?” Silas asked Emerys, brushing the lone tear that was trickling down her face with his thumb. Emerys shook her head and passed him the note. Silas’ eyes skittered across the page, empathy and compassion shining through as he squeezed her hand and stood on tip-toe and pressed a long, tender kiss to Emerys’ cheek. “I’ll deal with it. Take Anne home and I’ll meet you there?”

Emerys nodded, and without looking back at the son that had sliced her heart in two, walked sombrely up the stairs.

“Ma…” Sebastian faltered, voice cracking as the realisation of what he had done hit him. But it was too late. The clicks of Emerys’ heels against the floor faded out into nothing and Sebastian was left, bereft.

Silas cocked his head to the left, drawing out a chair from underneath a table and collapsing heavily onto it. Even though he lived with Sebastian, he had never really noticed how much Sebastian had changed from when he was a baby to now. There was a temper that mirrored Emerys’, growing more and more pronounced as every day passed. He had the height of his mother too, but the stocky frame that was starting to emerge came directly from Sallow genes. The baby pudge of his cheeks were starting to melt; Silas could see the makings of a sharp jawline and chiselled cheekbones. It was a reminder that Sebastian was fast turning from a boy to a man and it was Silas’ job to help him get his temper and emotions under control before that happened.

“Sit down, Seb,” Silas sighed, rubbing a wearied hand across tired eyes.

Sebastian moved slowly, unsure of what was happening. He had expected his mother to rage at him, proverbially shred him into a million different pieces. He hadn’t seen the utter despondency she showed to slap him in the face as harshly as it did.

“You have no right to talk to anyone the way you did before. You do not speak to your mother like that. Ever.” Silas’ voice was calm, but it carried a note of authority Sebastian had never heard before. “I don’t care how angry and upset and frustrated you are; your mother and I raised you better than that.”

Sebastian nodded, the lump in his throat making it painful to speak. “I didn’t mean it,” he eventually managed, voice a hoarse whisper. “I was so angry I just…”

“Spoke without thinking? You do that a lot, son, but you can’t do that anymore. You’re growing up, you won’t be a boy forever and Sallow men take responsibility for their words and their actions.” Silas watched as his son turtled into himself, neck curling inwards so his chin was resting on his chest while his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. “You’re allowed to have emotions, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. You are not allowed to let your emotions hurt others because you’re hurting. What I told you in St. Mungo’s still stands; never take action in anger. You may not have physically done anything, but your words cut to the bone. Your mother isn’t just your mother; she’s human too. She has feelings. You’ve made her doubt everything that she’s done for you. Do you understand that?”

From where he had knotted himself up like a pretzel, Sebastian nodded tightly.

“You did the wrong thing, Sebastian, and you know you did the wrong thing. You got caught doing the wrong thing, and your mother has every right to put consequences in place to teach you to make more intelligent choices. When that happens, you need to own up to what you did and take whatever comes your way on the chin. That’s what growing up means.”

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel like that,” Sebastian mumbled into his shirt, voice so soft Silas had to strain his ears to hear it. “I hate that I hurt her.”

Silas nodded, understanding. “You can fix this, Seb, but its going to take time. Don’t just say you’re sorry for what you said; show your mum that you are sorry. Prove to her that you understand why your words matter by showing her the respect she deserves.”

Sebastian nodded once more, softening as his father grasped his shoulders and walked the pair of them home.

Amelia powered through the Defence Against the Darks Arts Tower as though she was a woman on a mission. Her stride was so forceful she cut her way through throngs of gathered students, only pausing to ask them if they had seen Sebastian anywhere in the Tower. Amelia had to suppress a growl every time she heard a negative response, fingernails flicking against each other in anxiety as she scoured the hallways for him.

“Looking for Sebastian?” Zenobia had snuck up behind Amelia and the older girl jumped, strands of hair working their way loose from the bun tied at the bottom of her neck. “He’s heading towards the clock on the second level. I missed having someone to play Gobstones with so he was kind enough to give me a game while everyone was at dinner. Well, I say game, but it was more of a one-sided massacre. I’d stay far away from him if I was you; he smells pretty rank now.”

Amelia smiled her thanks, instinctively wrinkling up her nose when Zenobia mentioned the fact that Sebastian was now covered in the offensive smelling Stinksap. Amelia had never come across Stinksap before, but as she approached Sebastian the smell made her want to throw up inside her own mouth. Star anise and ceder smoke intermingled with something that smelled like raw sewage curled around her.

“Sebastian?” she began. “Can we talk? Now, rather than later?”

“Can you make it quick?” Sebastian looked a little green around the gills as he tried not to breathe in too deep. “I was hoping to get myself tidied up after a… mishap.”

Amelia nodded. “The Restricted Section of the Library. I’ve seen you stare at it, I’ve seen you watch Madame Scribner’s movements around it. Do you know how to get in there?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. As much as Amelia was his friend, he couldn’t go around telling her all his secrets. “Why do you need to know how to get in there? Does this have to do with Ranrok and Rookwood coming after you, and Professor Fig calling on you at all hours of the day?”

Amelia bit her lip, blue eyes unwavering as she nodded slowly.

“And why are they coming after you?” Sebastian asked pointedly, arms crossed over his chest and one leg propped up as he leant against the wall.

Amelia’s eyes darted around them, making sure they were completely isolated. Fig had warned her to keep news of her Ancient Magic to herself, but surely that didn’t include Sebastian. After all, he had seen her wield her power in defence of him, had taught her how to manage and control it so it didn’t burst forth from her unexpectedly. He just didn’t know what it was called, and in the grand scheme of what he already knew, naming her magic seemed inconsequential.

“Mia, I’ve never even heard of that before,” Sebastian frowned. “And I’ve read nearly every book there is to read in the library, Restricted Section or not.”

“So you do know how to get in there!” Amelia crowed, ears pricking up on what Sebastian had inadvertently let slip. Sebastian flushed at his faux pas and slowly nodded his head.

“Can you get me in? Now?”

“No.” Sebastian gestured at his goopy robes. The stench was so offensive Amelia could see stink lines emanate off him. “I’m not exactly inconspicuous at the moment. Meet me on the stairs at Central Hall. 9pm, Scribner should be gone by then.” The corners of his eyes crinkled up as a teasing smile graced his face. “Don’t be late, or I might just stroll on in without you.”

Standing at the top of the Central Hall stairs gave Amelia Calloway the perfect view of Sebastian Sallow’s backside. His spine was slightly bent as he leant over the bannisters of the stairs, the back of his shirt slightly see-through, and hair slicked back as if he had just stepped out of the shower. His uniform trousers clung to his lower half, surprisingly tight; Amelia had to force her eyes away and stare at the ceiling, reminding herself that she had instigated the boundary of friendship and she shouldn’t do anything to threaten that. Considering the state he was in earlier, Amelia wagered he probably had just stepped out of the shower.

He must have sensed that she was eyeing him as he turned around to face her, arms casually stretching out along the length of the railing behind him. “There you are!” He flipped the lid open to the pocket watch that was in his hand. Nearly 9pm, nearly showtime. “Was beginning to think you’d left me hanging.”

“Hello, Sebastian. Shall we get started?” There was an element of a business like tone to her voice, as if that was enough of a barrier to hide the fact that she had been ogling at him moments before.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your cause, there’s something I need to teach you first,” Sebastian stalled, amusement tinging his tone. “You see those Prefects over there by the library door? They would love nothing more than to dob us in to the teaching staff for breaking curfew.”

“So I guess we’d better be quiet as we sneak around, then,” Amelia surmised, turning tail and tip-toeing towards the descending staircase. Sebastian reached out and grasped at her upper arm, drawing her attention back to him. He tried to ignore the jolt of energy that zapped through him as his skin made contact with her, even through the soft linen of her shirt.

“Hold on, now, let’s give ourselves an advantage. Have you ever heard of the Disillusionment Charm?”

Amelia chewed on her lip – and Sebastian squirmed as butterflies flitted in his stomach – and shook her head, peering up at him inquisitively through her eyelashes.

“It’s a spell that gets cast on the user to make them take on the texture and colour of their environment. Sometimes called the Chameleon Charm. It’s really just a trick of the light; it’s not infallible. If someone is intent on finding you, they can, so stealth and discretion is needed. It’s not as foolproof as a potion or an Invisibility Cloak, but spells are instant and free.”

Amelia nodded, and she held her breath as Sebastian moved around her, instructing her to stand in the Triangular Stance. He adjusted her pose, straightening her shoulders, extending her arm and rotating her wrist, the scent of cinnamon, vanilla, star anise, leather and old parchment wafting around them. Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly as he stepped back, snagging Amelia’s wand since Aesop Sharp retained his so he could demonstrate the wand movement to cast the spell. Amelia copied him.

“You catch on quick,” he smiled, crouching down as he slunk towards the stairs.

“It helps that I have a good teacher,” Amelia smiled back, and Sebastian had never been so glad to have been under Disillusionment so Amelia couldn’t see how the compliment had made his cheeks flush red.

The duo skulked their way to the door, slowly so their footsteps blended in the moans and groans that came part and parcel of residing in a castle. Every so often, Sebastian would flick his wrist and summon pictures off the wall and having them crash to the ground, distracting the Prefects from their patrols. They eventually made it through the ornate crimson door that led to the Library, their breaths coming in harsh gulps as they manoeuvred between the bookshelves.

“Madame Scribner’s still here!” Amelia panicked, blue eyes wide open in fear as she speared Sebastian to the wall under the intensity of her stare. “You said she’d be gone!”

“She usually is!” Sebastian snapped back, bushy eyebrows tugging into a frown as the cogs in his mind whirred away at lightning speed. “I’ll create a diversion, you get the key from out of her desk.”

Amelia looked on dubiously at Sebastian. He had already been an integral part in her getting her first detention at Hogwarts; she knew he had no qualms about bending rules for his own purposes, but that wasn’t her. What if Sebastian had miscalculated and Madame Scribner caught them before their illicit adventure had even begun? What if she couldn’t locate the key quick enough?

“You either get the key, or we’re scaling the gate and climbing over. I hope it doesn’t come to that, though,” Sebastian grimaced, remembering the peal his mother had held over him when he was ten and attempting to enter the Restricted Section for the first time. Having said all of that, he did have the lock-picking set Anne had given him, just in case Scribner had moved the key since his last venture into the forbidden zone of the library and Amelia couldn’t find it.

“Trust me, Mia. I said I’ll get you in and I will.” With a roguish wink in her direction – Amelia had never been so glad to be invisible so Sebastian couldn’t see how much of an effect he had on her – Sebastian sidled his way to the back of the library, deliberately making as much noise as he could to divert Madame Scribner’s attention onto him.

Amelia waited for Madame Scribner to mince her way over to the wanton destruction Sebastian was creating, masquerading so successfully as Peeves the Poltergeist that the librarian mistook him for the ghost. As quiet as a Jobberknoll, Amelia scurried to the desk, her hands rifling through parchment, books that hadn’t been checked back into the library and books that had to be vetted before being stocked on the shelves as she rummaged around for the key. The filigree pattern on the key imprinted against her as she palmed the key tightly in her fist.

Her footsteps echoed behind her as she moved to the gates of the Restricted Section; Sebastian was idling as he leant against the gate, arms folded over his chest.

“Go on,” he gestured at the lock. “Open it up.”

“I would have thought Scribner would have used a magical lock instead of a Muggle one.”

Sebastian shifted guiltily, scratching at the nape of his neck and running his hand through his chocolate curls as he eyed the padlock uneasily. Agnes Scribner did have a magical lock on the gates, but he was the reason Scribner had gotten rid of it. It had taken Sebastian the better part of winter of his fourth year to break the enchanted lock with alohomora; as soon as Agnes Scribner had figured out the weakness Sebastian was exploiting, she fortified her defences, knowing that using a padlock and hiding the key would take him longer to break through to access the Restricted Section of the library. No doubt his mother had provided Agnes Scribner with the lock that was designed to keep him out; Sebastian loved his mother, but there were times he despised the fact that she was the Professor of Muggle Studies as well as Music and she used her knowledge of the Muggle world to help others stifle his desire for knowledge.

“She used to,” he muttered tightly, pushing the gate open slowly so that the hinges on the gate didn’t creak and draw attention to them. He trailed behind Amelia, smiling softly as he watched her fingers trail over the spines of books he had perused before. There was something familiar in the way she moved around the library, and he belatedly realised it was because her actions mirrored his; she paused at most of the books he had paid special attention to, without him even telling her he had been in here several times before.

She was his kindred spirit, and Sebastian didn’t have many of them in his life.

“We should head down the stairs, get out of Scribner’s eyeline,” Sebastian suggested, leading Amelia away from the bookcases by her arm. She squeaked in protest, but Sebastian managed to silence any noise coming out of her with a quelling stare.

“Avoid the ghosts; they can see through Disillusionment a bit better than humans.”

Amelia nodded and stealthily made her way through the level, firing off jets of light and noise and casts to disrupt the ghosts patrolling the middle level of the Restricted Section. The carpet and the rugs lining the wooden floorboards made sneaking around easier as the timber floorboards didn’t groan underneath their weight, and eventually they made it down another flight of stairs. Sebastian fidgeted, throwing off the Disillusionment Charm and materialising in front of Amelia’s eyes.

“We should be fine down here,” he said, pulling his reading glasses out of the knot in his tie and sliding them up his nose so he could read the gold, embossed lettering on the books’ spines.

“So, what are you looking for when you come down here?” Amelia managed to ask.

“I’m trying to find a way to cure Annie.”

Amelia’s eyes crinkled in empathy. She knew Sebastian’s sister was dying; Sebastian had told her so in the Music Room that night, and she had seen it for herself when Anne had accosted her in the bathroom at Sebastian’s trial.

“Couldn’t Nurse Blainey help?” Amelia asked, not expecting the uncharacteristic expression of disgust and despair flash across Sebastian’s face.

“We’ve tried her. We’ve tried everything, and no-one can tell us what’s wrong or come up with a cure for her. But there’s an answer. There has to be one. I’m not losing my sister without exploring every avenue at my disposal, damn the cost.” The timbre of Sebastian’s voice hinted that there was a more sinister side to him coming into play; Amelia drew back ever so minutely as she heard the desperation and determination in his voice and realised that there was no line he wasn’t willing cross for Anne. An admirable quality for a sibling, she imagined, but there was something disconcerting about the conviction with which he said those words, especially as he couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from a tome titled Secrets of the Darkest Arts.

“But it’s not about me today,” Sebastian smiled, his charming and disarming one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re here for you. What are you looking for, anyway?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Amelia replied, moving fluidly between bookshelves, Sebastian trailing behind her. Nothing stood out to her, nothing had that ethereal blue shimmer she was starting to grow comfortable with seeing and wielding. Each step made the coil of tension in her stomach wind up tighter; the library was looking more and more like a dead end when it came to understanding her mystical power.

They traipsed through more hallways before eventually coming to a block. Several suits of armour lay scattered across the floor, piled up so high there was no way Amelia could climb over it without toppling it. She stared at Sebastian, who stared back, waiting for her to remember that she was a witch with a wand and that she knew reparo. But before Sebastian or Amelia could do anything, there was another clatter, a gust of wind whooshing around them.

“Who have we here? Sebastian Sallow and his new lady friend, sneaking around where they shouldn’t be!” The nasally, high-pitched taunt echoed around the chamber.
Amelia’s heart thudded against her chest as Peeves’ cackled bounced off the stone walls. Her mind raced for a way out, but it seemed like her and Sebastian were trapped. She closed her eyes, gut sinking as she realised Peeves would let the gossip train of Hogwarts know that they were together in a part of the castle they shouldn’t have been in.

So much for the rumour mill stopping.

Peeves floated lazily above them, prankster grin somewhat predatory as he gazed down on them. “A little romantic rendezvous between the two of you? Mr. Sallow needing some tips on how to keep his woman satisfied?”

“Peeves!” Sebastian growled, face screwing up into a snarl at the insinuation. His eyes scanned Amelia’s face to see how she reacted to Peeves’ words, knowing that the implication would cling to her and trouble her more than it did him; a remnant of her growing up in the orphanage where the Sisters stressed that her reputation was everything. Her eyes were guarded, face impassive, back and shoulders hunched as her hair fell over her face, and Sebastian knew that she had retreated into herself, as she always did when her walls went up to protect herself.

“Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

“Peeves, don’t!”

“I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell!” Peeves sang-songed before blowing a rather loud, wet and obnoxious raspberry in Amelia’s face and passing through her. Amelia shuddered, slightly from the fear of getting caught, but mostly because it felt like Peeves had dumped a bucket of ice over her as he moved through her. The chill lingered in the tips of her extremities, fingers and toes turning an ashen blue, so unlike the electric blue that shot out of her fingers when she used her Ancient Magic. It was enough to make her skin crawl, and she shuddered once again at the thought of Peeves being the first man to ever be inside her, if only for a moment or two.

“Damn poltergeist!” Sebastian cursed, spitting out the words like pointed arrows. “Hogwarts should have gotten rid of him when they had the chance! A story for another time,” Sebastian explained at Amelia’s confused glare in Peeves’ direction.

“What do we do, Sebastian?”

“You continue searching for what you need to find; I’ll try and stop Peeves! Good luck!”

And without reaching for Amelia’s wand to Disillusion himself, Sebastian took off like a fire had been lit under his backside, intent on hunting down Peeves and striking a deal to keep their indiscretions a secret.

Silas Sallow had just finished night time patrol. While he was normally stationed on the perimeter – he had never minded inclement weather, which made him perfect for the role – he was covering for Satyavati Shah, who was doggedly sick in bed with the flu. The prefects that were stationed in Central Hall were dismissed with a smile and a genial flick of his head, and even though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the suspicion of something being out of place lingered in the air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he pushed open the doors to the library.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the gates to the Restricted Section had been opened; the lock that Emerys had given to Agnes lay on the floor. Wand out, he headed down the stairs. The ghosts that were patrolling the floor had told him that there was more noise than usual, but they assumed it had been Peeves in the area since Peeves generally liked to make ruckus wherever he went. It checked out, but the explanation did nothing to quell the uneasiness that Silas felt; he thanked the ghosts for their information and continued his search, descending further down into the Restricted Section.

Peeves shot past him, screeching and hooting with laughter.

“Peeves, stop this instant!” Silas demanded futilely, somehow knowing that Peeves was too heightened to follow the instruction of a Hogwarts Professor.

“No can do, Professor! There’s a bigger surprise on the way!” Peeves cackled once more before launching himself up through the floor and out of reach.

Peeves was not known for his helpfulness, but he was never dishonest to the staff of Hogwarts, so if he was saying there was a bigger surprise on the way, there most likely was. Silas stayed put, Disillusioning himself to catch whoever it was in the act.

“Peeves, get back here!”

It shocked Silas to hear the angry tones of his son emanating from the lower levels of the Restricted Section, but at the same time, he was not surprised at all. Sebastian’s fascination with forbidden knowledge had been well documented since Emerys had caught him climbing the gate before he had even started his tenure at Hogwarts.

“Peeves, don’t do this! I don’t care what you do to me, but not her!”

Silas watched as the tall, muscular frame of his son barrelled around the corner, eyes narrowed so much they were slits, irises so dark they blended into his pupils. He was a blur of brown and green, anger generating a haze around him.

Sebastian was so engrossed in chasing Peeves down that he didn’t notice the shimmered outline of Silas’ torso in his warpath. Instead, he crashed into air that was solid and unmoving; Silas materialised out of nowhere, hitting the ground heavily with a thud and a groan.

Sebastian’s eyes widened in horror as he took a step back, slowly observing the body of his father on the ground before him. The realisation that he was in more trouble than he had ever been in before hit him like a tonne of bricks and he swallowed audibly.

“Dad?”

Chapter Text

Amelia felt hollow and empty as she watched Sebastian race away to take the proverbial bullet for her. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to decipher why him taking the fall for her was making her insides perform cartwheels. She tried to figure out what Sebastian’s motives were – he could have just as easily let Peeves dob both of them in instead – but he was protecting her, as he had always tried to do, even when they had first met. Ice settled within her bones, feeling of shame rising from her toes upwards and she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

She had to push on, despite the misgivings she was having. Sebastian had been gracious enough to lead her here, been chivalrous enough to hide her involvement in sneaking into a forbidden secret of Hogwarts; she owed it to him and Professor Fig to see it through.

She cast a quick reparo to the mountain of armour blocking her way, and with her heart slamming against the solid bone of her ribs, stepped beyond the realm of the Restricted Section of the Library. The air sizzled with an electricity Amelia had only ever felt when Ancient Magic lingered in the air, her hair stood up on end and instinctively her arms reached out towards it, a siren’s call that dragged her closer to the abyss.

Amelia’s breath caught in her throat as she drew closer to a small puddle on the cobbled stones. Her fingers thrummed, the whispers of Ancient Magic wrapping around her and enveloping her in a chilling yet warm embrace, spurring her on to uncover the mystery that was part and parcel of her. The promise of discovery was intoxicating but also terrifying at the same time.

Thoughts of Sebastian were momentarily evicted from her mind as she knelt by the inconspicuous pool of water. Her fingers glowed, ethereal blue emanating from underneath her half-bitten fingernails as she touched the water. She shrieked as the world morphed around her; what was once air filled with liquid, the floor that had been stable and steady under her feet slipped out from underneath her. Her lungs burned as she floundered in the water; the Sisters had never taught her how to swim and all she could do was fight against the current to keep her head above the waves.

Amelia’s pulse raced as her legs kicked frantically, arms churning at a speed she didn’t know she could sustain. A blue shimmer danced in front of vision that was starting to waver and blend, and the burning in her lungs died to a warm buzz instead, the buoyancy of the shield formed by her Ancient Magic had her floating to the surface, and yet it felt as if she was falling into the depths of a well, the walls of the library growing higher and higher and trapping her.

The ground slammed into her body, her Ancient Magic bubble popping, leaving her saturated from the dip. The air around her chilled her to her bones; muscles shivering and teeth chattering, she winced herself up to her feet.

“Hello?”

Her voice echoed through the hall, taunting her that someone else was there, even though Amelia knew she was horribly alone.

As always.

Not even Sebastian stuck by me, she thought bitterly, the self-deprecating voice that was her internal litany reminded her. But that wasn’t right, she realised, as she realised that even though Sebastian wasn’t with her in proximity, it was his spirit and his belief in her cause that made him make the choices he had made, and for that, she would be in his debt.

Swallowing, Amelia shook out her bruised and battered limbs before taking a step forward, blue eyes guardedly evaluating her surroundings. Sheets of ice, the exact colour of her Ancient Magic towered over her, making her feel small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. There was a sense of déjà vu; everything seemed reminiscent of when she and Fig had travelled to Gringotts and had been trapped in Vault Twelve, but at the same time, it was different.

Her shadow was a silent companion, moving with her as she traversed the hall, each solitary click of her heels reminding her that she was all alone. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but it had seemed like that in Vault Twelve and Amelia had learnt very rapidly that appearances were deceptive.

She staggered to a halt; the path that she was following came to an abrupt halt.

“Revelio,” Amelia brandished her wand, arms sweeping in an arc to see if there were any hidden tricks that would help her on her path. A glimmer caught her eye; with a flick of her wand, she shot a jet of red light at a medallion that was embedded into the cavern. Another pathway materialised, jigsaw pieces slotting together neatly so she could pass through an ornate archway. The ice-blue and gold filigree pattern was familiar; with a jolt, Amelia realised she had seen it on the armoire in the bedroom Professor Fig had said was hers. She made a mental note to tell Fig about it when she next caught up with him; perhaps his late wife’s research would be able to shed some light on what the motif meant, and why it was buried several kilometres under the school.

Wand aloft, fingers gripping so tightly against the woodgrain her muscles were starting to cramp. Sebastian’s words came back to her – a wand grip would help stop muscle fatigue and she endeavoured to find one for herself as quickly as she could – and she shuddered, a sense of foreboding leaking down her spine and settling in the divots of her back. She gulped, eyes narrowed to slits as she moved.

Stone ground against metal; an arthritic cry of danger as rusted statues lumbered into life. Nine of them; all marching in synchronisation to encircle and entrap her in a hell of her own making.

“Intruder…” it hissed, brandishing a mace overhead threateningly. “Leave now unscathed, or face the consequences and pay dearly with your life!”

Here we go again, Amelia thought, blowing out a breath of air and swiping loose tendrils of hair away from her face. She moved swiftly into the Teapot Pose, defensive stance a direct contravention to the offensive gameplay she had in mind. It was a little tip she had picked up from Sebastian – always keep your enemies guessing; be the unexpected and take them by surprise – and she had seen how effectively Sebastian had used that adage when he was duelling. Time to see if she could replicate something he had taught her inadvertently.

The statues groaned as they shifted, unseeing eyes staring straight through Amelia. She snarled, an animalistic noise that she had never heard come out through her mouth before and shot a pre-emptive strike at the statue that was thundering its way towards her. She swallowed, trying to summon saliva in a mouth that was drier than the Sahara Desert.

“Incendio!” she cried at one of the advancing guards of the antechamber. Tangerine coloured snakes wrapped around the stone, scorching the gneiss exoskeleton of the statue. The statue stumbled, the proverbial wind knocked out of the centre of its chest.

Amelia flashed a feral grin, teeth bared to a point, as she glided down the stairs, rolling to avoid a swing of a sword that nearly decapitated her head clean off. The grin slipped off her face in the same manner Stinksap had trickled down Sebastian earlier in the evening and she squared her shoulders. The tingle started in her fingers; with a cackle, she channelled the unbridled energy and adrenaline that was coursing through her body. A strike of lightning, a flash so bright her retinas were temporarily blinded, and Amelia could hear the heavy thud of stone hitting the floor.

She rubbed at her eyes, multicoloured dots dancing in her vision like a kaleidoscope of catastrophe. But it wasn’t catastrophic for her; she was still alive. Her hand crept to her chest, coming to rest just left off-centre of her sternum. The frantic rhythm underneath her ribcage slowed as she exhaled, a slow steady beat that reminded her she was still here, anchoring her to reality as the storm around her subsided.

Buoyed by her victory, Amelia pushed on, footsteps carrying her further and further into the depths of the chamber. There were more puzzles for her to solve, more Ancient Runes for her to activate with a flick of her wand, more gaps in the floor that she needed to jump over, but each obstacle brought her closer to her goal. The Ancient Magic within her acted like a compass, a magnetic pull intent on guiding her to the secret held within the chamber.

Her footsteps slowed, the feeling of trepidation building to a crescendo inside of her. All that stood between her and what Fig had asked her to uncover was an inconspicuous, closed door. The glass of the door was solid and liquid underneath her fingers, the touch of her skin causing ripples to radiate out from the point of impact. Whispers slunk like silk ribbons from underneath the crack between the door and the floor, wraithlike humming singing in chorus as Amelia waited, teetering on the tightrope of stepping forward and pushing on with her quest or turning tail and walking away.

Her curiosity was piqued and she pushed the door open. A gasp escaped her as she saw her prize; a book hovered over a lectern. With a soft smile, she traced the embossed title of the tome. A warm glow filled her, one she was slowly becoming accustomed to when she surrounded herself with Natty, Garreth and Sebastian. Belatedly, she realised it was a feeling of connection, and she wondered what secrets were held within. She traced the binding of the spine of the book, breathing in deep as the aroma of leather, old parchment, ceder smoke and star anise rose from the enchanted object.

Sebastian, she thought instinctively, head snapping from side to side to see if he had emerged from behind her. But he wasn’t there, and she shook her head, wondering how he had managed to ingrain himself so deeply into her self-conscious, even when she was actively trying to fight it.

Both hands grasped the book, and the world shifted around her; the cave that she was in melted away, transporting her to a place where she was exposed her to the elements.

The sun blazed down on Amelia, dazzling, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Amelia had grown up thinking that warm, summer days were to be cherished, but as her eyes roved over the bleak surroundings, she could see the damage that the weather had caused. The grass was the colour of pale straw, dead and dry, shrivelled fruits hung limply on orchard branches. Carcasses of animals littered the path she was following, bones crunching underfoot and crumbling to dust. There was a village in the distance, desolate, as the men scrounged around in the dust and dirt, looking for any morsels of food that they could find for their families.

Four adults walked with the air of authority and control, taking centre stage amongst the devastation in the rocky outcrop they were standing in. The oldest one had a dark black beard, straggles of silver and grey catching the light as he moved his head. There was a rotund man on his right hand side dressed in a matching, pinstriped two-piece suit with a ridiculous hat; it reminded Amelia of the clothes a court jester would wear. Beside him was a man that was built like a rake, thin and reedy, a pointed face that had a small sneer of arrogance on it. To round off the quartet was a woman, just as tall as the man she stood next to, but her eyes held compassion and empathy for the plight they were viewing.

Amelia’s breath hitched in her chest, the presence of the quartet was overwhelming and it pushed against her chest, a rubber band constricting her breathing. The sun seemed to intensify, rays burning her skin as she squinted at the figures ahead of her. The woman nodded at the man with the beard, and with a snap of his fingers, fat drops of water started to fall from the sky. Clouds rolled over the sun, dark and heavy and cast an ominous shadow over the landscape. The reprieve from the relentless heat was needed, the rain that was starting to pour from the sky a welcome relief; Amelia tilted her head back, eyes closed, as she let the water wash over her, a cleansing sensation from the cloying heat that had made her sweat profusely.

In the distance, Amelia could hear the delighted cry of children, the happy splashes of their feet as they danced in the downpour. A little girl, no older than five, seemed to stare directly at them, mouth agape and dark eyes wide open in wonder. The man with the beard smiled genially at her, nodded, and with a swish of his robe, turned and walked away, the rest of his contingent following in his wake.

The setting had changed; Amelia recognised it as somewhere in Hogwarts. She imagined it was what the Staff Common Room looked like; comfortable armchairs near the fire, bookcases lined with reference manuals for the gamut of subjects Hogwarts offered, desks with stacks of unmarked essays dotted around the room. The fire crackled heartily, the smokiness and the ash flitted through the room.

Amelia peered from around the corner of the pillar she was hidden behind. Time must have passed; the man who had streaks of silver in his beard was more wizened and wrinkles carved into his skin, the beard was fully grey and even longer than before. The little girl she had seen from before had grown into a teenager, much like herself. The more Amelia stared at the teenaged girl, the more she realised that there were intrinsic similarities between them. An air of mystery surrounded the girl with dark brown hair, the glint in her eye implied that there was more to her than met the eye; thin veneer coated her intentions, in much the same way Amelia shielded herself from others until she got to know them better.

“You asked to see me?” the girl asked, bowing her head in acknowledgement of everyone in the room.

“Yes, Isidora. As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I wanted to make sure you were settling in alright,” Niamh said, a gentle curve gracing her face. “Starting in Fifth Year is almost unheard of. Why, the only other person to have done so was Percival Rackham!”

The man with the beard rose to his feet, coming to stand behind Isidora. “Yes, the magic that you can wield is a special type of Ancient Magic. A rare ability only few possess.”

“Is that what it is? The swirls of magic that glow every now and then?” Isidora could barely mask the greediness of wanting to know in her voice. “As soon as I saw you at Hogwarts, I recognised you as the people that saved Feldcroft all those years ago. I cannot thank you enough; the hamlet was in peril until you stopped the drought.”

“No need to thank us, dear child. We did what we thought was right. We did what was needed.”

“Charles is right,” Percival added. “What good is this magic if we cannot harness it for the benefit of others?”

Isidora’s eyes brightened, something airy and light intermingled with a haunting shadow in her iris. For all her intentions, there was something sinister lurking beneath the surface. “Can you teach me, Professor Rackham? I want to be able to do what you did; I want to be able to spare people from pain.”

Percival clapped a hand on her shoulder. “That, dear child, is the intention of this tete-a-tete. We will meet once a week so I can show you how to harness the full potential of your power. But tell no-one else of it; the only people that can know you possess such unimaginable power is us. Anyone else may torture you into using your magic for their own will.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Miss. Morganach,” the man with the pointed face cautioned, reedy voice cutting through the air. “Before Professor Rackham can teach you such skills, you must prove that you can master ordinary magic. You must master all that Hogwarts has to offer.”

Isidora nodded slowly, pivoting away from them. Her eyes darkened further and the shadows came out to play. A slight smirk tugged at her lips; one that Amelia recognised as being similar to Sebastian’s charming and disarming one. A flicker of unease shot through her; Amelia recognised that Isidora was not being entirely honest in her intentions and that there was something she was hiding.

Silas Sallow blinked rapidly as he gasped for breath; the force of his son knocking him to the ground had winded and wounded him in more ways than once.

“What are you doing here, Dad?”

Silas arched an eyebrow at his son as he scrambled to stand up. “I should be asking that of you,” he parried back tartly. “You are on probation, Sebastian! You should not be skulking around where you shouldn’t be! Why are you not taking it seriously?! Do you want to go to Azkaban for good?! Do you want your mother and I to have to tell people that our daughter is terminal and our son is in jail?!”

Sebastian couldn’t suppress the growl that came from deep within his throat. Somehow, running into his father was worse than Peeves ratting him out to Madame Scribner. He could deal with Madame Scribner yelling and screaming at him without blinking or drawing a breath – his mother had trained him to deal with it – but the quiet disappointment coming from his father was more damning than relentless berating ever could be.

“No,” the teenaged boy muttered quietly, a fib forming on the tip of his tongue as he blindly pulled a book off the bookshelf. “I just wanted to read in peace for a bit. Something new, something I haven’t read before. Scribner hasn’t put any new books on the shelves for years now and I finished reading the entire Hogwarts catalogue in my third year.”

Silas plucked the book out of his son’s hands before Sebastian could realise what he had picked up. His lips twitched as he opened up the cover of the book and read the title. “Y’know, son, if you have questions, you can always ask your mother and myself. I can guarantee that our real world experience is more realistic than this, and we’ll be as honest as we can with our answers.” He waved the diagrammatic yet somehow erotic book entitled Demystifying the Modern Witch and laughed as his son flushed hot enough to cook a Sunday roast on.

Sebastian opened his mouth, strangled noises escaping him as he tried to protest his innocence by masking his lie with another lie. Inwardly, Silas chuckled at his son’s discomfort, and he was irresistibly reminded of the beginning of his and Emerys’ love story. Silas had fallen for her first when he realised that his feelings for her ran deeper than friends, and every interaction he had with Emerys had him floundering like an idiot, in much the same way Sebastian was squalling in front of him. Emerys had fallen faster when they danced for the first time the night of the Celestial Ball and kissed later that evening in the Slytherin Common Room. As much as his son looked like him, he really was a perfect clone of Emerys’ personality, and it made Silas wonder if Sebastian had realised something every adult in Hogwarts had seen; there was no doubt in the collective teaching staff’s mind that Sebastian and Amelia were going to end up together.

Outwardly, Silas’ expression remained impassive. “Do you want to try again, Sebastian?”

“What do you want from me, Dad?”

“A little honesty wouldn’t go amiss.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked over Silas’ face, noting the worry lines that marred his forehead, ones that seemed to have multiplied every time Sebastian was caught doing something stupid, illegal or both. Hair that had once been the same thickness and shade as Sebastian’s had thinned, with flecks of grey peppered throughout his locks. Lips downturned, and with a pang, Sebastian realised it had been ages since his father had smiled because of something he had done; frowning or scowling had become more common when it came to Sebastian.

“You don’t want the truth, Dad. It’s not good.”

“And you think lying is better?” Silas huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Just the truth, son. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sebastian squirmed, one hand raking through his curls while the other scratched frantically at the back of his neck. There was nothing for it now; he had to come clean, even though the thought of coming clean was gnawing away painfully in his stomach. His dad had told him to stay away from Amelia due to the attention she had drawn from Rookwood and Ranrok, and he hadn’t. If anything, he found himself more drawn to her, an inexplicable desire to protect and defend her from the monsters that were threatening her, something he didn’t think his father would understand.

“Amelia needed to come here,” Sebastian sighed, sagging as the words left his chest. “I have no clue what she’s looking for – she said she’d know it when she saw it – but she’s only just started learning about magic and trouble seems to follow her like a bad omen; I couldn’t leave her on her own to face it all, Dad. I couldn’t! But Peeves derailed everything and I was trying to stop him but that clearly didn’t work.”

Silas sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed to Merlin to give him strength. His son was so much like his mother, always doing things with the best of intentions gone awry, and never able to see the pitfalls of their actions until it was too late. “Where is she, Seb?”

“She went on.” Sebastian pointed in the direction he had just barrelled in from, unable to keep the warble of desperation in his voice. “I’ll take whatever happens to me for this, but Dad, help her. Please.”

Silas smiled softly; there was the boy he and his wife had raised. Impulsive, headstrong, reckless, but still empathetic and compassionate. A quick reach upwards to boop Sebastian on the nose as Silas wrapped his boy up in a one-armed hug.

“You get to your Common Room without detection, Seb, and I’ll go after Amelia. Help will always be given to students at Hogwarts to those that ask for it.”

“Love you too, Dad. And thank you.”

Amelia Calloway rubbed at her temple as she regained consciousness. The book she had touched had spat her out at the end of the memory with so much force she was knocked unconscious. She dry-retched, nothing but bile and stomach acid splattering to the floor and she groaned with the migraine that was forming behind her eyes. Her hand shielded her eyes and she winced at the tacky wetness that was dripping from her eyebrow. The air tanged metallic; she was bleeding.

She rummaged, deep delves, into the pockets of her robe as she hunted for some Wiggenweld Potion. Vision blurred with blood, she popped the cork and downed the contents in two easy swallowed. She could feel her skin stitch back together, the tidal wave of acid that was rising up her oesophagus calmed to a mild swell and all the aches, pains and bruises she had collated in her adventure disappeared into nothing.

If it wasn’t for the blinding migraine that had built up behind her eyes – whether that was a side effect of using her Ancient Magic prolifically, or part of jumping through someone else’s memory, she didn’t know – and the throbbing beneath her temple, she would have chalked all of this up to a bizarre but vivid dream.

Amelia pushed herself up into a sitting position, hair that had worked its way loose tumbling into her face. With a sigh, Amelia undid the ribbon that was holding her bun in place and shook her hair out. It eased the tension in her head ever so slightly, the excruciating pain dulling down to a mild roar, and Amelia was grateful for it. Wiping the blood from her brow – she was hoping it looked worse than it was; somehow she knew that Sebastian would fuss over her if he saw she was injured – Amelia slowly walked to the stairs that had manifested in the corner of the room. Sconces of light illuminated the way forward and Amelia took the stairs two at a time, emerging through a door at the back of the library.

Peeves was floating, a gloating expression plastered onto his face, cackling from behind Madame Scribner as her shrill voice blasted through the hall.

“Out of bed at this hour! And sneaking around the Restricted Section! I thought we had put all of this nonsense to bed, Mr. Sallow!”

Amelia peeked out from behind the bookcase she was hiding behind. Sebastian jutted his jaw out mulishly as he stared back at Madame Scribner, chewing on his tongue so he didn’t run his mouth and get in even more trouble. Arms were crossed over his chest and his feet shifted, a sure sign that the scolding was grating on him.

“Peeves informs me that you weren’t down there alone. If you were coerced into this by another student, I would have you tell me.”

There was a beat of silence. Amelia closed her eyes, certain that Sebastian was about to betray her confidences. She was a fool to think that Sebastian had her interests at heart; if life had taught her anything, it was that she was born into this world alone, she was destined to spend her life alone, and she would most likely die alone too.

“No, Madame Scribner.”

“You’re a bright boy, Sebastian. Don’t waste it!”

Sebastian’s eyes bored holes into the diminutive librarian. He shifted once more, eyes sliding over to where Amelia was hiding, and even with her blurred vision, Amelia could have sworn he shot her a conspiratorial wink. Amelia didn’t know whether to make heads or tails of it.

“No, Madame Scribner. Peeves is wrong. There was no-one else; I came alone.”

Madame Scribner pincered Sebastian by his earlobe and dragged him behind the circulation desk so she could log his indiscretions in his student file before summoning Aesop Sharp to escort him back to the Slytherin Common Room. As Amelia watched Sebastian take the blame for something they had both engaged in together, her heart raced erratically and an unfamiliar, warm, burning feeling radiated out from her chest.

Chapter Text

Saturday 26th November 1889

Ominis Gaunt had not been blessed with vision at his birth, but it turned out he didn’t need it to know how beautiful his best friend’s sister was, both inside and out. While Sebastian Sallow was a diamond in the rough, Anne had been cut and polished so she gleamed in all of her perfection. Every time she came near him, he could smell the rose water she sprayed over herself, mingled with fresh snow and something that was so uniquely her, Ominis couldn’t find the words to describe it. Her laughter rang in his ears, as clear as a crystal bell, and he could feel the glow radiate off her every time she smiled at him, which was happening with more and more frequency these days.

Someone had indefinitely borrowed the enchanted string quartet that played in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower for the unsanctioned yet traditional party that was taking place in the Slytherin Common Room. The inaugural Quidditch match of the season had taken place earlier on in the day – Gryffindor versus Slytherin – and the lions had been the horses most of the Hogwarts cohort had backed. In a surprise twist of fate, the serpents had trounced the lions, with their Seeker catching the Snitch in a record time of ten minutes and fifty-three seconds. The audience was dumbfounded, and with all the spare time that they had in the day, the Slytherin House used all the determination and cunning they possessed to host what was going to be a rowdy and raucous night.

“Here they are! Give the Slytherin Quidditch Team a warm welcome!”

Applause rained down on them as the team entered the Common Room, chests puffed out and pride and a slight hint of arrogance carved into their grinning faces. Sebastian had his arm thrown around Imelda’s shoulder, much to her annoyance, and even though they were friends, she shoved him violently off him as she had never been one for tactility.

“Loosen up, Mel,” Sebastian laughed, readily accepting the flagon of spiked party punch that was handed to him. Imelda’s head swivelled so fast to glare at him, Sebastian could have sworn he heard her neck snap.

“Or don’t.” He shrugged, nudging her towards Anne. “Probably best you remain sober if you’re going to take part in Anne’s little mastermind plan. Plenty of time for drinks once you’ve snagged Moon’s pumpkin juice.”

“You’re an idiot, Sallow,” Imelda said, rolling her eyes affectionately at him and the small twitch of her lips betrayed her words. “I swear, you do this to get under my skin.”

“Of course he’s an idiot; he’s a teenaged boy,” Anne interjected, swinging herself off the sofa and linking arms with Imelda. She grinned mischievously, the light dusting of freckles on her cheek merging together. “Didn’t you once call Seb your brother from another mother? That’s what brothers do. Trust me, I’ve been living with him for fifteen years! This is the least annoying he gets.”

“Tell Mel more about the plan, Annie,” Sebastian egged Anne on, his mischievous grin an identical copy of hers. Anne’s words were drowned out by the string quartet playing a lively ditty, and a few moments later, the pair of them had sidled out of the door to the Common Room.

Ominis leant against the Corithian column near the window that overlooked the lake, translucent eyes darting from side to side, expression blank as he swiped his hair back into his quiff. Presentable as always, the only part of the Gaunt manifesto he truly believed in. Part of the party, but slightly removed; the way he liked it. He enjoyed being in the know, but knew it was better to skirt along around on the outside than it was to draw attention to himself; it allowed him knowledge and helped him hide his true intentions towards people and situations in plain sight.

“Y’know, you’re about as subtle as a gun,” Sebastian commented as he prodded Ominis on the shoulder, once he was sure Anne and Imelda were well out of earshot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ominis muttered, the tips of his ears burning at Sebastian’s insinuation.

“If I don’t know what I’m talking about, then you need to make the googly-eyes you’re sending my sister a little less obvious,” Sebastian laughed, taking a long slurp from his cup of party punch. “As the risk of being presumptuous, I can only call you my brother-in-law if you ask to court her with the intention of marrying her. Whether you do or don’t, it won’t stop you from being the brother I wish I had as opposed to the sister I got. I love her, but she can be a pain in the arse.”

Ominis spluttered, unseeing eyes roving around the ceiling in his embarrassment at the truth of Sebastian’s words. Sebastian laughed once more; he had seen how Ominis softened around his sister, and had spent all summer eavesdropping in on Anne, Nerida, Poppy and Grace’s conversations over the previous summer. The girls did what girls did as they lazed around on the grass in Aranshire, giggling over their respective crushes, and Sebastian had heard enough to know that Anne was starting to view Ominis as more than a friend.

Initially, Sebastian’s feelings towards the burgeoning relationship between his sister and his friend were conflicted; Ominis was his best friend and Anne was his sister. If things fell apart, he would be caught in between their awkwardness, and if he was forced to choose between them, he would pick his sister every time, hands down. After all, if he ever needed a spare kidney, Anne would be his closest match so it was beneficial to keep his spare parts close to him. But then if things worked out well between them, he feared that Ominis would take the role he held in Anne’s life; protector, confidant, and in-built, lifelong friend too. But when Sebastian saw how Anne lit up from the inside at the attention Ominis gave her, and how Ominis’ tough façade melted away when Anne held him, his own misgivings evaporated and he conspired to be their own Cupid, pushing them together because he knew that neither Anne or Ominis would be bold enough to make the first move.

“I do not make googly-eyes at Anne!” Ominis snapped, arms crossing over his front as a defence mechanism. “I’m pondering what she is up to, and curious to know if I have to use my family’s influence to bail her out of trouble this time, instead of you.”

“Denial is more than just a river in Egypt,” Sebastian quipped, pressing his half-drunk cup of punch into Ominis’ hands. “Liquid courage. You need some. And it’s a party, not a funeral; so I’d suggest you stop looking like you’re about to launch into a brooding monologue!”

Having said his piece, and observing Ominis’ impassive and cool demeanour, Sebastian snaked his way back into the throng of the crowd. Unlike Ominis, Sebastian had never been one to skulk on the outskirts of a crowd. Instead, he thrived on being in the thick of things and he revelled in the attention he was gathering, using his ability to read and empathise with a person to let them spill secrets into him and store it away for a later date, giving him leverage to use over them if he ever needed to.

Ominis’ fingers curled tighter around the cup that Sebastian had placed in his hand – he could smell the fumes of alcohol in it, and even though he didn’t really drink, he tentatively sipped at it, grimacing as the liquid burned to his stomach as he wrestled with his inner turmoil. It wasn’t just a passing crush on his best friend’s sister – every moment that he wasn’t with Anne made his stomach clench and cramp with anxiety as he wondered if any other male was vying for her attention – it was something deeper, a more primal protection that made him want to keep Anne by his side, safe under his watchful eye, so to speak.

But he was a defective boy – his brother Marvolo had hammered that into his head for long enough that Ominis occasionally believed it to be true – and Ominis was no fool; no one with any sense would want him. After all, the Gaunt lineage wasn’t known for finding happiness; instead they pursued money and power. Love, for people like him, was a dangerous game to play, one that meant prospective partners paying the ultimate price. But when Anne smiled at him – he could feel the imprint of the curve of her lips even though he couldn’t see it– it was easy to forget that.

“Seb’s right, y’know,” Anne mused as she snaked her way to his side, making Ominis jump and slop punch onto his shirt. “You do look like you’re brooding and mysterious. Are you about to launch into some dark poetry?” she teased with a laugh, a light, melodious tone that instantly lifted Ominis’ mood.

“Just thinking,” Ominis murmured, scowling at the drink he was sipping from to keep himself busy.

“Stop. It’s a party, Ominis! Enjoy yourself!” Anne tugged him by the arm to lead him away from the pillar to a small alcove near the fireplace. Sebastian was busy depulso’ing chairs away from the fireplace so there was enough room for their merry band of friends – Nerida, Grace, Poppy, Garreth, Andrew and Isaac – to settle down into a circle. “Come play with us. We have Gobstones, Chess, Exploding Snap and Charades! We thought about adding Blind Man’s Bluff in there, but you would have an unfair advantage over all of us so it was vetoed.”

Ominis swallowed; he was never one for parlour games, but the excitement in Anne’s voice fuelled his own and he let Anne push him to the ground, lips twitching amusedly as she plonked herself next to him. “You’re on my team, and we’re versing Seb and Mel in Gobstones and Exploding Snap!”

The games drew on, with each little group that was sitting on the floor playing eventually amalgamating into one big circle as they chatted, teased each other mercilessly while drinking from Moon’s hip flask. It was the one the Hogwarts caretaker insisted was filled with pumpkin juice only, and it was the flask that Anne and Imelda had repurposed earlier in the night so their inner sanctum of friends could test out the veracity of Moon’s claim.

Moon, it appeared, had been lying about the contents of his hip flask; the fourth years were giggling and slurring their words, as if they were proper drunk for the first time, and to be fair, most of them probably were. In the madness of it all, they had somehow managed to rearrange their seats so Sebastian and Ominis had swapped places. The twins had their arms slung around each other, as much an act of comfort as it was a way of holding themselves upright. Ominis had taken refuge next to Imelda, grimacing that Sebastian had ousted him from Anne’s side.

Nerida, a shameless flirt when she was not sober, fluttered her eyelashes as she suggested a most outrageous game that most people would have objected to, had they been in their right mind. People would have been able to see Nerida’s ploy for what it was; a chance for her to act on her long-standing, unrequited crush on Sebastian.

But nobody was, and so they laughed when Nerida suggested that they took turns to spin Moon’s hip flask around on the floor, and the person that the mouth of the hip flask pointed to was the person they had to kiss.

The game played on; it was Ominis’ turn again, and he pushed the bottle with his pinky finger so it spun a few times. The metal scraped against the hardwood floor, screeching as it came to a stop. Anne let out an audible gasp, a flush that wasn’t from the alcohol gracing her cheeks. Her brown eyes were keen but hesitant, a paradox if there ever was one. Somewhere in it all, Sebastian came to realise that this was not the way Anne wanted her first kiss with the boy she liked to go – drunk and with an audience, instead of a moment that should have been soft and tender and private – and as the chivalrous big brother, he would take that bullet for her, despite what it would cost him.

At Imelda’s taunting, Garreth’s hollering, and Ominis’ complete lack of self-control now that he was drunk, Ominis leaned forward, inching towards where he thought Anne’s lips would be. Ominis could smell the roses and snow, lips wetted with his tongue as he pursed them together. With a shove and a heavy frown, Sebastian pushed Anne to the floor and smooshed his lips against Ominis’.

Anne was quite stubbly, and that took Ominis by surprise. She had also gone from smelling of roses and snow to cedar smoke and star anise. Anne’s outraged shriek of “Sebastian Silas Sallow!” and the hoots of laughter coming from the group confirmed the conclusion Ominis had reached.

“Sebastian!” Ominis snarled, spitting and wiping his lips with his shirt sleeve. He admired his friend’s confidence, envied it sometimes, but that confidence often evolved into recklessness and impulsive stupidity, and it was impulsiveness and reckless stupidity that had Sebastian rob him of a moment he had been waiting a lifetime for with Anne. “How dare you!”

Anne pushed herself up off the floor, glowered at her brother in anger and embarrassment before fleeing the scene for the safety of her dormitory, secure in the knowledge that Sebastian would not be able to access and harass her there. The game ruined, Nerida, Grace, Poppy and Imelda followed Anne in her time of need.

Sebastian wiped his lips with the back of his hand, grimacing at the sour note that tainted the air as Anne and her posse left in her humiliation. “Do you really think I enjoyed it?!”

“Why did you do that?!” Ominis seethed, pointed barbs firing like bullets out of a machine gun at Sebastian. The boys that were left beat a hasty retreat, claiming that they had to return to their Common Rooms while pretending to be sober – a feat that was quite difficult since the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had multitude of stairs to climb.

Sebastian stared at Ominis; even though the blonde boy couldn’t see it, he could feel the intensity of it bore holes into him. The brunet had never expected his first ever kiss to be with Ominis – he had always expected it to be with Poppy, considering how Anne was badgering him to ask her out, having mistaken his kindness in class towards the diminutive Hufflepuff for something else – but he was okay with it because his actions had protected his sister’s honour and dignity. He would trash his own reputation to protect hers.

“Hear this, Ominis. Anne’s my sister, and I will do what it takes to keep her heart safe and unbroken. Whatever intentions you have for her, she deserves for you to have her best interests at heart.”

A storm brewed above and below the roof of the Great Hall, with rain lashing against a darkened backdrop, and voices rumbling like quiet thunder at the Slytherin table. Shadows flickered animatedly across the stone wall, illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. The air was thick with tension, words that had no need to be said and, yet, were still being spoken.

“I will not do it, Sebastian!” Ominis scowled into his plate of mash potatoes and beef wellington. “You know my stance on this! Nothing good will come of it!”

Sebastian’s face twisted, handsome features marred into something ugly, a face he only reserved for Ominis, and he flicked some peas in Ominis’ direction as a show of frustration. “Coward! I told you last year; Anne deserves for you to have her best interests at heart, and if you can’t do that, leave her alone so she can find someone better suited to her!”

“This is having her best interests at heart!”

“Having her die because you have neither the fortitude nor inclination to help save her is having her best interests at heart?!”

The air stilled, Sebastian’s words thrown down like a gauntlet as the taller of the two raked his hands feverishly through his unruly curls. Fractures in what had once been an unshakable friendship forged together and splinter. The paths that Ominis and Sebastian were travelling on were diverging, a fork in the road, and neither boy wanted to travel on their path alone. Neither boy wanted to change their mind since they were adamant that the road they were traversing was the road to success.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about and you can go to hell, Sebastian!” Ominis snarled, shoving the bench he was sitting on roughly away from the table and storming off out of the doors of the Great Hall.

“I’ll meet you there!” Sebastian snarled back, rising up to follow so he could continue brokering his case. “This isn’t over, Ominis! You know it’s not!”

The echoes of Sebastian’s harsh, gravelly tones chased Ominis as he trundled towards the Undercroft, the slap of the soles of his shoes hitting the paved floor louder than the thunder that had been rumbling around the hall. The frustration, the anger, the helplessness of the situation all bubbled vigorously within him, and he fought to keep his composure even though his emotions were threatening to break free.

Why can’t he understand that this isn’t the way forward?! Anne won’t want this! She won’t want to be saved by him sullying his soul!

And yet despite his resolute stance, Ominis wondered if Sebastian could be right.

After all, Sebastian had been right when he pushed Anne out of the way so he could receive the kiss that Ominis was about to press onto Anne. As frustrated and embarrassed as he was at the time, Ominis quickly realised that his and Anne’s first kiss was meant to be a profound, tender moment, like secrets traded as hushed whispers in the privacy of their own cocoon, not a drunken collision that would be scarred and marred by the presence of others. Anne had most certainly taken matters into her own hands when they had sobered up and the embarrassment died down. She snuck into Ominis’ dormitory when the Slytherin boys were at dinner and Sebastian was on detention to give the towhead a thorough education on how un-stubbly her lips were when compared to her brother.

To do what Sebastian wanted would be opening a part of himself that terrified Ominis. He had seen how using Dark Magic on a regular basis had turned Marvolo into a cold, twisted, sick individual, with no sense of ethics or morality. Ominis had bolted that door shut long ago and had no intention of ever discovering how depraved he could become to live up to the Gaunt name. Opening that door would invite the world to see that he was a true Gaunt, a boy that couldn’t escape from the riptide he was swimming against.

But this could cure Anne and I can’t let her suffer anymore. Sebastian is right; Anne deserves the best.

Ominis stood with his back against the wall, hand rubbing agitatedly at his forehead. The pulse of the storm outside echoed through his veins. Somewhere in the distance, he could have sworn he heard Sebastian’s voice calling out to him, a thin thread of hope lingering in the tension that existed between them. But that wasn’t right – it must have been wishful thinking on Ominis’ part – since Sebastian never backed down from a fight.

Ominis wasn’t sure if he was saving Sebastian from himself, saving Anne from Sebastian or saving himself, but he was certain that it didn’t matter.

All roads that could be travelled would lead to the same destruction.

Sebastian Sallow was a man of many talents and many flaws.

When the red mist descended over his eyes, all he could focus on was the person or the event that drove him to that point. He hurricaned his way through the halls, hollering at Ominis, his anger blinding him to the students that were hurriedly trying to move out of his way, scrambling for purchase against the walls. He was so steamed he didn’t even realise he had knocked someone down in his haste to chase Ominis. A little squeak, an annoyed groan and a huge exhale of air distracted him from his mission. He growled as he watched Ominis slip out of his grasp and then turned his eyes downwards.

“Mia? I must apologise profusely; I didn’t see you there.” He held out his hand and pulled her up off the ground. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Amelia managed, smoothing out the wrinkles and ruffles in her shirt and skirt and fluffing about with her hair that had worked its way loose from the braid Natty had styled for her that morning. She sighed as she saw her bag had split open from the collision and knelt down, sweeping up the ink bottles, scrolls of parchment, quills and other miscellaneous items that had skittered free and were rolling down the hallway. Her wand lay on the floor too; Sebastian frowned as he picked it up. Amelia still hadn’t gotten herself a wand grip and it was a wonder that her fingers hadn’t fatigued from all the spellcasting she was doing.

“Move out of the way, Mia,” he commanded, and with a sweeping motion of her wand, he summoned all of her belongings back into her bag, packed more neatly than Amelia could ever hope of doing on her own.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Amelia smiled, the grin faltering as she took in his expression. His brow was furrowed, wrinkles in his forehead visible as if he had been frowning, tips of his ears red hot. “What’s wrong, Sebastian?”

“Just an argument with Ominis.” Sebastian shook himself as if he was ridding his mind of the storm cloud that hovered over him. “Nothing you can really help with.”

Amelia arched her eyebrow at him, arms crossed against her chest. Sebastian smirked ever so slightly, recognising the signs that showed Amelia was challenging him, daring him to ask her to prove him wrong. It was something he was going to be able to use to his advantage.

The first meeting between Amelia and Ominis had gone disastrously; Sebastian had shown her the Undercroft and had taught her confringo there, just as he had done so with Ominis all those years ago. It was simply so that Amelia had another spell in her repertoire to use when they were duelling in Crossed Wands, but it did also provide her with a small area so she could catch up on the years of magical education she had missed.

Not that Sebastian thought she needed it; she was particularly adept at picking up new spells and potions he taught her, often casting them near perfect after five or six practices of them. It was comfortable and tense all at the same time, the more romantic connection that neither of them wanted to acknowledge growing ever stronger between them. It was the proverbial elephant in the room; something neither of them wanted to talk about.

But after their run-in, Sebastian noticed how Ominis’ guard around Amelia lowered. He seemed receptive to her thoughts and ideas, more so than he ever was with Sebastian. Knowing that Amelia felt like she owed him a favour as he had taken the fall for her in the Restricted Section, and knowing that Ominis was more likely to listen to her instead of him in this instance, Sebastian made a calculated gamble in letting Amelia in on his plan.

“Well, maybe you can help,” he smiled, charming and disarming, with all his teeth showing. He slung his arm around her shoulder, jolting as a familiar yet curious feeling shot up his arm at the contact, steering her to a quiet alcove with two Chesterfield armchairs. He settled in, shifting his weight and leaning forward conspiratorially so his elbows rested on his knees. Amelia mimicked him, legs crossed as she placed her elbows on the armrest of the chair.

“I have a lead on something that might help Anne. It’s located at Hogwarts, so it’s convenient to get to. Problem is, only Ominis will be able to access the entryway.”

“Why?” Amelia could see where the conversation was headed; she would wager what meagre savings she had scrounged from around the castle that Sebastian wanted her to convince Ominis to bend to his indomitable will.

“Ominis is a Parselmouth – he can talk to snakes. It’s a talent he likes to keep hidden. In fact, anything to do with Salazar Slytherin is a connection he likes to keep hidden. I’ve tried to wheedle him into at least telling me where in Hogwarts Slytherin’s Scriptorium is located, but he’s very closed lipped. Annoyingly stubborn, that one.”

Amelia flashed Sebastian a quick grin, pearly-whites glinting under the soft glow of candles in the sconce on the wall. Ominis and Sebastian were more alike than they thought. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to outstubborn Sebastian, which meant that outstubborning Ominis into submission for Sebastian’s cause would be a piece of cake.

“Well, come on, then. Let’s go find Ominis.”

A bushy eyebrow quirked upwards as Amelia’s stomach growled in hunger, a rumble that echoed through the alcove. She flushed as bright as her hair, inwardly cursing at her body for betraying her, while Sebastian laughed.

“No,” Sebastian decided, looping her arm through his and taking her to the Great Hall, as if he were a gentleman courting his lady. “You need to eat dinner first, keep your energy up. Then we can tackle Ominis together. We might be in for a long night.”

Chapter Text

The lanterns illuminated the stone hallway, the damp of the dungeons seeping into her bones and making Amelia shiver slightly. From where he was a few steps behind her, Sebastian frowned as he noticed her quake, the blue tinge around the tips of her fingers and lips, and he slipped his robe off his shoulders and draped it over her. Amelia smiled her thanks, inhaling the familiar scent of old parchment, leather, cedar smoke and star anise that was Sebastian Sallow.

“He’s just up there,” Sebastian murmured, pointing to where Ominis was pacing in a distressed manner. “I’ll stay here; this might be a conversation that Ominis will swallow better without me present.”

Amelia nodded, breathed in deep to let the scent of Sebastian’s robes quash her mounting nerves, and with a confidence she didn’t feel, strode over to him.

“Ominis,” she said, softly, not to startle him but to break him out of his troubled reverie. “May I trouble you for a talk?”

“It’s not trouble when it comes from you, Miss. Calloway,” Ominis spat out pointedly. He sniffed the air and glowered even harder. “And if Sebastian is here, I will be leaving.”

“He’s not here.”

Ominis scoffed. “I did not pick you for a liar, Miss. Calloway; I can smell his aftershave.”

“He’s not here, Ominis. I wouldn’t take advantage of your lack of sight like that. He gave me his robe earlier because I was cold and I’m still wearing it.”

Ominis stared at her, his milky, unseeing irises somehow meeting hers as his wand surveyed the scene. He nodded when he realised she was telling the truth and gestured for her to continue. Amelia floundered, her jaw snapping open and shut several times. Ominis took pity on her, sighing deeply.

“I can’t, Miss. Calloway. I know what he wants, I know what he’s put you up to. My decision remains resolute. This is not what Anne would want. The answers to her ailment will not be in there.”

“Perhaps not, but perhaps Sebastian needs to see that with his own eyes to let it go. Closure in a more tangible form.”

Ominis tilted his head to the side, quiet contemplation. That was a perspective he had never considered before. Having known Sebastian since he was eleven, Ominis knew how stubborn, headstrong and determined his friend can be. He knew how reckless and selfless Sebastian could be, always searching for ways to make other people’s life easier, always trying to ease their pain because he couldn’t bear to see it scrawled across their face. Empathy was an unusual trait in a Slytherin, but one Ominis greatly admired and appreciated in Sebastian.

“Salazar Slytherin embodied traits that, when used for moral and ethical, purposes, should be lauded. Cunningness, resourcefulness, determination, but when that’s coupled with a dangerous desire for power and control over something that is beyond control, it is a dangerous thing indeed. Slytherin was corrupted by power, turning to Dark Magic to maintain his hold and control when his world crumbled and people he thought were allies turned their back on him. I don’t want Sebastian to succumb to that fate.”

“He won’t,” Amelia reassured Ominis, tentatively reaching up to pat him on the shoulder. Ominis flinched and jerked at the contact, not expecting it at all. “You’re too good a friend to let that happen, Ominis.” She hesitated, watching the subtle signs of Ominis’ body language, the way his fingers stopped gripping his biceps tight and simply rested against the material of his shirt, the minute relaxation of his shoulders at her words, the soft exhale that blew out through his nose. “And I’ll help you with him too.”

Ominis’ head dipped up and down briefly. “Don’t mistake my reluctance in his venture as me being against his cause; I just don’t think the means justifies the end.”

“But this might mean the end. If there’s nothing to be found, it can be put to rest. Sebastian won’t be able to let this go if he has what if running through his head.”

It was a compelling argument, and Ominis was tiring of the circular conversation. It seemed that whenever he was with Sebastian, he was badgered about the Scriptorium, and Sebastian had now roped Amelia Calloway into his crusade to wear down his defences. Unfortunately for Ominis, Sebastian’s ploy was working, and he pinched the webbing of skin between his finger and his thumb.

“Alright,” he muttered, against his better judgement. “We do this, and it’s the last thing we ever do. Promise me, Miss. Calloway, that you can make Sebastian see sense and let this go.”

Amelia’s first ever friend was Sebastian, and she liked to think she knew him well; she was well aware that Sebastian would continue to pursue a cure for Anne, but perhaps not down this avenue once they exhausted the possibility of it. She smiled, charming and disarming, a perfect replica of Sebastian’s disingenuous smile, and voiced her agreement.

“I suppose you should get him, then,” Ominis sighed, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning against.

“Sorry?”

“No time like the present. Get Sebastian so we can do this before I change my mind.”

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Amelia scurried back to where Sebastian had been pacing feverishly. Her mind was racing; she had never seen Ominis concede to Sebastian’s whims so easily, and the manipulation she had enacted on him weighed heavily in her chest, but when she thought about how happy the news would make Sebastian, the tight coil unfurled just a little, making it slightly easier to breathe.

“He said yes,” she said, breathlessly, blue eyes roving across Sebastian’s face, noting the way the twitching of his muscles near his eye stopped in the relief of it all. His brown eyes, ones that had been clouded over with anxiety and worry, cleared, but there was still the shadow of hesitancy buried deep in the depths of his irises.

“He did?”

“Yes, but we need to move quickly before Ominis changes his mind.” Amelia reached out and grabbed Sebastian by the hand without thinking about it. A spark flitted between them, a sizzle in the air as their skin touched, scorching Sebastian as he twitched from the familiarness and unfamiliarness of it all. Amelia laughed nervously, dropping his hand as quickly as she had grasped it and she took a few more steps forward, distancing herself from him. “Come on, Sebastian, we’ve no time to lose.”

Sebastian grinned at her enthusiasm on his behalf, his genuine, crooked smile, but didn’t move. “Thank you, Mia,” he murmured softly, expression a combination of wistful and something he couldn’t identify as he stared at her. His robe was still on her, far too big for her but her overwhelming determination to help him and doggedness at wearing Ominis down made her fill his robe better than he ever could. “Seriously, thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Amelia nodded; his words rang true. As someone with no family, Amelia would never truly know what it meant to love someone so much that there was no line she wouldn’t cross for them. They moved in tandem, striding together side-by-side until they reached Ominis.

“Well, ready to see for yourself that this isn’t worth it?” Ominis asked, stern and sharp as ever.

Sebastian glanced at Amelia. Amelia glanced at Sebastian. Brown eyes met blue, and they both nodded resolute. Sebastian, because this was something he had wanted to do since he had learnt the Scriptorium was a thing; Amelia, because she thought there may have been a chance for her to learn more about Ancient Magic in there.

“We are.”

Ominis said nothing, lips downturned and sour; he was hoping that the five minute interlude had made them reconsider, but he had also swallowed the bitter pill of knowing he’d most likely have to accompany them into the Scriptorium, if only so they could use his ability with Parseltongue to get to their destination as quickly as possible. He felt the warm hand of Sebastian squeeze his shoulder lightly, an unspoken thanks as well as a fortification for whatever came next. Ominis patted Sebastian’s knuckles before plucking the hand off his shoulder, and without saying a word, the trio headed down a shadowed hallway, the weight of what was to come pressing down heavily on them.

The flames of the fire licked the safety grate as Silas Sallow and Aesop Sharp settled into the armchairs that were in Silas and Emerys Sallow’s office. Bottles of non-alcoholic Butterbeer were uncorked and a tipple was poured into the lowball tumblers Emerys had hidden in a drawer in her desk from before her sabbatical. Aesop, surprisingly philosophical of the two, stared into the flames, trying to unravel what secrets it held.

Silas and Aesop had started a tentative habit; on the evenings that neither of them were on after-hours patrol, which was once a fortnight, they settled into one or the other’s office and reminisced about their own school years at Hogwarts. The conversations came easier since Silas had revealed that he knew about Aesop’s unrequited feelings towards Emerys and held no grudge against him for that, but Aesop still chose his words carefully around Silas.

“How’s Seb’s probation going?” Silas asked suddenly, swirling the dregs of the golden liquid around in his glass as though he was a Seer, trying to foretell his son’s future and see if he was going to remain a law-breaking rebel.

Aesop’s dark eyes sidled over to Silas, slightly narrowed. He was astute enough to read between the lines and figure out what Silas was really asking. Aesop took a slow sip of his Butterbeer – anything to stall to give him time to answer – before meeting Silas’ eyes.

“Sebastian is stubborn,” Aesop began slowly, no doubt telling Silas something he already knew. Silas stared back, unblinking and deadpanned expression on his face. “He has potential to do great things; it’s his recklessness and his inability to slow down and think things through to completion that will get him in the end. If he can focus his energy on something other than pushing boundaries, he’ll get through his probation fine. The boy’s heart is in the right place; it’s his notion that rules are suggestions rather than mandates that will get him into trouble every time.”

Silas sighed and placed his glass down on the table between them with a heavy thud. “Recklessness and a penchant for disregarding rules is a Dawson family trait, not a Sallow one.”

“Emerys incarnate,” Aesop agreed, lips twitching as his heart twinged. “That’s the dangerous part, Silas, as well as his tendency to flirt with the absolute truth. Sebastian can see that the forest is on fire, tries to put it out with a cup of water, but remains oblivious to the fact that he’s the one holding the match that lit the flames in the first place. He can’t see wood for trees.”

Silas hummed quietly, thinking about the run-in he had with his son in the Restricted Section of the library a week ago. He hadn’t disclosed Sebastian’s indiscretions to Aesop – something that gnawed away at him – and had found hair nor hide of Amelia in the library as he chased her down; just a dead end, stone wall. He grimaced at the realisation that his son was so able to manipulate him, and it was his shame that made him keep that to himself, as well as an overwhelming desire to protect his son as much as he could. He had only divulged the events of that night to Emerys via owl; it had taken him the better part of two hours to talk her down from firing off a Howler to their son to humiliate him into submission at breakfast the next morning, and Emerys was at a loss too. How had two competent adults been able to lose control of their wayward son?

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Silas swallowed, breaking the cardinal rule of parenting. He was asking the question he didn’t want an answer to.

Aesop smiled, a small, knowing smile. “It’s not about if he’ll make it. It’s about whether he wants to. Only Sebastian can change the path he’s on before it’s too late. Unfortunately, even though you’re his father, that’s not a decision you can make.”

Silas nodded dumbly. When Emerys was pregnant and they planned out their parenthood, they had never considered what they would do with a headstrong, stubborn, reckless boy, and it felt like he and Emerys were always playing catch-up when it came to parenting Sebastian. In a lot of ways, they were more prepared for Anne than they were him. Not to say that Anne didn’t bring her own challenges when it came to raising her, but it was something that Silas felt he was better at.

The heat of the flames was unable to cut through the deadweight resting on his chest as Aesop’s words echoed through Silas’ mind. It’s not about if he’ll make it; it’s whether he wants to. How many times had he tried to gently steer Sebastian into a path of making good choices, only to find that damned Sallow determination and dogged Dawson stubbornness made a dangerous combination in his son.

Silas rose up sharply from his chair, riffled through the bottom drawer of his desk and sighed as he stared at the parchments in his hands. The trinkets of love that his children had bestowed upon him were held in his hands; there was a stick-figure portrait of two males with the words daddy and me printed childishly on the bottom of the page. Silas could remember the day Sebastian had proudly presented him with his masterpiece; it was late in the evening and Emerys (before she had been hired at Hogwarts) and the children were joining in him Hogsmeade to celebrate his birthday. Work had finished early; Silas was on a bench near the lake, reading the evening edition of The Daily Prophet when Sebastian launched himself into his arms and declared loudly and proudly that he loved his father almost as much as he loved his mother, and definitely more than the cat Emerys insisted the children had as a pet.

Behind that was the picture Sebastian had scribbled at St. Mungo’s Hospital, the family portrait that didn’t include Anne since she had just socked him in the face so hard his teeth fell out and his nose was broken. Silas could feel the failure mounting inside of him as he remembered the gentle parenting approach he had taken to scold his son in the waiting room.

Was I too soft on him? Too hard? Too lackadasial when it came to him?

Silas had never been a father that could assert his dominance and issue commands over his children without reason or provocation, but now he was feeling like there was no right approach with Sebastian. There was so much of Emerys in his son, so much compassion, resilience, and an intelligence that was both a blessing and a curse. He flicked through the parchment, each image evoking a memory of Sebastian and he wondered when he had lost hold of the little boy that was his son.

“I’ve lost him, Aesop. How do I get him back?”

Aesop placed his glass down on the table deliberately. A gnarled hand clapped Silas’ shoulder as Aesop came to stand behind him. “You can’t save someone that doesn’t want to save themselves. Trust me, Silas, I have borne this experience many times before. All you can do is be there when they fall and hope that they’ve learnt something to help them rise back up again.”

There was a pregnant pause, the weight of a discussion welling up between them.

“Has Sebastian considered the proposition I suggested to you and Emerys?”

Silas vacillated. Both Emerys and Silas agreed that Aesop’s suggestion of getting the boy counselling was good – after everything he had seen and was facing, Sebastian needed an outlet that wasn’t illegal – but convincing Sebastian of the fact was easier said than done. Sebastian, as Emerys had predicted, had taken the implication of needing therapy with all the grace of a raging bull. The teenager had glowered at his parents, pretzelling himself up into a tight knot when the mentioned it and tried to advocate for Sebastian to have weekly appointments with Healer Fray. The boy had adamantly stated that there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn’t broken and didn’t need fixing before storming out of Silas’ office, slamming the door behind him. Emerys was ready to chase Sebastian down and berate him into accepting counselling but Silas held her back, convincing her that forcing Seb into therapy would backfire; Sebastian had to come to that realisation himself for it to be successful.

“Sometimes I wish I had the power to make this easier,” Silas muttered, with all the conviction of a father that felt like he had failed his children. Haunted eyes met Aesop’s compassionate glance.

“If it was easy, Silas, it wouldn’t be worth it in the end.”

The air hissed around them, chilled breeze snaking between the gaps of their shoulders. Amelia burrowed herself further into Sebastian’s robe, eyes sliding cautiously between Sebastian and Ominis. She had thought their friendship had reached a tentative truce, but another spat between the boys had driven another gulf of distance between them.

A letter written by Noctua Gaunt had shaken both of them to the core; Amelia didn’t understand the significance of the name until Ominis revealed that his aunt had known of the Scriptorium – Sebastian had taken umbrage at the fact that Ominis had kept secrets from him, conveniently forgetting that he had kept just as much secret from Ominis – and that she had gone looking for the Scriptorium to prove that Salazar Slytherin wasn’t a crackpot loony that indulged in Dark Magic, as he had been portrayed over the centuries.

There had been notes from Noctua, hinting at macabre challenges that lay ahead. Ominis had tried to get Sebastian and Amelia to return, wringing his hands and barely suppressing the note of panic in his voice when he realised he had to use Parseltongue to open the door to the hidden antechamber. Amelia had been in awe of Ominis when he let out a strangled hiss from the back of his throat, and a snarked, throwaway comment from Sebastian about being left out between the two of them had driven both of their moods even further south.

Their footsteps echoed, the noise bouncing around the halls as their shadows drew longer to keep them company until Sebastian came to a sudden stop, a dry retch reflexively bubbling to the surface as he took in the scene in front of him. Amelia collided into the back of Sebastian, a small grunt at the collision of her face into his shoulder.

“Why did you stop?”

“Don’t let Ominis see this,” Sebastian muttered tightly, using his arms and chest to shield Amelia from the sight in front of him. “Keep him from the room.”

“I’d like to remind you that he’s blind, so he won’t be able to see this anyway, but why?” Amelia pressed, both with her body as she tried to peer around him and with the urgency in her tone. The hair on the back of her head stood up on end, goosebumps formed on her skin, every sense went into overdrive. There was a faint buzz, a hum of flies, the scuttle of bugs on the floor. The stench was overwhelming, rotten meat, the taste of stale air and death lingered on her tongue. She stood in tip-toe so she could peer around his shoulder and instantly regretted the decision to do so.

A shock of long, blonde hair, so similar to Ominis’, was the first thing Amelia registered. Eyes had liquified into pools of goop, muscle and skin stripped away from bone to reveal the hollows of her cheekbones. Necrotic flesh hung loosely from her skull, a feast for rats and scavengers alike. The clothing on the skeletal figure was dusty, frayed, and hanging off the bones of the body.

Amelia swallowed her revulsion and buried her face into Sebastian’s shoulder, hoping that the smell of him – cedar smoke, star anise and leather – would seep into her nostrils and mask the vomit-inducing stench.

“Sebastian? Miss. Calloway? Why have you stopped?” Ominis sniffed the air, gagging as he did so. “Is that…” Ominis’ voice petered off into nothing as the bile ejected from his mouth and splattered onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, Ominis,” Sebastian murmured, offering up condolences as if that would make everything better. Ominis wiped at his mouth, knelt down and felt the ground beneath him. His slender fingers brushed over the bony protrusions of Noctua’s knuckles and Ominis vomited again, stomach acid pooling beneath him and souring the air as he heaved his guts out.

Amelia nestled into the crook of space between Sebastian’s neck and shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as if that would eradicate the grotesque image from her mind. The stench was unbearable, Ominis’ distress bearing down on them and difficult to watch in its rawness; the only saving grace for Amelia was Sebastian’s presence. The warmth of his back against her gave her something tangible to hold onto, grounding herself in what was becoming a bizarre and nightmarish experience.

“Sebastian,” Amelia murmured into the cotton of his shirt as she shucked off his robe. “We can’t just leave Ominis’ aunt here. She deserves to be at rest.”

“We can’t exactly cart a dead body around the school. It’d be a bit conspicuous,” Sebastian countered quietly so his voice didn’t distress Ominis even more, brows furrowed into a tight frown as his gaze fixed on the door Noctua’s body was leaning against.

“The Scriptorium will have to wait,” Amelia declared, kneeling down tucking Sebastian’s Slytherin robe around Noctua as she scowled heavily at his one-tracked mind. “This is more important.”

Amelia gently cradled the skeleton of Noctua Gaunt in her arms as she rose to her feet. What was left of Noctua’s body was so light Amelia didn’t struggle under the strain of it as she stormed her way back to the entrance they had walked through.

“Don’t bother,” Ominis groaned, once more wiping at his mouth as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He clung onto Sebastian, unseeing eyes glittering with water that had gathered in his lash line. Amelia didn’t know if the water was from his violent upchucking or a reaction to discovering his aunt’s body. “The door I opened up with Parseltongue disappeared as soon as we entered. I think it’s a one-way portal. The only way to go back is forward.”

“And how do we do that?” Amelia asked, eyes slowly swivelling back to Sebastian who was studying the only doorway in the room intently. There was a dour expression on his face, something Amelia had never seen before and something she never wanted to see again.

Sebastian inhaled sharply and pointed to the words that were emblazoned on the frame. Twisted faces in the door, frozen in moments of agony. Crucio. “It’s not good.”

“Understatement of the century, Sebastian,” Amelia snorted, backing away. There was something discomfiting about the faces in the door, and even though Amelia didn’t understand what the word crucio meant, the chill that slithered down her spine was indication enough that it was macabre in nature. Ominis tugged at the sleeve of her shirt and briefly, Amelia filled him in on what they were seeing. Sebastian’s eyes, brown and beseeching, turned to Ominis. The intensity of his gaze was overpowering, but Ominis stood his ground.

“No. Absolutely not, Sebastian! Not after last time, not after what you know my family put me through! You cannot ask me to do this! It’s Unforgivable for a reason!”

“Sebastian? What does that mean?” Amelia’s voice rang sharp and tart through the air. Having grown up in St. Calloway’s Orphanage, unforgivable meant blasphemy – even taking God’s name in vain meant a sharp rap across the knuckles with a leather whip by the Sisters, standing outside with the snow and rain ripping through her and having whatever meagre rations allocated to her stripped from her until she repented – and Amelia was unsure how anything in the Magical World could be unforgivable since the concept of God didn’t really exist.

“It means if we cast the Cruciatus Curse, the door will open.”

“Then let’s do that!”

“No!” Ominis howled, pacing aggressively as he raked his hands through hair that was dishevelled. “The Cruciatus Curse is the Torture Curse! It is designed to inflict pain you can’t even imagine onto others. It can drive you to insanity! I was forced to use it on Muggles and I tortured myself with the guilt afterwards for years! It will cost you more than words can describe if you do this.”

“We have no other options, Ominis. If we don’t, we’ll die.”

“And whose fault is that?!” Ominis shrieked, shrinking back as far away from the door and turtling in on himself, head bowed so his chin was tucked into his chest.

“I’m aware of whose fault it is!” Sebastian roared back, tips of his ears burning as red as Amelia’s hair. “But instead of wallowing and throwing myself a pity-party for one, I’m trying to find a way out of it!”

“As you should!” Ominis growled, rankled at the insinuation. “Since you’re the one that led us here!”

Sebastian could feel his hands curling into fists. His blood thundered in his ears and he reminded himself to breathe in deep, count to ten, and breathe out slow, not allowing himself to punch Ominis in his smug face because deep down, Sebastian knew Ominis was right.

“Sebastian,” Amelia said, manoeuvring herself between the two boys as she gently lay Noctua down on the ground, still wrapped in Sebastian’s robe. “Stop. Arguing isn’t going to solve our problem.” She speared Ominis a look, empathy and compassion carved into her face. “You can’t ask him to do this, Sebastian. He’s traumatised. Find another way.”

Sebastian shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his neck uneasily. “There might be another way.” He hesitated. “I could teach you crucio so you can cast it on me.”

Amelia gaped at him, the implication of what he was asking her to do weighed heavily in the palm of her hand. How could she, in good conscience, deliberately cast a curse that would make Sebastian suffer? Ominis had described it as a curse designed to inflict untold pain onto others, and since he was the only one in the room that had had any experience of the curse, she was inclined to believe him.

“It’s Unforgivable, Sebastian.”

“It’s only Unforgivable if I don’t consent,” Sebastian levelled back easily, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive manner, and for the first time since knowing him, Amelia was not distracted by his muscle as she was too preoccupied with his proposition. He shot her a smile, his disingenuous smile, to put her at ease. “We are quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place, and we have no other option. It’s not Unforgivable, Mia, because you won’t be doing anything I need to forgive.”

Amelia gritted her teeth, on edge, gripped her wand tightly and nodded. The scent of Sebastian moving around her as he taught her the Cruciatus Curse didn’t quite calm her nerves, as it usually did, and that underscored how dangerous and diabolical their situation was.

“It’s okay, Mia,” Sebastian reassured her as he stood opposite her. “I forgive you.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes, expression unreadable as she gripped her wand so tight her fingertips went white. The words I forgive you weren’t an absolution for her; instead, they writhed around the pit of her stomach, rolling and churning like a tempestuous sea. Even though Sebastian had consented, using the Cruciatus Curse on him felt like a betrayal. But the weight of their dilemma suffocated her; if she used the curse, she would be subjecting Sebastian to a world of pain and breaking something within herself. But if she didn’t, she was condemning them to a slow and painful death anyway.

“Mia, do it and mean it!” Sebastian urged, bracing himself for the impact. “I forgive you.”

Turning her head away, Amelia raised her wand and pointed it squarely at Sebastian’s chest, hand trembling from the enormity of it all.

“Crucio!” she squeaked out, closing her eyes so she didn’t see him writhing around, clamping her free arm over her ears so she didn’t hear his anguish.

The silence in the room was deafening. Ominis didn’t even hear the sound of Sebastian’s body hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. There was no scream, no plea for the pain to stop.

Just silence.

“Miss. Calloway?” Ominis asked tentatively, unable to mask the relief in his voice.

“I can’t do it, Ominis. I’m sorry, Sebastian, but I can’t bring myself to mean to hurt you.”

Sebastian nodded and exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. They were back to square one.

“You could cast it on me,” Amelia offered, so quietly her words almost dissipated into the ether.

“What?!”

“You could cast the curse on me instead.” Amelia’s blue gaze, dark and unwavering, met Sebastian’s as she placed her wand in his hand. “It’s okay, Sebastian. I can take it. I forgive you.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, understanding what Amelia was really doing and doing for him, and his fingers tightened around her wand as he adopted the Triangular Stance. His eyes roved over Amelia’s face, soft, delicate and something he knew he couldn’t bring himself to ruin, so instead he imagined that it was one of the Ashwinders that ransacked Feldcroft a year ago standing in front of him. He imagined that it was one of Ranrok’s Loyalist goblins facing off at him, let the anger and pent up resentment flow through his veins so he could mean it, truly make them suffer.

“Crucio!”

A high pitched, keening noise pierced the air. Amelia’s arms and legs flailed about as if independent to her body, twisting and contorting so unnaturally Ominis could have sworn he heard her tendons and ligaments tear. Hot tears spilled out from the corners of her eyes, glazed over in pain, as she frothed at the mouth, choking on her own tongue.

“That’s enough, Sebastian!” Ominis demanded, storming over to him so he could rip the wand out of the brunet’s hand. Unnecessary, as Sebastian had immediately let his hand go lax and Amelia’s wand dropped to the floor. “Enough. You’ve done enough. Pick her up; I heard the doorway open.”

Pale faced and shaking, Sebastian knelt down to where Amelia was whimpering on the floor. He brushed the stray hairs away from her forehead and whispered, “are you alright?”

Amelia cracked open one eye to glare balefully at him, making Sebastian feel like he was the stupidest man to walk the planet for asking a dumb question. “Just do what you need to do,” she groaned, sliding herself along the floor so she made it through the archway. Sebastian hesitated, torn between looking after his needs and looking after her, and she swatted at his legs, not wanting what she had endured to be in vain.

“Go,” she insisted as she curled up into a ball. “Find what you need so we can get out of here.”

Sebastian’s heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Amelia’s spine curve so she formed a comma, the image of her pain forever etched into his retina, burning a hole in his brain. He wanted to stay with her, hold her close and comfort her while her pain subsided, but he knew he couldn’t do that; he had to make sure he found Slytherin’s book so what he did wasn’t for naught.

“Ominis,” he muttered, and the towhead nodded, kneeling beside Amelia and squeezing her hand gently every time she grimaced or groaned.

“I have her. You find what you dragged us into this hellhole for,” Ominis grumbled, a jumble of emotions warring within him as he heard Sebastian stomp his way away. “We’ll have to take her back to the Slytherin Dormitory; there’s no chance of her climbing all those stairs to get back to the Gryffindor Tower.”

Sebastian concurred, slipping the book he had located into his pocket before scurrying back to sweep Amelia into his arms. Grasping Ominis by the shoulder – an apology and a murmur of thanks all rolled into one – Sebastian led them through the passageway that would allow them to leave the Scriptorium.

Their footsteps echoed loudly as they sprinted back to the Slytherin Common Room, both knowing they were out after curfew and wanting nothing more than to get back to their respective beds and forget that any of this ever happened. Ominis was curt and abrupt, ripping the curtains around his four poster bed shut.

Sebastian sighed as he lay Amelia down on his mattress. She whimpered, quietly, as he tried to extract his hand from her vice-like grip.

“Mia, let me go,” he whispered, using his free hand to fish Buttons out from under his pillow and tuck the teddy bear in next to her. He hoped it would bring her some comfort, as the ratted, threadbare toy did for him. “You have the bed, I’ll take the floor. Like old times.”

“No. Stay. Please. You make it better.”

The sound was pitiful and pleading and that just about did Sebastian in. It went against his better judgement, but after the events that had just transpired, Sebastian realised his judgement wasn’t particularly good to begin with. There was something about the way she clung to him in desperate need that obliterated any rational thought from his head, and while making sure there was a respectable amount of space between their lower half, he slipped into his bed. His hand gripped her hand that held Buttons as he pulled her tight to his chest, a slight smile as she didn’t pull away from him, and he hoped that his presence could be of some comfort to her while she slept.

Chapter Text

Silas Sallow rubbed at the crick in his neck and stretched his limbs out as he yawned and rubbed at his bleary eyes. The conversation he had with Aesop Sharp hadn’t done much to reassure him as to Sebastian’s progress with his probation and Silas spent most of the night tossing and turning as he worried over his son. Silas pondered if he was feeling this out of sorts because he hadn’t spent much time with Sebastian outside of class and he was just missing his son; it was that thought that had him hurriedly dressing himself in his robes and heading from his office to the Slytherin Common Room.

The conversation with Aesop Sharp rang through Silas’ mind as he powered his way through the cobbled hallways of Hogwarts, the air cooling by degrees as he made his way from the Faculty Tower to the Dungeons. There was a gnawing feeling in his chest, a constant ache he couldn’t shake; was Sebastian’s struggles as dire as Silas thought it was, or was it his own anxiety as a parent that was painting everything shades darker than they should be?

He reached the door to the Slytherin Common Room, tapping with his wand against the stone to identify him as a member of staff and gain entry to the Slytherin sanctuary. While it wasn’t a privilege he abused often, it also wasn’t an unexpected sight to see Professor Silas Sallow in the Common Room, settled into an armchair by the fireplace as he waited for his children to emerge from their respective rooms. The Slytherin Quidditch Team were traipsing in behind him, Imelda roaring at her tired and dishevelled team a mile a minute, gesticulating wildly at her subordinates as she ripped them a brand new orifice.

“Imelda,” Silas said, standing up stiffly and interrupting her tirade. She had been ranting as she paced furiously backwards and forwards, shredding her already brow-beaten team to pieces. The team scowled at each other – usually their Vice-Captain was able to reign in their Captain’s behaviour, especially as the two had grown up together – but their saviour was missing in action. Silas was used to her fiesty disposition – Sophia Sallow had taken the young girl under her wing when she and Seb would play as youngsters and Imelda had clearly picked up on some of Silas’ mother’s temperament. “Where’s Sebastian?”

Imelda glowered and huffed out a breath, untying her hair and running a hand through the wild and untamed frizz. “Gaunt threatened to sic Black onto me and expel me if I barged into his dorm to wake him up for training today. I’m not taking that risk, not for him.”

Silas frowned; it was unlike Ominis to throw the weight of his family name around without justification, and if Ominis was using it for Sebastian, it meant that Sebastian had something to hide. Ominis, Silas knew, was a man of few words and quiet influence, using his perceived intimidating demeanour as a shield to protect others’ reputation. That he’d done so to protect Sebastian sent an uncomfortable feeling through him, and Silas wondered what his son had to hide. He wasn’t one for conspiracies, hoping that he had raised both his son and his daughter with enough discipline and safety for them to know that they could go to him and Emerys with any issues, but there was something about the situation that made him pause.

Silas quirked an eyebrow up at Imelda. She had grown up in Feldcroft, next door to his parents when they were still alive, and he had seen her grow from a small, shy reserved girl into the powerhouse that she was today. Sophia Sallow helped out Arabella Reyes – a single mother after the sudden death of her husband – by watching Imelda while she worked from dawn to dusk, and that was how Anne, Sebastian and Imelda got to know each other. Samuel Sallow would take them down to the small beach by the coast on hot, sticky summer days to teach them how to swim; the children would scream and splash around in the shallows of the waves at the end of their lesson, laughing and giggling as though they didn’t have a care in the world. There was a point in time that Silas thought Sebastian and Imelda would end up together, but as he watched them over the years, Sebastian became more of an older brother to Imelda, and Imelda became the confidant Sebastian relied on when he was at loggerheads with Anne. Both Sallow and Reyes knew each other inside out, which was why Silas Sallow had no qualms with questioning Imelda to get her opinion on Sebastian’s secretive side.

“You think Seb’s hiding something?” he asked quietly, his voice low and urgent, eyes trained on her as he watched her shift uncomfortably.

She didn’t answer immediately, but her already dark and stormy features clouded over, jaw tightening in a way that suggested the same thought had crossed her mind. “I don’t know, Professor Sallow. He’s not talking to me much about anything significant anymore; I hardly ever see him outside of the company of the new fifth year.”

Silas’ mind raced at the revelation. He had seen the undeniable pull Sebastian and Amelia had towards each other, but had never realised just how strong the connection was between then. Other staff members had made comments in passing about Sebastian and Amelia winding up together after they graduated from Hogwarts, but the way Imelda was speaking made Silas wonder if the relationship between the two adolescences had matured much faster than anyone had anticipated.

“Thank you, Imelda. Go wash up and get some breakfast.” Silas dismissed her with a flick of his head towards the girls dormitory and settled back into the armchair by the fireplace, clicking his tongue agitatedly as he glanced down at the pocket watch chained to his waistcoat. It was nearly 9am, most of the Slytherins were stumbling out of their dorms, stuffing parchment and textbooks into satchels that they slung over their shoulder before sidling out of the door. Silas had to bite back a smirk; when he and Emerys were in their seventh year, he had spent many a night with her in the Common Room, and he was familiar with how Slytherins were not the most lucid in the morning. Emerys was the same, preferring to remain curled up next to him with her head resting against his chest and skive off her first two lessons so she could continue to sleep while he tried to extricate himself from underneath her so he could go to his classes and not be written up for truancy.

As the haze of light refracted through the stained glass windows of the Common Room and the last of the students filtered out of the room, Silas sighed heavily. Sebastian hadn’t emerged, and based on what Aesop Sharp had said, his son completing his probationary period successfully teetered on a knife’s edge. The thought of Sebastian failing probation terrified Silas. There was no way he would willingly give his son up to the horrors of Azkaban should he fail probation, and Silas also knew that the Wizengamot were not particularly forgiving; they had given Sebastian one chance at redemption, but they wouldn’t offer it up again. There was nothing for it; Silas would just have to jolt Sebastian awake, withdraw him from his first period of the day and have a stern, blunt talk with his son.

Heavy footsteps traipsed up the metal stairs that squeaked in protest under Silas’ weight. His hand paused at the door of the Fifth Year Boys Dormitory, and he wondered if he should knock to announce his arrival, but Silas decided against it; he had the advantage of surprise at the moment. Stealthily, he pushed the door to the dorm open, dark eyes slowly surveying the room. Their were five beds in the room; four of them had the curtains tied around the four posts of the bed, while the bed that Silas knew was Sebastian’s had the curtains drawn closed.

Silas Sallow had to swallow his shock and horror when he yanked the curtain away from his son’s bed. The doona was pulled tight over a large lump – so large Silas would wager it was two people instead of one – and a tuft of auburn glinted contrastingly against the emerald green pillowcase, intertwined against mahogany, Buttons sandwiched between them. The doona shifted, revealing Sebastian and Amelia’s face. Amelia’s face pulled into a tight frown, lips downturned and eyebrows furrowing together as she tensed and whimpered in her sleep. Sebastian’s arm, wrapped around her torso, instinctively pulled her into him at the soft noise, a parenthesis bracketing something important. He, too, had a look of distress on his face, and Silas wondered what horrors the two shared.

Aesop’s words and Imelda’s suspicions were at the forefront of his mind. A father’s protective instincts to keep his little boy safe stirred within him, a cyclone ravaging his pleural cavity, as he came to the realisation that his son – the one that he could hold so easily in the crook of his elbow sixteen years ago, the one that would leap into his arms and nuzzle into his neck – wasn’t so little anymore and was on the precipice of being a man. The sight of Sebastian holding Amelia in a more intimate way than Silas was expecting hit him square in the chest; the unspoken bond between them wasn’t something he was sure he should start to unravel.

The soft sounds of their laboured yet synchronised breathing filled the room with an almost palpable tension. This was more than just a schoolboy crush, Silas realised, as Amelia whimpered once more and Sebastian pulled her so close to him it was hard to see where he ended and she began. Amelia, who softened and melted subconsciously into Sebastian, shifting her head so she slotted neatly under his chin, entwining herself so seamlessly and effortlessly into his life.

“Sebastian,” Silas said, firmly shaking his son by the shoulder. “Sebastian, wake up.”

“Go away,” Sebastian grunted sleepily and shifted, burrowing himself tighter into Amelia to get away from the person that was trying to rouse him from his slumber.

“I can’t do that, son. Wake up!” There was another, more urgent and sharp shake of his shoulder and Sebastian’s eyelids finally flickered open.

The teenager groaned as the light assaulted his eyes. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air, and the hot weight of Amelia pressed into his chest.

I could get used to this, Sebastian thought before he could stop himself, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He grimaced, reminding himself that Amelia was his friend, and she had expressed a fervent desire to remain so, not wanting to give into the burgeoning feelings that were blooming between then.

But then again, she had asked him to stay with her overnight, share his bed with her and hold her close. Perhaps her resistance to him was waning.

Sebastian raised his head off the pillow by degrees, knuckles pressing into the soft jelly of his eye to rub the sleep-dust out of it. Amelia stirred at the movement, blinking drowsily awake as Sebastian squirmed behind her. Her blue eyes widened in horror as she registered Sebastian’s dad standing in the room, watching over them as Sebastian held her in an embrace that indicated more than friendship, and she anxiously and hurriedly extracted herself from his grip. Sebastian’s eyes flicked to Amelia, soft and caramel, and then up to his father, morphing into obsidian with a hard, resolute glint in his eye, jaw jutting out defiantly as he challenged his father to comment on the sight he was seeing. “Dad? What the hell are you doing in here?!”

“We need to talk, son. You have two minutes to make yourself decent and materialise in the Common Room. Miss. Calloway, I suggest you leave the dormitory as swiftly and discreetly as possible, lest you and my son be subjected to the full extent of the Code of Conduct for Staff and Students; you are both far too young to be forced to be married to each other, despite the liberties you seem to have taken with each other overnight.”

Amelia flushed, the heat of her embarrassment leaching out from her skin and warming the room as she pulled her boots on and finger-combed her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her shirt and skirt were wrinkled from sleeping in them and she futilely tried to press the creases out with her hand. She shot Sebastian a furtive look, something unreadable in the depths of her eyes, and he nodded mutely.

Go, he mouthed at her. I’ll let my dad know nothing untoward happened between us and we’ll speak later.

In a flash of scarlet and red, she was gone. Something twinged as Sebastian watched her walk away, the feeling of knots tying his stomach and making him want to vomit. He breathed in deep, rummaged around in the trunk at the end of his bed for a new shirt to wear – the one he was in was as creased as old leather and carried the stench of stale sweat and despair from the Scriptorium – before hurriedly pulling the old shirt off and the new one on, securing the collar in place with his tie, the customary reading glasses locked into the double-Windsor knot at his throat. He swallowed as he stuffed his feet into his shoes, lacing them up tightly and double knotting them with hands that were trembling; the impending encounter with his father made him nervous.

There was no point putting off the inevitable. With a heavy sigh and all the enthusiasm of a man that had been condemned to death, Sebastian raked a hand through his hair, trying and failing to tidy it up as he fumbled his way into the Slytherin Common Room.

Silas leant against the mantlepiece above the fire, dark eyes trailing up and down over his son as if he was seeing his boy in an entirely new light. “Sebastian,” he began, voice low and stern, gesturing to an armchair by the fireplace, the one that he knew Sebastian favoured in the evenings while he was reading in the Common Room. “We need to have a serious conversation about what’s going on. About everything.”

Amelia grimaced as she winced her way onto her Potions stool, ducking her head as Professor Sharp docked her ten House Points for being ten minutes late to class. The look of disappointment on his face as he uttered the words was an absolute gut-wrench to Amelia, making her feel worse than she already did and she scrambled to open up her Potions book to the right page so she could start making her Polyjuice Potion.

“Ames? Are you alright?” Garreth asked, a tentative hand on her shoulder. Amelia winced once more – her muscles were still sore from enduring the Cruciatus Curse – and when Garreth squeezed her muscles, fire shot through her nerves and it felt like someone had cast incendio on her brain. She glowered at him, glacial blue eyes terrifying him into removing his hand.

“Where were you last night, Ames? Natty and I missed you at dinner. You missed the announcement of the Celestial Ball.”

Amelia let out a puff of air as she squinted at her textbook. The interrogation, while well-meant from Garreth, was not what Amelia was ready to face and it was making her feel like a wild animal trapped in a corner. She breathed in deep, counted to ten and breathed out slow, trying to relax and not jump down Garreth’s throat. The Cruciatus Curse had left an indelible mark on her, not just through physical pain, but it had also driven her mood south and she bit down on her lip to keep her irritability inside of her. Their night together had intensified the tangled mess of emotion that she had been repressing when it came to Sebastian, the tension that bubbled in the background whenever they were in the room together, their not-so-secret attraction to each other coming to the forefront of every interaction they had, and the intensity of it scared Amelia.

Sebastian was lucky; he had his father and mother and sister to dissect his feelings and emotions with. Amelia had no-one. Natsai and Garreth were confidants, but they were just as clueless as her when it came to matters of the heart; teenagers advising teenagers on romance was ill-advised. Not to mention, but Garreth would laugh until his bladder leaked and while Natsai wouldn’t say anything, the disapproving glare Natsai would send Amelia’s way were subtitles to Natsai’s innermost thoughts.

“I was… studying for my homework,” she mumbled, spitting the lie out from her lips. “Got to put in extra work so I can catch up to where everyone else is at since I only started this year.”

Garreth snorted at her words. “As if, Ames. You’re catching on and catching up quick, even faster than Leander Prewett in most case, and he’s been bragging about his magical prowess – such as it is – since he first started.”

Amelia huffed out an amused breath at the ribbing of Leander Prewett, but it didn’t distract her from her troubled thoughts. She couldn’t shake the feeling of Sebastian pressed into her last night, the heat and comfort of him draping over her like a cosy blanket, the way his arms encircled her and he instinctively drew her into the safety of him as she floundered in her sleep.

It wasn’t just friendship between them, it hadn’t been friendship between them for a long time, and Amelia was tired of trying to pretend that friendship was all they would ever have. She couldn’t deny it any longer; she wasn't scared of wanting more with him anymore.

“Riiiiight,” Garreth drawled out, sardonically amused expression that was so similar to Sebastian’s scrawled across his face. “Well, if you ever need a break from… studying with homework, Natty and I are here for you. Where is Homework - I didn't see him on the field for Quidditch Training.”

Amelia's face twisted, a cross between a smile and a grimace. She was genuinely grateful for the support Garreth was showing her, even though his words were laced with teasing innuendo.

“What’s the Celestial Ball?” she asked, using a silver knife to scrape flakes of Boomslang Skin into her cauldron.

“Annual Hogwarts tradition for Fifth Years and beyond. We have a Yuletide Feast for lunch and then the younger year groups are dismissed for the Christmas holidays. The older year groups are expected to engage in some of the formalities that exist in the Muggle world; similar to a Debutante Ball. There’ll be formal dancing, a sit-down, three course meal, and since Ministry officials are also in attendance, the Sixth and Seventh Years use it as an opportunity to network and secure jobs for when they leave school.”

Amelia nodded, a slight blush lining her cheeks as she imagined Sebastian standing in front of her in his finest livery, and she hid it by dipping her head as she leant over her potion. Focus, Amelia, she thought to herself, and stirred her Polyjuice Potion so the Knotgrass and Lacewing Flies didn’t burn at the bottom of her cauldron. The stirring of her potion was similar to the stirring of feelings within her, and Amelia came to the quick realisation that distracting herself from Sebastian wasn’t working. Her obsessive compulsion towards him scared her more than anything; she didn’t want to lose herself to him and have him walk away from her once he got what he wanted out of her, as everyone did in her life. It was why she had been pulling away from him; if she hurt him before he could hurt her, then it wouldn’t hurt as much, if at all.

But that had all been futile, and Amelia was finally ready to accept that whatever was brewing between her and a certain freckled-faced Slytherin heathen was a tsunami that had consumed her whole.

Professor Sharp moved around the room, peering over the shared table to check on Garreth’s and Amelia’s progress. As Sharp stood behind her, Amelia could feel his gaze linger on her, eyes dark and troubled, and she didn’t dare look up to meet them. She was well aware that Aesop Sharp was Sebastian Sallow’s probation officer, and after being caught in bed with him by Sebastian Sallow’s father – the father that was the probation officer’s best friend – Amelia was well aware that her proximity to Sebastian would now come under scrutiny by him too. It was the last thing she wanted, but she also understood that she had made her bed when she lay in Sebastian’s and would grit her teeth and bear whatever investigation Sharp would launch into her now, but if she could delay that, she would.

“Ames, I was thinking,” Garreth began, drawing her out of her reverie.

“Sounds like a dangerous pursuit, especially in the Potions classroom,” she quipped, the jest falling from her lips before she could stop it. Garreth glared playfully in response, but did have to concede that his reputation of experimenting with ingredient without considering the effects of them was well documented in this room.

“I was thinking that you and I could go to the Celestial Ball together,” Garreth continued, mustering as much dignity as he could after her jibe. “As friends,” he clarified at her expression, one that was slack-jawed and bug-eyed. “I know things are up in the air with you and Sebastian, and with myself and Natty… well, it’s complicated with her too. I’d rather spend the night with someone whose company I enjoy in a completely platonic way than spend the evening mooning over someone I’ll never have. What say you?”

Well, put like that, Garreth clearly had been thinking about it, and Amelia had to admit that he had a point. It would be her first ever formal event – Muggle or Magical – and she wanted to enjoy it for what it was worth rather than spend the evening wrestling with her feelings for Sebastian. There were worse things in life than spending an evening on Garreth Weasley’s arm, laughing and joking with him.

With a soft smile, she nodded. “Sure, Garreth, I’ll go to the Celestial Ball with you.”

Garreth grinned back in return, and Amelia tried to ignore the tightness in her chest when she realised Sebastian would end up attending the Celestial Ball with someone else.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 20th December 1865

The sound of a string quartet streamed throughout the Great Hall, candles floating around to bathe the room in a soft, ambient glow. Fifteen year old Silas Sallow picked at the skin on the side of his thumb as he sipped slowly from his goblet of pumpkin juice, eyes trained on the slim brunette standing on the opposite side of the hall to him. He squirmed uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeves and tie of his dark green dress robes – the hand-me-down from Solomon that was too big since Silas was rake-thin while Solomon was built like a tank – blushing and pretending that he hadn’t been staring at Emerys Dawson as if she was a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti when her eyes met his. She turned away to the posse she had come to the Celestial Ball with, shoulders moving up and down in a jagged fashion, and Silas could only surmise that the group of girls were laughing at him and the gormless expression that was no doubt plastered onto his face.

“Go for a dance with one of the girls, Silas,” Aesop said, swapping the goblet in Silas’ hand for a plate of hors d'oeuvre. Silas nodded dumbly, stuffing a smoked salmon and cream cheese on Scottish oatcakes into his mouth. “Better do so before they think you’re a crazed stalker with the way you’re staring at Emerys.”

“He can’t dance without making a fool of himself,” Solomon Sallow, in his seventh year, chortled, slapping a hand on his younger brother’s back, jovial, teasing smile on his face in the way only a big brother could tease a younger sibling. Silas choked on his mouthful, glaring and eyes watering as he tried to clear his lungs.

“Neither can you, Sol,” Silas rebutted, using a napkin to wipe off half-masticated crumbs from his robes.

“Aye,” Solomon agreed with an easy laugh. “But I’m not here for the women; I’m here for the networking. Plenty of time for me to settle down, find a wife and have kids once I’m established in my career. Need to make a good living as an Auror for that to happen. Besides, if you keep remaining as hapless and hopeless as you are now, I’ll still manage all of that before you. After all, I’m the more accomplished between the two of us – aren’t the Professors forever comparing you to me?”

Silas couldn’t suppress his snort in time; Solomon was even more introverted and awkward than he was, so hell would have to freeze over in order for Solomon to have to settle down before Silas. Solomon was just as able to make a fool of himself as Silas was, and unlike Silas, Solomon didn’t cope with others laughing, poking fun at him or just flat out rejecting him. It brought out an anger in Solomon that even Silas shrunk away from.

The younger of the Sallows turned back, eyes glazing over in a hopeless fashion as he watched Emerys Dawson twirl around the dancefloor reluctantly in the arms of another Slytherin – a Sixth Year named Bartlett who had an air about him that made Silas’ skin writhe and crawl with discomfort – and his fingers gripped the plate so tight the plate splintered into pieces. Emerys was sublime, her chocolate brown locks curled and braided and pinned in an intricate manner that captivated him; her makeup so light and natural that it was barely noticeable and only served to enhance how stunning she always looked to him. The midnight blue of her dress was particularly alluring against the olive tone of her skin, and since blue was Silas’ favourite colour, he found it hard to draw his eyes away from her.

“Silas,” Aesop muttered quietly, using his wand to evanesco away the shards of porcelain. “You have no-one to blame but yourself. You had ample opportunity to ask her, as did I, and neither of us did so. If Emerys wants to dance with someone that isn’t me or you, we have to let her.”

“I know that,” Silas grumbled, once again picking at a loose thread on his robe sleeve in an irritated manner.

Emerys’ stilted laugh tinkled around the hall, a high pitched screechy noise that Silas and Aesop recognised as her being incredibly uncomfortable. Aesop’s hands clenched into fists by his side; Silas’ eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and he ground his teeth, growling at what he saw. Emerys was withdrawing from her partner, using her hand to hold him at arm’s length as he encroached on her space, one hand forcing her head towards his dry, scaled and puckered lips.

“Let’s go,” Silas snarled, thrusting the piece of shattered plate in his hand at a passerby and storming over.

“I said no!” Emerys shrieked, clawing at the Slytherin boy’s face, talons digging into his flesh as she scratched a path from Bartlett’s eye to his jaw. “Don’t touch me! Don’t come anywhere near me, you disgusting, sad and pathetic excuse of a human being!”

The Slytherin ignored Emerys’ words and pushed himself closer to her, twining his arm around her so she couldn’t escape from him, grinding his hips into hers as his fingers pinched her waist. Emerys scowled heavily, hands curled into fists as she swung at him but that seemed to make him more aggressive.

“She said no!” Silas asserted, wrenching the older student away from Emerys. Emerys stumbled, thrust to one side. He held out his wand threateningly. “Would you like me to clean your ears out for you so you can listen to what the lady is saying?! Or other parts of your body; I’m not fussed where I stick this.”

Emerys took a shaky breath as Aesop caught her, his arms securing her upright so she didn’t fall over. Her hands were still clenched into fists but she tilted her head in contemplation as she watched Silas take on the slimeball that had nearly forced himself onto her and she saw her Ravenclaw friend through fresh eyes. Instead of being a boy who would help her with the homework she always left till the last minute and scrambled to complete, she saw Silas as a protector, as a man that had only her best interests at the forefront of his mind. Her heart thudded erratically against her chest at the thought of Silas being more than her friend and she wondered when that had happened. Or perhaps it was always there between them, an invisible thread binding them together; this had just been the catalyst in her realising just how much she actually liked and valued Silas.

“Are you okay?” Aesop asked, his dark eyes roving Emerys’ face, as if he was assessing the damage that had been caused by the other Slytherin. Emerys nodded, her eyes still soft as they focussed on Silas verbally annihilating her former paramour, and Aesop winced. He could see it; Silas standing up for Emerys had captured her heart and no-one else stood a chance. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, pushed down the burning pain that radiated out from the centre of his chest and closed his eyes in defeat.

Silas strode over to Emerys, his hand outstretched and Emerys held onto the lifeline he was offering. The crowd inched closer to them; Emerys glared intensely in the hopes that her peers would get the hint and back off to give her and Silas some room.

“Thank you, Silas,” she murmured, her voice dripping like honey into his ear as she smiled mischievously, a smile only for him. “Bartlett’s a creep and he’s lucky I left my wand in my dorm; he would have been subjected to some of the more… creative hexes I know if I had it on me.”

“Do you want to leave?” Silas asked, eyeing the doors to the Great Hall. “Take some time away to regroup and settle after that?”

Emerys’ jaw jutted out as her eyes met Bartlett’s, defiant and confident now she had Silas’ hand in hers. “No!”

“No?” Silas echoed.

“No, not yet.” Emerys smiled, touched her forehead to his as her lips hovered millimetres away from his face, gently touching when she pressed forward at his lack of resistance. He tasted sweet and musky, of cedar wood and cinnamon, tannins from leather tingling on her tongue as she swiped that across his lips. “I want to dance, and I want to dance with you. Only you, for the rest of the night.”

Hogsmeade was a town that was alive and bustling as a result of the Yuletime and the Celestial Ball that was being held at Hogwarts. Residents from nearby hamlets were completing their last minute Christmas shopping while senior students flurried between Gladrags Wizardwear for last minute tailoring to their robes, Floriblunder’s Florists for wrist corsages and boutonnieres, Mrs Steepley’s Tea Emporium as a ‘pre-date’ event before the Celestial Ball.

From the window of The Three Broomsticks, Anne sighed wistfully, chin resting on the palm of her hand while her other hand ran through her lank hair, skin pulled tight over sunken-in cheekbones. Clumps of dark brown strands remain woven through her fingers and she grimaced at the loss, letting the tresses slip from her finger. Sebastian grimaced; Anne’s emaciated appearance underscored how little time she had left and how desperate he was to find a cure. It burned to see his little sister on the brink of death, so he averted his eyes down to the oak table and sipped from the glass of water Sirona insisted he drank instead of Butterbeer. It seemed that when his parents had discovered his dependence on alcohol after his arrest in the summer, they had pulled all the stops out in ensuring that he had no access to it whatsoever, and that included conspiring with the tavern owner to only provide him with tap water when he turned up.

“Do you remember when we were little, and Mum and Dad would tuck us up in bed with a story?” Anne asked suddenly. Sebastian nodded slowly, still not looking upwards. “My favourite one was the Celestial Ball story – the one where Mum fell in love with him.”

The image of Amelia tucked up in bed next to him flashed unwarranted into Sebastian’s mind; there was only one person he had intended on asking to the Celestial Ball and his back-stabbing, two-faced second-cousin had beaten him to the punch. For that reason alone, Sebastian had initially decided to boycott the dance; he had no desire to watch the woman he could finally admit he was attracted to dance in the arms of another man. Unfortunately for him, Aesop Sharp had caught wind of his plans and reminded him that he was still on probation and it would be impudent of him to not attend a compulsory school event while he was under the scrutiny of the Wizengamot. Something about not cutting off his nose to spite his own face, and Sebastian had scrambled to convince Samantha Dale to go with him as a last resort – he would have asked Imelda as they were each other’s ‘back-up plan’, but when Imelda said she’d rather poison herself with Bubotuber Pus than attend such a frivolous, pointless event, he reconsidered. He swallowed tightly, wondering where Anne was going with this.

“You’d ask to hear it every night, over and over again, until Ma’s voice was hoarse and Dad would roll his eyes exasperatedly at your persistence,” Sebastian murmured, eyes misty as he thought back to a time when everything was easier and less convoluted. But not now, when feelings were a tsunami that welled and drowned him as he was unable to make sense of the changes he was facing.

Anne sighed wistfully. “I always wanted that kind of night for myself. The music… the stars… the dancing… the love story and fairytale ending,” she trailed off, eyeing her brother beadily.

Sebastian quailed under the intensity of her gaze, fingers gripping the side of his water glass so tight they turned white. He was trying so hard to cure Anne – reading books late into the night, following up any questionable lead he could uncover – and it still wasn’t enough. His efforts weren’t enough; he wasn’t enough to save his sister. His parents were waiting for the Ministry Researchers to make an iota of progress, but Sebastian could feel Anne’s decline. It was slow, but it was gnawing away at him, shredding his insides to pieces, and Sebastian knew that was he was feeling was only a fraction of what Anne was going through. Subconsciously, his hand crept over his stomach, clenching over his appendix.

“Annie,” he sighed, a warning note in his voice to not to pursue the line of inquiry he knew she was pressing.

“What’s the point of having a twin if I can’t live vicariously through them?” Anne huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting like she would as if she was a little girl again. “Seb, I’m never going to go to a Celestial Ball –”

“Don’t say that! Don’t sell your life shorter than it already is!”

“- I want the memory of being a normal sixteen year old girl. I want to know what it’s like to hold the person I love in my arms as I dance with them, laugh and giggle with my friends at a formal affair. But that’s not going to happen; I won’t get my fairytale, so at least let me live through yours.”

“Annie, it won’t be your memory and it’s not my fairytale.” Sebastian sighed heavily, eyes turning to the window as he watched a gaggle of girls fold their dresses over their arms and skip to Madame Snelling’s Tresses Emporium to get their hair and make-up done for the big event. “Sometimes there are no happy ever afters.”

Natsai Onai twisted her fingers through Amelia Calloway’s hair, braiding the copper strands into a fancy half-up, half-down chignon, smiling slightly as she did so.

“You are beautiful, Amelia,” Natsai complimented, smile widening as a blush graced the pale skin of her companion. “The menfolk of the cohort will not be able to keep his eyes off you.”

The blush on Amelia’s face deepened, brow furrowing slightly as her stomach twisted at the mention of Fifth Year boys. Garreth and Amelia had kept their arrangement on the down-low; the only people that knew for certain that Garreth and Amelia were attending together were Garreth, Amelia, Sebastian and Ominis and even though he wasn’t outwardly rude to her, Sebastian’s persona had become slightly aloof. Garreth had been determined to make sure that Amelia wasn’t focussed on Sebastian’s shift in demeanour towards her and that would she enjoy her first Christmas event at Hogwarts – he had colour coordinated their outfits so that they would complement each other while retaining aspects of their personality that made them unique, he had teased her with flowers and lollies from Honeydukes in the week leading up to the Ball - giving her the experience that every other girl in their year group was getting from their respective date, even though neither party harboured any romantic intentions towards each other.

Amelia’s eyes fell on the reflection of her dress in the mirror. The satin shimmered under the glow of candlelight, the violet hue reminiscent of the dress she was wearing when she met Sebastian for the first time and he introduced her to the world of Magic, a world she could not fathom she had lived without now she had adapted relatively seamlessly into it. It was a simple dress, with a low-cut sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. The skirt billowed out from the waist, pleats and in-built petticoats, more voluminous than anything Amelia had ever worn before. Augustus Hill had insisted on gifting her the dress after she and Sebastian had defeated the troll in Hogsmeade all those months ago. How far have I come since then, she thought as she swelled internally with pride, and most of it was thanks to Sebastian; she blossomed under his tutelage, learning quicker and faster with him than she had with any of the Professors. Perhaps that was because she was more intrinsically tied to him than her teachers; her bond with him was something that couldn’t be replicated with anyone else.

Natsai’s gaze followed Amelia’s and the smile on Natsai’s face turned slightly impish. “And we all know a certain someone in Slytherin has a preference for purple. This is quite a bold declaration of your feelings for him, Amelia.”

“That’s not what it is,” Amelia snapped back, somewhat sharpish, blushing at how close Natsai’s words came to a truth she had only just come to acknowledge and accept. “Mr. Hill gifted me the dress and it would have been uncouth to reject it or Transfigure it into what I want. Besides, Garreth said he’s planned accoutrements around the colour of the dress so I definitely can’t change it.”

Natsai’s hands stilled at Amelia’s revelation, the smirk on her face dripping off her like Stinksap. There was a flicker of something – jealousy or envy, perhaps – behind Natsai’s eyes before she masked it, but Amelia caught it all the same and jutted out her jaw defiantly.

“As friends, Natty. Nothing more, nothing less. I know Garreth’s interests lie with someone else,” she said, pointedly glaring at Natsai through the reflection of the mirror. Her blue eyes glimmered with unspoken words so damning Natsai had to look away, chewing on her lip.

Natsai’s hands stilled in Amelia’s hair, fingers gripping the thin strands like a lifeline. The tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife as Amelia watched Natsai shift uncomfortably on her feet. For someone that had been so confident in translating Amelia’s confused and puzzled emotions towards Sebastian, Natsai was sure good at ignoring her own repressed feelings towards Garreth Weasley. It felt like karma was coming home to roost and Amelia had to swallow a smile at the thought.

“If you’re perfectly fine with how things are between you and him, my going with him as a friend shouldn’t be an issue,” Amelia pointed out logically, once more delighting in Natsai squirming under the weight of her words. “But I can see that you’re not perfectly fine with me attending with Garreth, so perhaps you need to re-evaluate your stance and your feelings towards him. He’s a good man, Natty, and he deserves to know where he stands with you; leaving him in limbo isn’t kind to anyone.”

With a pat to her shoulder, Amelia stood up and disappeared behind a screen to tighten her corset and shuffled into her dress. It was familiar but different; after months of wearing scarlet and gold, the dark hue of purple felt like pulling on a second skin, the smooth satin comfortable and warm under her fingertips, but somehow more sophisticated and grown up. Instead of being an orphaned, unloved girl, she was a talented young lady, ready to have the first enjoyable night of her life with her friends by her side.

The sound of a string quartet streamed throughout the Great Hall, candles floating around to bathe the room in a soft, ambient glow. Sixteen year old Sebastian Sallow rubbed at the skin on the back of his neck as he sipped slowly from his goblet of pumpkin juice, eyes trained on the curvy auburn-haired young lady dancing in the arms of the ginger twat he had the misfortune of calling his second-cousin. She laughed, teeth pearlescent under the gleam of the light and Garreth Weasley smiled warmly at her. From where he was standing, one arm twined around Samantha Dale, Sebastian growled. His fingers gripped at her hip more insistently, clawing into her flesh.

“Ow! Sebastian, what was that for?!” Samantha whined, jerking herself free from his talon-like grip.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, caramel irises hardening and darkening to obsidian as he watched Amelia twirl around with Garreth. “My apologies,” he muttered, but his words lacked any conviction and his tone was tinged with annoyance. Samantha raised a thin, fine eyebrow at him, face pulling into a concerned frown.

“Seb, are you sure you’re okay?” She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly to draw his attention back to her.

Sebastian didn’t answer, his eyes never leaving the dancefloor as he watched Garreth tighten his grip on Amelia. It felt like a rubber band had been wrapped around his chest, hard to breathe every time Garreth said something that made Amelia laugh, every time Amelia shot Garreth a small smile that made the corners of her eye crinkle in delight. It was deeper than irritation – jealousy and frustration and something more deeply rooted within him – and it gnawed away at his insides, an all-consuming ugly thing.

The truth was he was angry.

He was angry at Garreth for asking Amelia, angry at Amelia for saying yes, but most of all he was angry at himself for not having the courage to own up to the growing attraction between them and ask her before anyone else could.

But there was nothing that could be done about it now.

“Let’s go for a dance, Sam,” Sebastian muttered, holding out his elbow reluctantly and leading Samantha out on the dancefloor. He placed one hand on her waist, the other one clasped her hand to his and he lead them in a waltz, his dark eyes never leaving Amelia as they danced, and he could have sworn he saw her eyes dim down in disappointment when she saw him with Samantha Dale in his arms.

Amelia had never laughed so much that her cheeks hurt and her larynx was sore. Her ribs ached from the tight lacing of her corset and it felt like the skin on the back of her heels had blistered and calloused from all the dancing she had done, but she didn’t care. She had never felt so carefree and light and enjoyed her time with others before.

“Garreth, I need to sit down,” she exclaimed as Garreth tried to sweep her up into another Polka with him. Her hand fanned her flushed face, a trickle of perspiration tracking its way down from the side of her temple to her jawline. “I need a break; your exuberance is nearly impossible to keep up with!”

Garreth bowed deeply to her, in much the same way a court jester would bow to a queen. “Perhaps I can fetch you a goblet of pumpkin juice?”

“Butterbeer,” Amelia corrected with a smile. The smile slipped off her face as her eyes unwittingly focussed on Sebastian. He was on the dancefloor, Samantha in his arms, the pair of them moving as gracefully as two swans in a mating dance and she couldn’t suppress the growl that escaped her lips. Her stomach clenched, painfully, as she watched Sebastian dip Samantha with an easy grace.

For the first time in the evening, Amelia was regretting attending the Celestial Ball with Garreth as friends when she could have held out to go with Sebastian instead; perhaps then she wouldn’t have to watch the man she was enamoured with flirt with someone that wasn’t her.

Amelia’s breath caught in her chest as she observed Samantha tuck a few stray curls behind Sebastian’s ear. The muscles near her eye twitched and her molars ground into dust. The jealousy cut through her like a knife, sharp and stinging, and she forced herself to look away. She had no right to feel like this; Sebastian had been nothing but respectful of her wishes to remain friends, but after spending the night in his bed, enclosed in his arms with nothing but a thin shirt and a teddy bear between them, Amelia was hoping that he would read between the unspoken lines between them and discover that she was agreeable into traversing the step of courtship with him.

But he was a teenaged boy, and like most teenaged boys, he was stupid and blind when it came to recognising her hidden emotions. So here they were, separated by a canyon with nothing but envy to bridge the gap between them.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Garreth’s voice broke through her reverie as he passed her a flagon of Butterbeer.

“They’d cost you a Galleon,” Amelia quipped back, taking a tentative sip of the frothy, foamy drink. Garreth stared at her, unamused, and Amelia sighed, knowing she had been rumbled. “Just a bit tired, Garreth.”

Garreth snorted, watching once more as her eyes glued to Sebastian, and his eyes softened in compassion. He recognised the forlorn hopelessness that dragged over her face because he had seen the same expression on his when he pined after Natsai Onai. “I see. Ames, you should go speak to him before the next dance starts.”

Amelia scoffed and busied herself with downing her Butterbeer.

“Your jealousy is so intense it’s like a dragon incinerating anyone in the room. Ames, I can feel it and it’s not even directed at me.”

“I’m not jealous,” she ground out, slamming her flagon down on a table to punctuate her words. “I’m not!”

“Amelia, go talk to him, and if things work out the way I think you want them to work out, spend the rest of the evening with him. I won’t be offended if you do.”

With liquid courage flowing through her veins and Garreth’s words ringing through her ears, Amelia stormed over to where Sebastian was standing, collating food onto a plate for him and his date, her heels clicking a fierce tattoo against the marble floor.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla, all wrapped up in palpable rage, caught Sebastian’s nose and he stilled. Without turning around, he knew Amelia was nearby and he forced his voice to remain steady and aloof as he said, “Miss. Calloway, how can I be of assistance to you?”

The music faded in the background, a muffled hum a backdrop to the unresolved attraction and tension that was finally playing out between them. Amelia glowered at hearing the words Miss. Calloway drip from Sebastian’s lips when she had become so accustomed to hearing him call her Mia instead, and that stung worse than any physical punch he could ever deliver to her.

“What was that?!” she spat out, vitriol as caustic as battery acid. Her heavy gaze fell onto Samantha Dale, blue eyes glacial and Samantha withered under the intensity of her stare.

“What was what?” Sebastian retorted back, whirling around so he could face her. His eyes were as dark and blunt as she had ever seen them, and they glittered with incandescent rage. He bristled at her attitude; after all, she was the one that had insisted on being friends, then slept with him in his bed and then turned around and agreed to go to the Celestial Ball with Garreth. What was he meant to do; Aesop Sharp had made it perfectly clear that it was expected he attend the Ball with a date as part of the terms and conditions of his probation. Did she really expect him to pine around and wait for her to come to her senses when she had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t interested? Did she really expect him to remain chaste while she cavorted herself around with Garreth?

Amelia’s heart thudded against her ribs, breathing tight as her hands curled into fists. “I’m not blind, Sebastian. I saw you flirt with Samantha and then surreptitiously glance at me to see how I was reacting! The same was I saw you murder Garreth in your head every time he touched my arm or shoulder, or laughed with me or interacted with me in any way.”

Sebastian smirked and raised a solitary eyebrow at her. “So my plan to pointlessly flirt with Sam worked, then.”

There was a beat of silence.

“No, no, you don’t have to say anything, Mia. I can see the envy leaching out of you.” Sebastian’s smirk took on an amused lilt. “And I suppose you’re tired of ignoring your feelings for me and you’re sick of the pretence.”

He stepped closer to her, the heat of his body radiating into her. The tension thickened between them, like a spark that was waiting to ignite. Her eyes held his, searching for a depth she didn’t know she was looking for, while his eyes held hers, looking for something equally as elusive in her irises.

“Mia, what are your feelings towards me?”

Amelia’s eyebrows furrowed tightly together, frown lines deep as crevices carving into her forehead. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Say the words and make it tangible,” Sebastian demanded, placing his plate of food down so he could cross his arms over his chest. Amelia’s eyes instinctively traced his movements and she blushed slightly at the sight of his muscles pulling tight under his shirt and dress robe.

“I… I like you, Sebastian -”

“Well, I should hope so. It wouldn’t do for us to spend as much time as we do with each other and not like each other.”

Amelia glared at his interruption and Sebastian bit down on his tongue so he didn’t say anything else while she was confessing to him.

“I like you as more than a friend, Sebastian, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings,” Amelia murmured, biting on her lip in a way that sent thrills down Sebastian’s spine. She glanced up at him shyly through her eyelashes, blinking owlishly at him.

His smirk morphed into a genuine smile, the one where one corner of his mouth curved upwards gently while the other remained flat. He had always been better at showing than telling, and since Amelia wanted to know, he would show her exactly how he felt towards her.

His hands were warm as he traced the soft outline of her cheekbones, fingers trailing along the blunt edge of her jaw. He could feel the heat of her sear his skin, feel the magnetic pull that had always existed between them draw him closer to her, and before he could second-guess himself, he dipped his head so he could close the distance between them.

Amelia gasped as his lips melted into hers, his tongue darting out and licking the strawberry gloss off her lips. Their kiss was soft but insistent. It was more than an answer to a question she could never ask; it was a promise and a plea all rolled into one.

Amelia kissed him back with a hunger that matched Sebastian’s, her hands snaking up his back and twining into his hair as she pulled him closer towards her, so close she could dissolve into him. Her tongue met his and they danced together, united at last. They were so lost in the moment and in each other, they didn’t even realise they had become the entertainment for the dance, as every eye in the Hall turned to them.

Amelia broke off first, breathless and trembling from the intensity of their first kiss as she smiled up at him. Sebastian smiled back, his forehead grazing against hers. Her heart was racing, pulse beating erratically under her skin, thoughts jumbled, but one thing rang out crystal clear.

This was it. This was who she had spent her whole life looking and waiting for. No-one else but Sebastian.

Sebastian nuzzled against her temple, a quick kiss pressed into her forehead. “I’m not leaving you, Mia. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

Amelia leant into the softness of his skin, felt the tremors of his voice-box vibrate tantalisingly against her. “Good, because I’m tired of waiting and pretending.”

Sebastian smiled and kissed her again, more gentle and less insistent than their first kiss, slow and sensual. The rest of the world seemed to dissipate into nothing, leaving just the two of them, caught up in a moment neither would ever forget.

Chapter Text

Hollers and chirrups and squeals of delight tinkled on the icy breeze that cut through Amelia’s skin. She shuddered as she walked with Sebastian to Hogsmeade Station; without even thinking about it, Sebastian tugged Amelia into the warmth of his torso, a strong, muscular arm snaking around her to hold her close to him. His lips brushed against her hairline and he pressed a heated but quick kiss to her temple. Amelia stiffened, her mind flashing to howthe Sisters would have scolded and punished her for welcoming his advances. Harlot is what they would have branded her, a slur designed to denigrate what little self-esteem she had managed to cobble together as they clutched at their rosaries. But then Amelia remembered what had transpired between them at the Celestial Ball and that the Magical world was far less restrictive when it came to matters of the heart than the Muggle World was. She melded into him, keen to maximise the amount of time she could spend with him before they were separated for the Christmas break, with Sebastian returning to his home and his family while Amelia stayed at Hogwarts.

Sebastian shifted his satchel over his shoulder, rolling the aches out of it as he saw his mother’s and sister’s silhouette grow larger as they approached. His father had led the cohort down to the station and he was greeting his wife and daughter as the couple walked towards them. “You can come home with me, Mia,” Sebastian murmured, squeezing Amelia’s hand. “Ma and Dad and Anne – ”

Amelia cut him off by pinching his lips together between her fingers. Sebastian frowned at how cold her touch was and his tongue licked her skin lightly. Amelia squealed, a frown marring her face which made Sebastian laugh and pull her in for another kiss, tucking tendrils of hair behind her ear.

“Sebastian, I’m not going to intrude on your family time,” she muttered, gaze averting from his as she chewed her lip.

“You’re not an intrusion, Mia. You’ve never been an intrusion; you’ve always been Mia, and you deserve to know what it would be like to have a family.”

“I’m used to being on my own.”

The matter-of-fact way in which Amelia said the words made Sebastian’s heart twist painfully. It wasn’t that she had been alone in the past at the orphanage, it was more that she expected to travel through life alone, even though he had promised her that he would stand by her after he kissed her and meant it. The emphasis on the words your family made him frown, bushy eyebrows uniting into a monobrow and he thought, not just my family, but yours too, if I’m lucky enough to still have you by the time we graduate.

But he couldn’t say it. Not yet. It was too soon, and the intensity of his vow would scare her off, of that much Sebastian was certain.

He squeezed her close to him, hands gripping her just that much tighter, grounding her in the warmth of his touch and the depth of his feelings towards her. If he couldn’t convince her to come home with him, he could at least make sure she knew she wasn’t being left behind. He framed her face in his hands, rough, calloused skin tracing figure-of-eight patterns over her cheekbones as his lips met hers. Amelia yielded under him, her hands grasping onto his shirt collar like her life depended on it. She swallowed his gasp when her tongue darted out and coaxed his lips open, spilling secrets into him without saying a word.

“Put him down, you don’t know where he’s been or what diseases he may be carrying.” A cutting, snarky yet somewhat amused voice called out, and Amelia recognised the tart tone of Anne Sallow. Amelia broke off, wiping off the gloss that had transferred from her lips to his in their kiss.

“Annie, must you always interrupt at the most inopportune moments?!” Sebastian growled, rolling his eyes heavenward but not relinquishing his hold on Amelia. His caramel eyes glinted with amusement, showing Anne that he wasn’t really annoyed at her.

Standing behind Anne was Emerys Sallow, arms crossed over her chest, a strange, unreadable expression squirrelling its way over her face as she pulled her baby boy close to her and held him tight. She hadn’t spent much quality time with him since his stint in Azkaban – aside from the twins’ birthday dinner and his subsequent unauthorised trip home – and despite their clash of personalities, she was keen to make up for lost time. She had missed him – and Silas – terribly while they were at Hogwarts and she and Anne were in Aranshire.

“It’ll be good to have you home, son,” Emerys murmured, smiling as Sebastian’s cheek rested against the top of her head. “I’ve got a Victoria Sponge on the table waiting for you, along with chocolate eclairs and vanilla ice-cream.”

Amelia smiled, bittersweet, as she watched Sebastian be enveloped by his family. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach as she realised what she had been deprived of for all of her life, to have people who would go to the ends of the earth for her just to see her smile. It hurt too much, and she turned away, starting the long, tedious trudge back to Hogwarts by her lonesome.

“Mia!”

Amelia pivoted slowly at the sound of her name. Sebastian’s arms were open to her, fingers beckoning her his way as an open invitation, but she had to resist it. She couldn’t; she didn’t know how to be around family during the festive season. Previous Christmases at the orphanage involved her spending her time scrubbing the dirt out of the stone floor, a meagre slice of well-done beef with a spoonful of mash potatoes, and nights spent shivering under a thin, threadbare blanket, knowing that Father Christmas was never going to pay her a visit - the Sisters had told her repeatedly that she was an enfant du peche – a child borne of sin, and she knew that Father Christmas only visited good children.

“Try not to miss me,” Sebastian said, his eyes shining with more that he wanted to say but he was too much of a coward to get the words out one day into their blossoming relationship. “Too much.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Amelia smiled back, sweetly, but the hitch in her voice belied her words.

“I’ll owl you every day,” Sebastian promised, blowing her a kiss. “Tell you how much I’m not missing you either. And if you change your mind, tell me; I’ll be here quicker than a flash and I’ll bring you home with me.”

Amelia nodded, turned with a smile, and resumed walking back to Hogwarts as the Sallow family made their way to Aranshire.

Eleazar Fig snatched the envelope that fluttered onto his desk, his tawny owl taking a perch on the edge of his desk as she clicked her beak expectantly. Eleazar stroked the soft feathers of Athena the owl and tossed her a few treats as he eagerly slid a finger under the wax seal of the envelope. If it was what he thought it was, it would finally make his young charge feel like she was worthy of a family. It would be the first Christmas present she would ever receive, and the most poignant one too.

The adoption papers for Amelia Calloway had finally been approved – all he needed was a witness to his and Amelia’s signature on the parchment – and she would officially be his daughter. His heart pounded in his chest, a warm glow radiating to the tips of his fingers and toes as he realised he was finally going to be a father.

The moment was bittersweet; his eyes fell on the photo of Miriam that he kept on his desk. Parenthood – while not how they had anticipated their journey going – was something that they were meant to share, and Eleazar knew that Miriam would have taken the girl under her wing, showering her with affection and tenderness and care to allow her to bloom into an accomplished, talented witch and young lady.

With a glance up to Athena, who was still blinking owlishly at him, Eleazar moved swiftly towards the fireplace, scribbling a note to summon Amelia to his office. He was aware that Amelia had gone to Hogsmeade to see Sebastian off for the Christmas holidays; young, puppy love never failed to make him smile and after months of watching the two teens pine over each other, he was glad that Sebastian and Amelia had finally confronted their feelings for each other last night at the Ball. Now that Amelia was going to be his daughter, he was confident that his future son-in-law would be able to look after her and care for her when his age meant his heart would fail. Sebastian Sallow – as far as teenaged boys Amelia could have partnered up with – wasn’t a bad pick; a little rough around the edges, maybe a tad headstrong, impulsive and stubborn, but he was growing into a good and intelligent man with strong principles and morals.

A perfect match for Amelia Calloway’s personality.

Athena hooted softly as Eleazar placed the parchment in her beak, instructing her to deliver the note to Amelia and gently peck at her until Amelia made her way to his office. Athena blinked once, amber eyes hinting at her intelligence, and with a flap of her wings, she soared out of the window to do her master’s bidding.

Anne Sallow did not say a word as her steps fell into tandem with her twin. Her umber eyes roved over him, noting the changes in his posture since she had seen him in Hogsmeade before the Celestial Ball. Yesterday he carried tension and frustration in his body, muscles seized and tensed up, anger and rage boiling his blood. Today it seemed like all the fight had drained out of him; he was far more lax and nimble, more buoyant and vibrant than it had been and his attitude reminded Anne of when they were younger, running around the hamlet playing and teasing each other without a care in the world.

Emerys was talking to Sebastian, mouth running a mile a minute, peppering him with questions on his schoolwork, probing into how his community service hours for his probation were going, asking him about being Vice-Captain of the Quidditch team, and Sebastian laughed as he answered each inquiry that waterfalled from her lips. But Anne remained silent, spindly arms crossed over her caved-in chest and an expression that was unusually dour and pensive.

Sebastian knew that look. It was Anne’s signature I-have-questions-and-I-demand-answers look. A puff of air huffed out of his nose and he rolled his eyes exasperatedly at her

“So, you and Amelia, huh?” she snarked as soon as their mother paused to draw breath. “What happened to there are no happy ever afters?”

Sebastian shrugged, wind ruffling his hair as a small smirk danced on his lips. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb; it’s beneath you. Everyone saw you two together; you were about as subtle as a steamroller.”

A flush graced Sebastian’s cheeks, port-wine colour rising to the surface and contrasting against his freckles. “It’s new.”

“It’s not new; you’ve been mooning over her since you met her. And just because it’s official now, it doesn’t mean it’s not serious. I saw the glint in your eye; you looked like you were ready to throw her into a Thestral carriage and elope with her.” Anne scowled in disapproval, her burnt-umber eyes so narrow they disappeared into her pupils. “You’re doing what you always do; you’re thinking impulsively and not worrying about the long-term implications.”

“And what’s wrong with that?! I like her, Annie, I really do! Why can’t I think about the long term, bigger picture?! For once in my life, I am taking something seriously and you’re berating me about it!”

“You are barrelling into this like a hippogriff on fire, and not everyone can handle all of you, all at once. You are my brother and I love you, but you are also… a lot to take in at once,” Anne cautioned, bony fingers unfurling from her arms as she patted Sebastian consolingly on the shoulder.

Sebastian’s feet rooted him to the spot and he blinked rapidly. The muscle in his jaw twitched in annoyance and Sebastian chewed on his tongue to not snap at Anne’s words and say something so unforgiving he would ruin their Christmas break before it had even started. “What are you getting at, Anne?”

“Amelia has spent most of her life in an orphanage. I went to that orphanage and I can tell you that while she may have been clothed and fed and sheltered, she certainly wasn’t loved there. She’s spent nearly sixteen years fending for herself, fighting for herself and being told every day that she’s unworthy of affection. You seem to be diving in headfirst, offering her forever when she’s probably trying to figure out what today looks like.”

His jaw tightened, back stiffened, bristling at her words and her unspoken implication. “You don't know what you're talking about; I’m not pressuring her into anything.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Anne rebuffed gently. “At least, not intentionally. But something like inviting her over for Christmas won’t seem like much to you because we’re used to having people around over the holidays; Mum and Dad always extend that invitation to the staff of Hogwarts that aren’t going on holidays. For her, it’s so much more than that, and that has no doubt terrified her.” She sighed, her exhale condensing like the fog that confused and confounded Sebastian’s brain. “Be patient with her. Go slow. Let her feel secure in her trust with you. Let her come to you instead of you dragging her along behind you because you feel the timing is right.”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered from Anne to the distance in the tree. The corners of his mouth turned down – Anne recognised the expression of Sebastian swallowing a bitter pill – and his brow furrowed, lines carving into his forehead. There was a minute nod of his head; Anne nudged her head into his shoulder and smiled softly up at him.

“I don’t want to mess it up, Annie,” he breathed out eventually, one muscular arm wrapping around Anne’s waife-like frame.

“Then don’t. Go slow. Don’t promise her the world straight up; show her parts of it at a time and let her know it’s safe for her to partake in it too.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And don’t worry. When you inevitably say or do something to mess it up, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces and say I told you so!”

Sebastian snorted out a laugh. His sibling’s faith in his romantic prowess never failed to devastate him; with a sister like her, he really didn’t need enemies. The sound rumbled through the chill of the air, and even though it was sarcastic, it was lighter and freer than when they were conversing.

Amelia wasn’t with him – she was overwhelmed with the thought of having a family - but he had his sister, father and mother, and for now, that was more than he felt he ever deserved.

Amelia sniffled, tears freezing on her cheeks as she shuffled back towards Hogwarts. The invitation to be part of something bigger than herself had been right there – Sebastian had been offering it up to her with no expectation of anything in return – and she had turned away from him, scared of what she might discover about herself. Terrified that for once in her life, she would be shown warmth and be allowed to keep the memory of it for eternity.

I’m not that person; the Sisters made that abundantly clear. Domestic dreams of bliss and Christmas are always out of reach for someone like me.

Enfant du peche.

Enfant incompetant.

They never grow up into anything other than what I am right now.

Alone.

A part of her wanted to turn around, embrace him and all he was in its richness and fullness, but fear held a stronger grip than the frostbite that was nipping at her nose and ears. The warmth exuding from the Sallows was too much for her to process. She knew that there were parents out there that loved and adored their children – it was just her luck not to be blessed with that – but to see it so blatant and brazen in front of her really hammered home how she was destined to spend her life outside of the looking glass peering into something she desperately wanted but knew she did not deserve.

The wind ripped through her, as did a howl and a scream that came from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, breaking the chain of self-depreciating thoughts. A flash of light, sparks of red and purple bruising the grey, dreary sky.

Amelia had ventured into the darkened scrubland previously with Sebastian on one of the deliveries he had dragged her on early in the year as part of his community service – the name forbidden didn’t seem to act as a deterrent to him – but she had never gone in alone. It was too dark, too shadowy, too unknown for a person that was new to magic.

Another scream, one that sounded like Amelia’s had when Sebastian had crucio’d her; her gut contorted painfully and the air pushed out of her lungs at the recollection. Without a second thought, Amelia found herself swiping her hair up into her signature braided bun so it was out of her eyes, right hand gripping her wand tightly as her legs carried her towards the disturbance, the trees looming over her in an intimidating fashion.

There was a whirl of black and yellow, a short, diminutive figure with hair that curled around her ears and stopped at her chin casting aggressively at her adversaries. She moved swiftly, with a grace that suited her personality and power that took Amelia by surprise. Certainly not as powerful as Amelia’s Ancient Magic, but definitely strong enough to hold her own against three fully fledged Dark Witches and Wizards.

“Poppy,” Amelia breathed to herself, heart thumping as she watched the masked opponents synchronise their attack to drop Poppy’s Shield Charm and then burn her with a point-blank range incendio. Another anguished cry broke free from Poppy as she doused herself out, and that spurred Amelia into action.

“Confringo!” Amelia cried, grateful that Sebastian had taken the risk of showing her the Undercroft to teach her the Blasting Curse. The Dark Witch Amelia had been aiming for screeched as her robes caught on fire, diverting her attention from Poppy to the newcomer.

“Foolish girl, starting fights you have no hope of winning! How arrogant you are to think you can defeat me and the rest of us loyal to Rookwood and Harlow!”
Amelia tilted her head from side to side, bones cracking in contemplation as she filed away information she was sure would be useful later since they mentioned Rookwood; Amelia was ever cognizant of the fact that she was Public Enemy Number One in Rookwood’s eyes. Why, she still hadn’t ascertained – neither had Fig – but it was a bone she was going to continue pick away at until she had answers, no matter how risky and perilous that was to her safety.

Footsteps crunched on the snow as Amelia brandished her wand with a flourish and marched towards the Dark Witch. Magic tingled in the tips of her fingers, wisps of ethereal blue leaching out of her, her eyes shining with malice and delight as she terrorised the adults that had been terrorising Poppy.

“Stop there! Stop, or you’ll seal your own fate! I’m warning you; don’t come any closer!”

Poppy.

Poppy didn’t know about Amelia’s Ancient Magic, and it was that realisation that made Amelia pause. Her breath slowed and she held it for ten counts before exhaling, low and deep. The wisps dissipated into the frigid air and Amelia could feel Poppy’s eyes roving over her, appraising her and seeing her in a new perspective. To be examined and exposed was disconcerting; Amelia’s focus on her breathing slipped. Moments later, a trifecta of lightning snapped through the Dark Witches and Wizards, scorching them from the insides out. The stench of singed flesh, burnt hair and charred clothes lingered in the air. Amelia dry-retched as panic roiled up inside of her; not only had she lost control of her Ancient Magic again, but it seemed to have evolved from turning adversaries into chickens into straight up obliterating them into dust. And all of this happened in front of Poppy, a girl who had always been guarded at best and adversarial towards her at worst.

“Poppy, I –” Amelia began, breaking off as Poppy’s hard, brown eyes seemed to pass through her. In a strange twist of fate, Poppy gifted her with a gentle smile and a quirked, fine eyebrow. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Tell who about what?” Poppy fired back, sarcasm and warmth all rolled into her tone. “It’s not like I’m rolling in popularity at school. If it weren’t for some of the classes I share with Ominis and Sebastian, I would be able to go the entire year without speaking to anyone.”

The stark honesty in her words resonated with Amelia, a thin thread of sadness bridging the two girls together in the most discomforting way. Amelia knew the keening sense of rejection all too well; it cut particularly deep around a time that centred around family and joy, and she was surprised Poppy – a child who had grown up in what seemed like a stable household – could relate to that too.

“No need to apologise. It’s life.” Poppy shrugged, hands pushed into the pockets of her thick, woollen robe. “Same way it’s life that I’m out here fighting poachers over Christmas.”

“No family?” Amelia ventured, wondering if Poppy’s frosty reception towards her since she had started Hogwarts was more because of the similarities between them rather than the differences.

“Aside from my grandmother, not ones worth spending time on,” Poppy muttered bitterly, falling into step with Amelia – albeit with a metre of space between them – as they made their way to a Floo Flame to get back to school. “Granny’s abroad though, so here I am. Alone, like usual.”

“Well, perhaps we can be alone together,” Amelia suggested, mildly amused at the oxymoronic suggestion she had offered, and Poppy laughed at the absurdity of it. It was light and melodious, very much like Poppy herself.

“Amelia?” Poppy pinched some Floo Powder from the bag that lay near Ignatia Wildsmith, scowling at the sentient’s bust before Ignatia could natter on about her greatest invention. “I used to think you were a moody orphan with a martyr complex, someone that just wanted the world to cry over them because of the crummy hand life dealt them.”

Amelia snorted and murmured her thanks at the backhanded compliment.

“But now I can see that I was wrong.” Poppy’s lips curved up into a smirk as she threw her powder into the emerald green flames. “And I can see why Sebastian is so smitten with you.”

Amelia flushed, heat rising to her cheeks as Poppy was whisked away with green flames licking around her, snow fluttering to the ground as she stood there, ruminating over the Hufflepuff’s words, as surprising as they were affirming.

I can see why Sebastian’s so smitten with you.

It was the first time anyone – aside from Sebastian and Eleazar Fig – had seen her with the potential of who she could be. The weight of it was hefty, as heavy and uncomfortable as an ill-fitting coat, but also oddly comforting.

Fiddling with the loose tendrils of hair that framed her face, Amelia took a step forward towards the Floo Flame. Unbidden, her eyes traced the path back to where she knew three people lay burned from the inside out, a remnant of the magic that had torn itself free from her even though she had tried to reign it in. There was still so much she didn’t understand, but she knew that there was one person in Hogwarts that would help her find her answers.

“Professor Fig’s Office,” she whispered, throwing down her fistful of Floo Powder into the hearth.

The green flames roared to life, wild, untamed and full of possibility.

Chapter Text

The fire spat Amelia Calloway out in a tumble of robes and restive feelings, strands of auburn unravelling out from her bun as she raked her hand feverishly through her hair. Everything was very disorientating; going from the chaos of battle to the unnerving silence of the halls of Hogwarts. The bust of Ignatia Wildsmith said some nonsensical words which washed over Amelia as she minced her way to the office of Professor Fig; her thoughts were too tumultuous and too hurried for her to process what was being said. The silence was oppressive, almost as though she was being condemned for doing something unspeakable and unforgivable.

Her hands trembled at the enormity of the confession she was about to make. Eleazar Fig had stressed the importance of her remaining in control of her emotions so she could control her power, of making sure that as few people were aware of her Ancient Magic ability as possible to keep her safe and out of the clutches of Ranrok and Rookwood.

In one moment, she had defied his instruction and the thought of having to weather his disappointment was worse than having to face his anger. Anxiety bubbled in the pit of her stomach, and for the first time since they had said goodbye at Hogsmeade, Amelia missed the quiet presence of Sebastian. He always seemed to reassure her that everything would be fine; he had done that ever since they had been arrested – and he was mostly right – and hadn’t stopped since.

The door eeked open and guarded blue eyes peered around the frame. Fig’s classroom was empty – unsurprisingly, since it was the Christmas holiday – but she could hear quiet murmurs coming from Fig’s office. She paused, contemplating whether she really wanted to show the worst of her to her mentor, but the decision was taken out of her hands.

“Amelia?” Eleazar Fig had emerged from his office, blue robes swishing around him as he leant down on the banister to observe her, grey hair standing on end as if he had run his fingers through it numerous times. His eyes narrowed, lips downturned as he took in her harried appearance. Aside from her hair being dishevelled, her skin was pale and she seemed weary. He scuttled down the stairs with an agility that belied his age and guided her into a vacant seat in his classroom.

“Amelia, what is wrong?”

Amelia bowed her head, curtain of auburn shielding the worst of her from view, and she shook her head. There were no words that could soften the blow of her having to confess that her magic had killed three people in cold blood, but hearing the gravelly, raspy voice of Eleazar Fig was grounding. She imagined she looked just as bad as she felt, bun unfurling, leaves and twigs stuck to her robe from when she had rolled on the forest floor to dodge curses, skin chapped and dry from the wind that nipped at her face.

Fig kneeled in front of her, squeezing her shoulders, a measure of fortification and comfort. Even though she wasn’t officially his daughter – Athena had returned with the adoption papers since she hadn’t been able to find Amelia, and they lay in an envelope on his desk, ready for him to gift to her on Christmas Day in a few days’ time – he still adopted a fatherly approach to her, knowing that she responded well to gentle guidance rather than being told what to do. “Amelia, tell me. There is nothing so bad that we can’t solve it together.”

Amelia opened her mouth, rolled her tongue around the back of her teeth as she tried to force words out, but it was harder than she anticipated. It was challenging to find the words when the images and noises of battle had carved a place in her mind. Poppy’s shrill screams, the stench of scorched skin and flesh, the flicker of abject horror and disdain in their expression as their adversaries realised the lightning strike Amelia had summoned was targeting them.

Her gaze remained firmly on the floor. “Have you ever been scared of what you’ll become, Professor?”

Fig tilted his head to the right in contemplation, teeth gnawing away on his lip as he pondered her question. There had been many times when he had lost sight of himself; the first miscarriage had been intolerable, but he and Miriam had held each other as they cried and mourned their lost child. The first miscarriage had brought them closer together, but in a twist of irony, their subsequent miscarriages had driven a gulf of distance between them, culminating in Miriam travelling for her research without him. Without his wife to comfort him in his grief, Eleazar had sought solace in the bottom of a bottle. At first, it was just a tipple or two at night to ease the burning and numb the pain, but the analgesic effect of it wore off quickly so he upped his dosage. The tipple became a pint. The pint became two until he was clearing out bottle after bottle and waking up in strange places and had no recollection of how he got there.

The wake-up call that he was a far cry from the faithful husband – and decent man – he aspired to be was when two women he couldn’t recall were downstairs in his house, clothes strewn over the place, Miriam frowning at him reproachfully from a portrait of him as he stumbled his way from his bedroom to his drawing room. His saving grace was the repeated assurance that he hadn’t gone through with betraying his wife in the worst possible way, and that was the day he went to St. Mungo’s Hospital and began grief counselling to let him work through his convoluted and repressed emotions. The counselling had led him to hear about the teaching post at Hogwarts; on a whim, he applied for it and the rest was history. A useful thing; Miriam’s demise had meant that he was close to losing himself again, but the therapy had given him strategies to stop that from happening.

“Yes,” he said finally, dark eyes downcast and dim, as if he was haunted by the ghosts of his past. “More times that I can admit.”

The air hung heavy with the weight of the words that remained unspoken between them. Amelia flicked Fig a cursory glance, assessing whether there was any truth to the words he had uttered about the predicament she found herself in. Fig cast an appraising glance over Amelia, and with another gentle squeeze of her shoulders and a soft smile, he gestured for her to let him in.

“I killed them,” Amelia mumbled eventually, words tumbling out of her mouth like stones. Her discomfit was evident, and Eleazar instinctively pulled her into a tight hug. That was what fathers did, after all; they comforted their children in times of need. “I tried to keep it in, I tried to control it but I couldn’t! The magic had a hold over me!”

“Amelia, what happened?! How did a walk to Hogsmeade to see Mr. Sallow off for Christmas turn into… this?”

Amelia wrenched herself out of Eleazar’s grip, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her head in her torso, fingers tugging at her hair in a frantic manner. She gulped, audibly, trying to suppress the sobs that were threatening to wrack her body. It was just like when she had nearly obliterated Aesop Sharp into tiny little pieces after her arrest because she felt threatened by him, but this time it was worse. Not only had the strength and force of her magic magnified, it happened in front of Poppy Sweeting; while the Hufflepuff had promised to keep it a secret, Amelia was cynical enough to know that words held no meaning until they were backed up with actions.

“Amelia Calloway, you will answer the question and you will answer it now!” The note in Fig’s voice was authoritative, demanding and not leaving any room for a debate between them. Amelia imagined it was the tone a caring father would use on an errant child – not that she would know, since the Sisters had ingrained how unwanted she was since she was an oddity compared to the other children in the orphanage – and for some reason, it softened her. For a moment, she thought of Fig as her father, but she tapered down on that stream of consciousness. No point setting herself up to hope wistfully, only for it to burn to ash when Fig realised how monstrous she was.

Amelia quailed under the intensity of his voice, the words recounting the events of the Forbidden Forest leaking slowly from her lips. Glacial blue eyes peered up every now and again; the sinking feeling of devastation when she met Eleazar’s eye and saw the sag of his shoulders bubbled away at her, eating at her insides. Her voice petered out into nothing and she tightened her grip on herself, literally holding herself together so she didn’t fall apart at the seams.

Eleazar’s shoulders sagged not out of disappointment, but empathy. “You were trying to protect an innocent student, Amelia. Good intentions, with less than fantastic outcomes, still start from good intentions. It does not make you a monster, it does not make you someone that needs to be placed in a strait jacket and sent to the asylum.”

He rose to his feet, bones creaking as he stretched. “Show me, Amelia. Show me the scene where this took place.”

Returning to the scene of her murders felt like a colossal mistake, but Amelia trudged alongside Eleazar Fig, trusting that he would keep her safe not only from the dangers in the Forbidden Forest, but also from herself. Aesop Sharp limped in front of them, wand aloft; Eleazar had asked for his Auror expertise in examining the scene to see if Amelia would be in legal trouble for losing control of her magic.

The snow crunched underfoot, brittle like the bones that the bodies lying in front of them would eventually decay to. The three Dark Witches and Wizards lay in a small clearing, smouldering husks of what they once embodied. Amelia’s chest tightened as she took in the full extent of her magic, breath coming in shallow hitches.

Aesop Sharp’s dark eyes scoured the scene slowly, his eyes dragging back to Amelia. His jaw clenched, lips drawn into a thin line. “No conventional magic leaves this kind of trace.” He gestured to the environment around them, the hollowed out tree, the scorched bark, the shadows of the surrounding canopy that had been seared into the soil. “This didn’t just kill the adversaries; it incinerated them from the inside out.”

Amelia let out a little whimper, as if hearing someone else bluntly state the malice of her magic really hammered home the point that she was a danger to herself and others.

“This is Untraceable,” Aesop continued, a meaningful glance spared Eleazar’s way. Eleazar exhaled the breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding at the news. “No magical signature that can be assigned to someone in the area.”

“What does that mean?” Blue eyes glanced helplessly from her mentor to the Auror who had been roped in to help cover her indiscretions and keep her safe.

“It means that your magic is venturing into dangerous, unchartered territory,” Aesop said when he realised Eleazar would not reveal what it meant.

Amelia swallowed and nodded with a grimace. Her face schooled into a hardened, neutral expression and she tugged her hair over her eyes, hiding her true self from view, shoulders stooping and back curving to make herself smaller than she was. Aesop had voiced the very thing she was afraid of; she was a monster, she was a danger to herself and others. The Sisters were right; they should have relinquished her care to a mental institution, since that was what Amelia thought would have been the safest place for her and everyone around her.

“This is not an attack done with malice,” Aesop continued, softening his voice as he observed the girl’s posture. “This is not done with intent; this is instinct. This is reaction to any danger posed to the wielder. There is no need for a court case and trial by Wizengamot here; there is a need for guidance, and more guidance than you can probably provide at Hogwarts.”

Eleazar bored holes into Aesop, silently reading between the lines, understanding the words Aesop wasn’t saying and he nodded. Aesop was right; he couldn’t guide Amelia any more since his understanding of Ancient Magic wasn’t whole and complete.

There was only one move forward from this point to protect Amelia from herself.

It was time for Eleazar Fig to take Amelia on a field trip to the Department of Mysteries so she could meet the elusive George Osric, and sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

The Ministry of Magic was not a place that Amelia Calloway wanted to step foot back into, not after her last time there was so acrimonious. She minced her steps, shuffling her feet and pretending to peer into shop windows, wistfully staring at materialistic objects she wished she had the means to procure.

“Amelia,” Eleazar said sharply, tapping his fingers impatiently on the face of his pocket watch. “Adopting the approach of a sloth will not change the fact that you will have to step foot in the Ministry of Magic, and the Ministry is closing early today for Yuletide; we don’t have much time.”

Amelia reluctantly drew her eyes away from the window she was staring at, lips drawn into a thin line as she glowered at oppressive building in front of her. Her legs were leaden, each step towards the building filling her with dread and stripping her of what little autonomy she had left. The flurry of snow settled into her lashes, clinging onto her the way she clung onto her sanity. What if this time, the Ministry deemed her an uncontrolled threat to their community? What would happen to her? Would they throw her in Azkaban, the prison that Anne had cautioned her about at Sebastian’s trial, and the prison that had seemingly wrecked Sebastian from the inside out? What if there was something worse than Azkaban?

Eleazar Fig watched Amelia, noting her stiff, jerky movements and her reluctance to step towards the building. No doubt her last time in the Ministry of Magic had scarred her indelibly. While Eleazar had never been arrested – let alone arrested when he was novice to the Wizarding World – he could empathise with the swirl of conflicting emotions whirling through his young charge. Nothing bad would happen to her while she was under his care – of that Eleazar was sure – but Amelia had been burned in the past and always took reassurances like that with a pinch of cynicism. His posture eased, back and shoulders sagging as he relaxed them – more protector than mentor now – and he stepped towards her, hands on her shoulder as he steered her towards the window with the mannequins in them.

“Amelia, as much as you don’t want to, we have to do this.”

Amelia’s eyes glinted back at him, hard and resolute. “I know.”

And with that, she allowed Eleazar to lead her into the bowels of a building that terrified her.

The Department of Mysteries hummed with secrets. The air was electric and it made the hairs on the nape of her neck. Amelia shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of what she might discover about herself. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

Eleazar Fig marched through the hallways, head held high, before coming to a stop at a nondescript, small door. He knocked in rhythm, two sharp raps, a pause, and then three long, slow knocks. Amelia shrank back, shoulders hunched as she tried to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Eleazar frowned lightly at her and shook his head; there was no need for her to shy away from the answers that he was hoping to find. If anything, knowing more about her mystical power might make it easier for her to control.

The door creaked open to reveal a tall man, dressed in a tweed vest with a red bow tie. To Amelia, it looked like he had not missed a meal in his life and his hands rested on his paunch as he appraised them through small, round glasses perched on his nose. His dark eyes glinted with intelligence and his lips twitched under his moustache in amusement.

“Eleazar, I expected you to drop by long before now. What has it been, nearly three months since I last saw you?”

“Not a social call, I’m afraid, George,” Eleazar said, and he pulled Amelia into the forefront of George Osric’s view. “She needs help. We need help.”

George’s eyebrows climbed up so high Amelia thought they would migrate off his forehead. His grey eyes regarded her sharply, looking at her in a way Amelia felt almost transparent. Amelia squirmed under the intensity of his gaze, fidgeting and picking at the skin around her fingernails in anxiety.

“Tell me what happened.”

Eleazar opened his mouth and began to speak, but George held up his hand. Eleazar faltered, words trailing off into the ether. “Not you, Eleazar. Her. She is at the crux of all of this.”

Amelia’s eyes trailed to Eleazar, questioning how much she could trust the stranger in front of her. Sebastian fluttered into her mind; when they met in Marylebone Library, he had exuded a calm, quiet confidence and charm that had immediately put Amelia at a tentative ease with him. The man in front of her was quite the contrast, and the walls that she used to keep herself safe and protected were firmly fortified.

She schooled her face into a blank expression to disguise just how uneasy she felt and bit down on her tongue, the adage the Sisters had drilled into her coming into play.

Silence is a virtue.

Even though she was enfant du peche, Amelia still aspired to be virtuous. Not that virtue was going to save her now, but she had seen how Sebastian had morphed the perception of him throughout his trial and during his term at Hogwarts and she thought she might be able to get away with what she did if she could replicate that.

Osric frowned at Amelia, arms crossing over his chest as he observed the child in front of him. It was hard to believe that she was the one that embodied Ancient Magic, with the way her anxieties and distrust seemed to overpower her body. Her fingers twitched against her cuticles, picking away until the skin flaked off and she bled, blue eyes darting around the room as she tried to find a plausible escape route.

But Osric knew that there was no more running for Amelia Calloway. There was nowhere for her to hide anymore; the magic was ingrained into the fabric of her very being.

“Amelia,” Fig prompted as he settled into a well-worn leather armchair, chin resting in the palm of his hand. “It’s alright; you can tell George. It’s George Osric.”

The look of scepticism that was sent his way wounded Eleazar to the quick, but he could also understand it. George Osric was a member of the Ministry, the institution that Amelia had reservations over. But then again, George Osric was the mastermind behind the Ministry agreeing to release Amelia into his care over the summer so she wouldn’t be trialled for something she was unaware of and couldn’t control.

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, blue gaze hardened and quizzical. She didn’t know enough about Osric to know whether she could trust him, but Eleazar seemed to trust him, and Amelia trusted Fig. Her jaw opened and snapped shut, the words she wanted to say clogging in her throat and she gulped in air, trying to slow her breathing down to a more steady rate.

“Stop.” George could see the distress the girl was putting herself under, and it was something he could relieve her of. “There is a different way.”

George’s eyes met Eleazar’s, waiting for permission to follow through on his idea. Eleazar shrugged – Legilimency would certainly help George garner a visceral and full understanding – but it was invasive and taxing, and for it to be as painless as possible, it required both parties to implicitly trust each other. Knowing Amelia as he did, Eleazar wasn’t sure she would be receptive to a stranger stumbling through her mind, uncovering her deepest, darkest secrets.

“Amelia, George is right. There is a different way, but it requires you to let him into your mind.”

Amelia’s heart thumped behind her ribs at the words. She could feel George’s eyes slicing through her like a knife carving up a roast dinner, and yet his expression gave away nothing. The silence stretched to an eternity, suffocating them.

“Legilimency will give me a window into your mind,” George began, ignoring Amelia’s distasteful grimace. “It will give me a window into your thoughts, your feelings and your very essence, but it is not without risk.”

“What risks?” Amelia snapped, voice tart as she scowled at him. The thought of having to figuratively lay herself bare to a stranger wasn’t sitting well with her; she had always been guarded, always had to maintain her own walls to stop the cruelty of the world from cutting her to shreds while she was a resident of St. Calloway’s Orphanage.

“Temporary emotional instability, susceptibility to other mind attacks, headaches and dizziness are some of the common side effects,” George explained. “But they settle down quite quickly, lasting less than 72 hours. It has been found that the more the recipient trusts the process, the less invasive and fewer side effects they experience.”

Amelia baulked. Trust. Trust was key, and there was nothing about George Osric that she could trust. Her trust in the system had been broken long before it had been established – the Ministry had used scare tactics when they interrogated her in the summer to put the fear of God into her – and it was nearly impossible for her to trust a system that relied on intimidation to keep control over her. An experience that had done nothing but leave her and everyone that had tried to shield and protect her scarred in their own way.

She shivered, trembles racking her body, at the thought of losing control over herself and relinquishing all that she was to someone else. “No,” she mumbled, arms crossed over her chest as her defence mechanism. “No.”

“I don’t expect you to trust me straight away, Amelia,” George conceded, eyes never leaving her reluctant form. “It’s not about you blindly trusting me; with your history, trust is earned, not freely given. It’s about understanding what you carry within you, understanding how to manage the power inside of you so it doesn’t consume you.”

“George won’t hurt you,” Eleazar chimed in. It was as much of a promise as it was a warning. “I trust him, Amelia. With my life.”

The silence stretched between them again, thick and heavy with anticipation, until Eleazar spoke again. “It’s a choice, Amelia. You don’t have to do it this way; you can say no, and we will respect that. But you can’t hide from it, and you can’t run from it. George can help you maintain control over it.”

Amelia’s gaze wavered between Eleazar and George. Both of them seemed calm and composed, not a wrinkle in their face. It was comforting and discomforting all at the same time and she rubbed a hand across her forehead as she contemplated the decision she was being asked to make. Her stomach bubbled with anxiety and her fingers picked at the skin near her fingernails.

“I have confidence in Professor Fig,” Amelia began, and Eleazar delighted inwardly at the news that Amelia trusted him unreservedly. “By extension, I suppose I must grant you that courtesy too, Mr. Osric. Do what needs to be done.”

George’s lips twitched again under his moustache as he kneeled in front of the young girl, but his eyes were serious. He explained how Legilimency worked – eye contact was key – and his hand would rest against Amelia’s temple. Amelia grimaced at that – she had never been one for tactility, let alone from someone she barely knew; Sebastian was the only exception to the rule – but gritted her teeth as she nodded. If there was something she didn’t want George to see, all she had to do was imagine a door with a padlock on it; George would respect her boundaries and not force his way into her mind.

Amelia nodded, scared at the unknown, but resolute. She steeled her nerves, shoulders squaring as her unwavering gaze met George’s stormy grey ones. George nodded back, attempted a reassuring smile and placed his hand against her temple and bored holes into her mind.

The window panes shuddered, the glass rattling in the rotten wooden frame. Thunder clapped in the background, a violent symphony to the violence playing out in the courtyard of St. Calloway’s Orphanage.

A strangled scream as Amelia writhed and twisted against the person who had her hair trapped in their vice like grip as a hand struck her face. The boy – who was at least five years older than her – sneered, lip curling upwards in a cruel manner.

“That’s what you get for stealing my loaf of bread from my stall!”

She whimpered, eyes closing as a booted foot collided with her cheekbone. Bruises blossomed under her skin and she tried to protest her innocence. Stealing was a sin and would condemn their soul to an eternity in hell – the Sisters had drilled that into all of the girls in the orphanage – and images of fire and brimstone had scared the eight year old into compliance on that front. She opened her mouth to protest her innocence – she hadn’t taken the loaf; another street child had and she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – but she snapped her jaw shut, realising the futility of that.

Silence was a virtue, after all.

Her fingers itched and trembled as they always did when an injustice was carried out against her and something inside of her snapped.

Another rumble of thunder.

A puff of smoke.

A plume of feathers.

Outraged squawking.

A pop.

Silence.

Then screaming.

Amelia never knew if the screams came from him or her.

Lightning flashed outside the window.

Thunder rumbled through the air.

Rain lashed against the window, as tempestuous and cantankerous as she was.

She huddled into herself under the thin, ragged, grey blanket she had pinched off Melinda’s bed as she lay on the stone-cold floor. Melinda had gone for seconds at dinner, taking Amelia’s plate of food and the Sisters hadn’t believed Amelia when she said that she hadn’t eaten all day.

Lying was a sin, and the Sisters had sent her to her dormitory without a second worry.

Another clap of thunder, synchronous with the way her stomach was rumbling.

Something leached through her skin, power and pain, a brand and a burn all rolled into one. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she sniffed back her tears. Outside, a tree branch snapped and fell onto the roof of the orphanage, punching a hole in the ceiling above Melinda’s bed and allowing a tidal wave of water to saturate the thin, lumpy mattress and spill out onto the floor. It was soothing and burning as the water licked at her skin.

The Sister that was assigned to check on Amelia shrieked and clutched at her rosary before whirling away to keep the others out of a room that was a danger to them.

She was nine.

She was alone.

***

Haunting musical notes flitted on the air. She pulled her dress close to her as she turned in Garreth’s arms, her eyes locked onto where he was, effortlessly twirling Samantha Dale around the dance floor. The familiar feeling of magic welled up inside of her as she watched him, jealousy and envy fluttering underneath her footsteps. Her fingers itched, they trembled with the exertion of not letting herself go.

And then he was there.

In front of her.

Irritating, smug, smirk plastered onto a face she could have stared at for eternity. His lips moved and her fingers itched. Her forearms ached from her maintaining control over herself, the ache easing as his hands skimmed over the skin of her cheek. The hold her magic had over her loosened,

She breathed in deep and breathed out slow as his lips drew near, soft and hesitant.

The door slammed closed with a jolt, bolts grinding to ensure that no-one could get in, hard enough to make George flinch.

He was hers.

Unblemished by her curse, her cross to bear.

She wasn’t going to let anyone in and ruin her only moment of happiness.

The Dark Witch’s taunt carried through the air, the cackle high-pitched and cruel. A diminutive figure in black and yellow danced a dangerous tango with them, offence and defence as the situation called for it as she approached. Taunting her, jeering at her, wand raised to cause unspeakable damage and pain to her.

Something snapped, blood roiling beneath the surface.

No wand.

No muttered incantation.

Just rage.

The sky split open.

A bolt of light igniting the air around them. Smoke curling around the scene, barbequed meat tingling on the tip of the tongue. Hands and fingers ached, arthritic to move, stiff and tender. Eyes haunted and wide open.

“Don’t tell.”

“I won’t.”

And out of the fire, a tentative friendship forged.

George winced, resisting the urge to clutch at his heart as he probed into Amelia’s mind. Her memories, tough and tainted as they were, explained so much about her, underscored why Amelia was so distrustful of those around her.

She had never been nurtured, never been held, never been cherished or told she mattered.

Only surveilled and scorned.

His hand left her temple and the connection between them broke. His eyes scoured hers, hardened and glacial and traumatised. His face slackened with empathy as the intensity of all the memories she thought she had repressed flooded the forefront of her mind. A heartbeat later, Amelia burst into sobs. Not dainty, little sniffles, but deep, guttural wails of despair. She shrunk into herself, arms and legs tangled up tighter than a Gordion knot as she bowed her head in shame.

Eleazar watched on, swallowing painfully; he knew enough about Amelia to know that trying to physically comfort her while she was in this state was a recipe for disaster. It was best to let her process and calm down in her own way and her own time before he broached her.

“You saw what you needed to see?” Eleazar muttered, heart tearing in two as he watched the girl that he thought of as his daughter wreck herself from the inside out, and know that there was nothing he could do to ease her suffering.

“I saw.”

“And?”

George’s eyes flicked from the huddled form of Amelia to Eleazar’s concerned posture. “She is very powerful, and her history makes her vulnerable. If Rookwood’s henchmen or Ranrok’s Loyalists ever discovered that about her, it would be easy to manipulate her into doing their bidding.” A dark undercurrent of sinister laced George’s tone and Eleazar frowned at what he was hinting at.

Legilimency, when used in the hands of a competent, moral witch or wizard, was usually used to gain nuanced insights into a person’s thoughts and feelings, gain their perspective on a particular situation or memory. Anyone with less scruples could use Legilimency for nefarious purposes; it was common for a Dark Witch or Wizard to manipulate memories and emotions, twist and skew their victim’s perspective to coerce them into acquiescing to their darker instincts. The more traumatised a person, the more ammunition a Dark Witch or Wizard had against them, and Amelia was a treasure trove of ammunition.

Eleazar swallowed, his gulp audible as he shrugged his periwinkle robe off his shoulders and tucked it around Amelia like a comforting, weighted blanket. He watched her sob; not one mark marred her skin, but her pain was undeniable. The bruises were there, just not where anyone had bothered to look. “Occlumency? Or a Mind Healer?”

George nodded slowly. Both options were feasible and viable. Occlumency would be a last resort, in case Amelia did fall into the wrong hands, while seeking therapy from a Mind Healer would help Amelia process all the pain and mistreatment she had been subjected to as a child instead of having it fester and cankour inside of her.

“The boy too,” George murmured. “Most of her power triggers in moments of immense anger and upset; he is particularly good at keeping her calm. I felt that when I was in her mind. Use him; he’s key in keeping her safe in the long term.”

Eleazar and George focused back on the broken young girl crying on the floor. Amelia could feel the heat and intensity of their gaze; red-rimmed eyes peered out from under the blanket and she waited for fear, shame and disgust to be thrown her way.

Nothing came.

Just silence.

And for the first time, Amelia decided to let it stay that way.

Chapter Text

25th December 1880

“Wake up, Seb, wake up!”

There was an earthquake rumbling on the six year old boy’s bed as his twin used his mattress as a trampoline. Sebastian – who was most unlike Anne in the sense that he was not a morning person – glowered at his sibling and tried to burrow back under the doona.

“Wake up!” Anne bellowed, right next to his ear as she ripped the fluffy bed cover away from him. Her eyes glittered with excitement, knees jittery as she bounced on the balls of her feet, her pigtails quivering. “Daddy said today’s the day we get to take part in a Sallow tradition, and I’m not missing out on it!”

Sebastian grumbled some more and flicked a pillow in Anne’s direction. His bed was warm and toasty, and while the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan was aromatic, it wasn’t quite tempting enough to get him out of bed. “Go away, Annie. I’ll get up when I’m ready.”

Anne’s grin slipped off her face as her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Her face screwed up in a scowl, eyebrows furrowed together as her foot stomped on the ground and her hands curled into fists. “I’m not missing this because you’re too lazy to get out of bed! And you’re too chicken to take part in it!”

The words were thrown down like a gauntlet, a challenge Anne knew her brother wouldn’t be able to resist. Ruffled curly hair popped out from under the doona like a Kneazle emerging from a hiding spot, eyes just as dark and narrow as his sister’s. His jaw ground tightly, enamel of his teeth scraping against each other as he swung himself up into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep-dust out of his eyes.

“I’m not a chicken! Take it back! Take it back or I’ll hex you!”

Anne smirked; her words had achieved exactly what she wanted. “You’re six; you don’t know any hexes and neither of us have magic yet.” She tugged on his arm, triumphant that she had manipulated Sebastian into doing her will and the twins trundled down the stairs.

Emerys stood at the foot of the stairs, bleary eyed as she sipped at the coffee Silas handed her. Her hair was just as wild and messy as her son, sticking up at odd angles from where she had slept on it and she held out her arms so she could wrap her son and daughter up into her warm embrace as she wished them a happy Christmas.

“You’re not coming with us, Mummy?” Sebastian asked, eyes taking in the cotton nightgown Emerys was wearing, hopeful that his mother would grant him a reprieve from his incredibly early morning wake up call.

“No, Sebastian, Mummy has to start cooking so we have food for tonight. The Weasleys, the Reyes, and some of the Hogwarts staff that don’t have family are coming over for a feast.”

“I’ll help, Mummy,” Sebastian volunteered, his eyes trailing wistfully back to the door of his room, and Emerys had to stifle her laugh behind her hand. Her son was incredibly unsubtle; she knew that Sebastian’s offer was a last-ditch plea to crawl back to bed and wake up at a more reasonable hour.

“Nice try, Sebastian,” she murmured wryly, her lips brushing a kiss to his temple as her hands tried to tame the unruly mess that was his hair. “But your father and grandfather have been waiting for this day since the two of you were born, so you’re not getting out of it.”

“Sallow blood waits for no-one, and you are a Sallow, Seb,” Silas grinned as he picked up the bag of towels, swimming costumes and snacks for afterwards. Unlike his wife and his son, Silas was a morning person, and his relentless cheeriness seemed to be contagious as even Sebastian cracked a half-smile, half-grimace at his words.

“You’re going to love it, Sebastian,” Emerys said, and it was more of a demand than it was a statement. “You’ll feel better once you’re in the water with Grandpop for your first swimming lesson. The bracing water will definitely wake you up, my little sleepyhead.”

Silas swung Anne up on his shoulders – she was just about able to fit in his arms, and he would miss it when Anne grew too big for him – and steered his son out the door to the Floo Flame to take them to the shores of Feldcroft.

Samuel Sallow, built like a brick house, stood on the shoreline of the beach as he observed the waves lapping over the sand. The wind was biting, but he didn’t feel it through his stocky stature and muscle and bulk. The first rays of light were illuminating the horizon, The sand crunched underfoot, frosty and cold, but the warmth of the shrieks of his grandchildren made up for it.

“Grandpop, Grandpop! We’re here!” Anne broke free from Silas’ grip and scampered down to Samuel, throwing herself into his arms. Samuel laughed at her exuberance and twirled her in his arms as she nuzzled into his neck. Silas smiled at the heartwarming scene while Sebastian waited for Anne to be placed back on the ground before tackling his grandfather to the sand in an excited hug of his own.

“Ease up on your grandfather, son, he’s not as young as he used to be,” Silas snarked with a mischievous smile on his face. As much as everyone thought Emerys was cheeky, Silas had his moments too.

“Silas, I can still outswim you with one leg chopped off, a head cold and a mermaid biting my arse.” Samuel hoisted Anne and Sebastian onto his wide shoulders and greeted his son with a one-armed hug.

Silas exaggerated shock and made a point to cover the delicate ears of his children so they didn’t pick up on their grandfather’s uncouth mouth, even though there was truth to what his father was saying. It was a Sallow tradition that they started Christmas with a dawn swim. Silas wasn’t sure when or why the tradition started – perhaps it had to do with the Sallow lineage being fishers and farmers – but it was one he wanted to pass onto his children. Before Emerys had fallen pregnant with the twins, she would grumble and complain about the wind and the salt water drying out her skin and ruining her hair, but she revelled in the waves, swimming in tandem with Silas and frolicking with him in the waves afterwards. Afterwards, Emerys never stopped Silas from his dawn swim with his father, but had stayed at home with the children; Silas was hoping she would join them next year so they could turn it into a family event. The lack of Solomon rankled slightly, but after the way his brother had shunned his wife and denigrated his children, Silas wasn’t too inclined to extend an olive branch to his older brother.

Sebastian released his grandfather and ran back to the safety of his father, his brown eyes staring at the freezing water with trepidation. “Daddy,” he said eventually, a means of breaking the silence and distracting himself from the sea. “What’s an arse?”

“It’s a naughty word Grandpop shouldn’t have said, and you definitely won’t be saying that in front of your mother,” Silas chided, the note in his voice determining that the avenue of questioning Sebastian was going to pursue was shut.

A gust of wind sliced through the six-year-old’s body – a lanky frame of skin and bone – and goosebumps freckled his freckled skin. Sebastian shivered as he watched Anne torpedo her way into the waves, shrieking as the cold seeped into her bones and retreating as her father called out at her to not go too far into the waves lest she get swept out to sea.

“Y’know, Seb, the first time I did the Sallow Seasonal Swim, I cried so much your great-grandmother thought I was being tortured. Didn’t stop me from going back next year, and the more I did it, the more I enjoyed it. Now I can’t go a weekend without a dip in the ocean now; it’s why your mother looks after you and your sister on a Sunday morning.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked from his father to his grandfather and Samuel nodded in confirmation. The six year old’s jaw dropped; his dad was his hero, tough enough to withstand anything, and it was a shock to realise that water had taken his father out when he was Sebastian’s age.

“Only stopped crying when he got some saltwater taffy as a treat for going in the water,” Samuel chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair as though Silas was no older than six. “And got a cuddle from Dad after his first swimming lesson too.”

Samuel’s keen eye fell on his grandson and he beckoned his granddaughter back to his side. He knelt down by his grandchildren and began to speak, the wind rippling through his hair as he explained the mechanics of how to stay afloat, how to kick and breathe in the water to Anne and Sebastian. Silas took a step back, a proud father watching on as eventually, Samuel, Sebastian and Anne made it out into the ocean for their first Sallow Seasonal Swim.

A persistent knock at his window drew Sebastian Sallow, now sixteen years old, out of his light doze. It was his first night back in his own bed since school, and while it was comfortable, it was also disconcerting, almost like putting on his favourite jumper and finding it was too tight around the arms and chest.

He squirmed, stretching the kinks out of his spine as he rubbed so hard his knuckles pressed into the jelly of his eye, as he stuffed his feet into woollen socks and pulled a Quidditch jersey over his head.

Imelda’s owl perched on his windowsill, haughtily looking at him for taking his sweet time in waking up and scrambling to the window to relieve them of the note attached to the owl’s leg.

Seb,

We’re at Feldcroft. Like always on Christmas Day. If Anne can make it this year, it would be nice.

First Sallow Seasonal Swim without your granddad. Can’t say we’re thrilled about it, but we’re here, like he’d want. Bring some glasses; we’ll honour Grandpop Sallow the right way.

Mel and Garreth

On the ledge of the windowsill lay a cherry red wrapper.

Saltwater taffy.

Samuel Sallow’s favourite post-swim treat. A treat he shared with all his grandchildren – by surrogate and by blood – becoming ingrained into their personality.
Clouds shrouded the horizon and a light drizzle fell to the ground, the melancholy of the day complementing his dour mood perfectly.

Feldcroft.

Not a place Sebastian particularly wanted to go back to, especially after the events of last Christmas and New Years.

Not when last year had been the biggest devastation to his life, indelible ink forever staining him and his outlook on life. Not when the last time he was there, his grandfather was killed, his grandmother destroyed in a way no one could ever comprehend unless they had gone through it too before being left to bleed out and die, his mother and father debilitatingly injured from Acromantula that roamed freely through the village, his sister cursed because he was too inept at saving her, at saving them all.

His heart burned, from the pit of his stomach to the breath lodged at the back of his throat. The memory of Feldcroft wasn’t just etched into him – it was carved into him, like Ancient Runes on stone, brutal and unforgiving.

But the note… the taffy… the tradition… it all pulled heavily on him.

He moved to Anne’s room, floorboards creaking under the weight of his conscience. Dark eyes sidled over to the photo on her nightstand. A younger version of himself, a healthy version of Anne, and a still-alive version of Samuel Sallow smiled back at him. At the time the photo was taken – just after their first ever ocean swim, lips still tinged blue from the chill of the water as they huddled into the warmth of each other, towel draped over them – laughter and delight lined the day. Now the smiles were mocking Sebastian, a tangible reminder of what his carelessness and his incompetence had cost his family. It was too much to bear; his fist slammed the frame down so hard the glass shattered on the wood.

Anne shifted under the doonas she was cocooned in, stirring as the intrusion woke her. Sleepy eyes focussed hazily on the shadow roaming around her room. Cedar smoke and leather wafted on the air – her brother’s signature scent – and Anne relaxed, sagging back into her pillow as she pushed her lank hair out of her face.

“Seb? What are you doing up so early?”

“It’s Christmas,” Sebastian replied, as though it explained everything. To Anne, it did. The light of the morning crept through the window, pinks and purples bruising the sky, and Anne heaved herself out of bed. She shivered as the chill of the morning cut through the open window into her room.

“No, Annie. Not for you. You stay in bed and stay warm,” Sebastian instructed, gently pushing her back down onto her mattress and pressing a kiss to her forehead. His mouth curved up into a teasing smile as he delivered the words he knew would irk his sister. “Besides, if you go, I won’t be able to tease you about being a chicken.”

Anne opened her mouth to protest – it was highly likely that this would be her last Sallow Seasonal Swim – and she was sick of her curse ensuring that she sat on the sidelines and missed out on life. If this was her last year alive, she wanted to make the most of it, even if it meant that the swim would overexert her and she remained in bed for the next three days while she recovered.

“I’ll swim twice, one for you and one for me,” Sebastian insisted, pulling the doona tight under her chin, as gentle and tender as if he was tucking his own daughter into bed.

“Dad’s not going,” Anne mumbled. “I heard him telling Ma while you were chopping firewood in the garden. Not this year, he said. Too painful to go back.”

Sebastian nodded in understanding. “Well, there’s nothing for it. I guess I’ll swim three times then. One for all of us.”

Anne nodded slowly, a soft smile gracing her face as she realised the sentimental gift Sebastian was offering up for their family. “Love you, Seb.”

“Love you too, Annie.”

He moved on, closing the door to his sister’s room softly behind him.

Located the glasses – three of them. Slipped his feet into boots and instinctively reached for his wand before remembering that Aesop Sharp still possessed it as part of his probation.

Not that it mattered – Sebastian had been honing his wandless magic skill, and while he wasn’t proficient at it, he could cast a few defensive spells lest he run into undesirables at Feldcroft. Plus, Imelda and Garreth would be there – he could always use one of their wands in the case of a duel breaking out between him and any assailants that they could cross.

Pocketed the saltwater taffy that lay in his hand.

Sometimes tradition wasn’t about joy.

Sometimes tradition was about survival.

Sometimes tradition was about remembering.

Feldcroft tasted of iron and forgotten prayers, of death and desolation, a Pandora’s box that never should have been opened. Hope might have lingered too, but Sebastian couldn’t find it as he stomped his way from the Floo Flame to the coast line. Time was liquid, slipping through his fingers, ageing him in a way that no-one could comprehend.

“Oi, Sallow, down here!” Imelda waved at him from where the water lapped at the shore. Garreth stood beside her, beckoning his cousin down.

The tide came in, and took the happiness and giggles that used to exist in the space between the sea and the sky as the tide went out, leaving nothing but a cold, empty void. Sebastian sighed, glasses clinking in his hand as Imelda waved a bottle of Dragon Barrell Brandy at him.

Sebastian glared balefully at Imelda; she knew he was trying to cut back on his alcohol consumption since his escapades over summer had caught up with him, and he was trying to get off probation for good, and here she was, waving a vice directly under his nose.

“One sip to toast your grandfather and grandmother isn’t going to kill you,” Imelda snorted as she snatched the empty tumblers from Sebastian’s hands. She filled them to the brim, licking at her palm as the liquid spilled over and passed them to her companions.

“To Samuel and Sophia Sallow. May they smile down on us as we swim in their honour.”

Sebastian raised his glass; the sun peeking out over the horizon made the amber liquid in the glass glimmer. “May their strength and courage live in the salt in our skin, the dance of the waves and the fight still left in us.”

“To the ones that we’ve lost and the ones that are still here, still trying, may we keep up the Sallow Seasonal Swim and keep on swimming,” Garreth added, uncharacteristically sombre clashing with his usual prankster personality.

The glasses clinked and they down the liquid in one easy swallow before Garreth twirled his wand and evanescoed the glasses away.

“Water’s a bit warmer than usual, so Craggy Rock today?” Garreth pointed to a cluster of jagged shapes out in the distance. “Last one there and back has to buy the Butterbeers on our first trip to The Three Broomsticks when we get back to school.”

And without waiting for his companions to agree, Garreth pulled off his shirt and threw himself headfirst into the water.

Imelda snorted as Sebastian rolled his eyes in a fondly exasperated manner. “Idiot,” he huffed out as they watched Garreth’s head bob up and down between the waves. “He’s completely forgotten Grandpop’s advice; look for where the current’s pulling away from the shore so you don’t have to use as much energy to get to where you need to be.”

Imelda snorted once more, eyes roving across the water and onto the boy she thought of as the brother she never had. “So, you and Amelia.”

“What about it?” There was a tight edge to Sebastian’s voice, nettled that people were picking and prying apart something that was tender and new and a relationship that he wanted to keep to himself as it blossomed into something rich and fruitful.

“I know you, and I just want you to keep in mind that when I come into your dorm to wake you up for Quidditch, there are noises that I never need to hear you make, and parts of you that I never want to see.”

Sebastian choked on the air he was inhaling, turning a magnificent shade of magenta as he twigged onto Imelda’s implication. He spluttered an almost nonsensical response that had Imelda sarcastically agreeing with him – it seemed that everyone had been assuming he’d engage in uncivilized behaviour, when in reality he never crossed the line of impropriety with Amelia because he was determined to make it last – and pointed at the ocean, glad that the water would cool his rapidly flushing cheeks and ears. “That’s our entry point; it’ll take us halfway out to Craggy Rock.”

Imelda didn’t press the point any further – she knew when to press and when to pull back, and this was a time for her to pull back – and followed his gaze. The water was as smooth as glass, shimmering under the rising sun. The tide rolled and twisted, breathing life into those that entered.

“Alright, Vice, last one to and back from Craggy Rock has to get the Butterbeers and listens to Weasley’s Merlin-awful drunk singing as they hoist him back to the castle at the end of the night.”

Sebastian huffed as he kicked off his boots and pulled off his Quidditch jersey. “You realise he’ll sing whether he’s drunk or not, and I’ll be the one dragging him back anyway.”

Without another word, Sebastian dived into the water, mind going blank as the freezing waves crashed over him. The reprieve from feeling was exactly what he needed, and for the first time, Sebastian finally understood why his grandfather embraced the rhythm of the waves roiling around him. The water whispered around him, of the past that shaped him and the future that he was yet to discover.

Feldcroft, for all its scars, was still standing.

And so was he.

Day had morphed into night and bled back into day again, and Amelia Calloway lay on the mattress of the bed Eleazar Fig had said was hers in his London townhouse. She faced the wall, tears trailing down her cheeks that she made no effort in sweeping away. Her eyes were glazed over, catatonic, trapped in a past she had no desire of reliving and yet could not escape. The aftermath of George Osric delving into her mind was intense, to say the least, and Amelia was still reeling from the effects of it.

But Fig couldn’t let her wallow in trauma and pity for much longer.

Osric had given him another lead – apparently there was a well and a castle in Feldcroft that was potentially linked to Ancient Magic – and he needed Amelia’s ability to help determine what was special about it.

“Amelia?” Eleazar set a steaming cup of tea down on the bedside table, along with a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. “Amelia, you need to eat and drink.”

Amelia did not respond, shrugging one shoulder up and down tightly. How could she eat and drink and pretend all was well when all she had floating through her head was devastation, isolation and the Sisters’ words reminding her that she was a child of sin who didn’t deserve bread, water and affection?

Unfortunately for her, the aroma of hot, salted pork and the sharpness of cheddar made her stomach growl in anticipation. Eleazar chuckled while Amelia inwardly cursed her body for betraying her. Unbidden, her head tilted as her eyes glared at the food. She warred within herself, desperately wanting to reach out and devour the treat, but also wanting the plate to spontaneously combust so she wouldn’t give into temptation.

“Come along, girl, listen to what your body clearly needs. You’ll feel a little better, I promise.”

There was no resistance left in her, and tentatively, Amelia reached out for the crisp bread and practically inhaled it. Eleazar averted his eyes as she munched away and bit back his chuckle.

The smoky, salty taste of the ham slid down her throat as a guilty pleasure. She hadn’t realised just how badly her body craved food, and for the first time since Eleazar had brought her back to his London townhouse, she felt something more tangible than emptiness and loneliness. Amelia had been holding onto hunger like a self-inflicted punishment, a misguided show of strength and resilience, and in that moment her rebellion had betrayed her. Shame intermingled with relief; her mind wanted to stay curled up like a hedgehog desperately trying to avoid any kind of human connection but her body was less prideful.

Eleazar waited patiently as she chewed and swallowed, gulping down her meal with some tea and grimacing as the liquid burnt her throat. “I was speaking with Osric while you were… indisposed.”

Collapsed felt too harsh. Shattered would have been more apt and more honest, but also more cruel.

Amelia’s face twisted into something unreadable at the mention of George’s name. Logically, she knew he was an ally, one of the few people she had in her corner, fighting for her, but emotionally, he was the man that had turned her into the emaciated mess lying on the bed.

“There’s a village in the western quadrant of the Scottish Highlands. Feldcroft. George’s intel indicates that there may be a well in the centre of town related to another Ancient Magic wielder. And a ruined castle nearby. Both have insights into… what you are.”

What you are. Not who you are. Eleazar inwardly winced as he realised how dehumanising that sounded. But it was too late to take it back; the words were already out there. Amelia bristled at the implication, her shoulders stiffening as wary blue eyes swivelled to face him.

“I am not a thing to be poked, prodded and examined,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady.

“No, you’re not. I must apologise for my poor choice of words,” Eleazar conceded, sitting heavily on the mattress beside her. “But study it we must. This power inside of you, Amelia, is older than anything we’ve catalogued, anything we know of. It doesn’t follow the laws of modern magic; it is more primordial, and that means we must study it to know what it is and how to use it responsibly.”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

Fig was right, and he knew he had worn down her resistance.

“Feldcroft, then.” He patted her hand tentatively – that was what he imagined fathers did with their daughters – and rose towards the armoire in the room, pulling out some towels and an outfit for Amelia to wear for the day. “Have a bath, freshen up, and then we’ll go.”

There was a beat of silence.

Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with crystallised salt from the tears that had dried. “You think we’ll find answers as to why I am the way I am in Feldcroft?”

“Maybe not answers, but I think we’ll find something.”

Amelia watched on as Eleazar left the room. The door closed behind him, leaving Amelia to her thoughts, her magic, and for the first time in her life, a sliver of something that was dangerously close to hope.

Chapter Text

Silas Sallow thrust the curtains to his bedroom open, much to Emerys’ chagrin, as he raked his hair back off his face. Emerys grumbled as light reflected off the snow and glittered, pulling the doona over her head.

“Time to get up, Emerys,” Silas chuckled, his hand dipping underneath the bedcovers so he could tickle the sole of her foot. Emerys shrieked and drew her foot up towards her, burrowing into herself as she scowled up at her husband.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, yawning and rolling back over into her sleep. Silas had to suppress a smile; as much as their son looked like the spit of him, Sebastian was the embodiment of his mother.

“No, Emerys, time to get up to make the most of the time we have,” Silas insisted, eyes flickering up to the ceiling. Their bedroom was directly below Anne’s room, and Emerys understood the thinly veiled message. It was highly likely that it was Anne’s last Christmas, and neither Silas or her wanted to waste a minute of it.

Emerys let out a quiet sigh as she unravelled herself from the doona wrapped around her like a shroud. She grumbled some words and blinked the sleep out of her eyes, staring hopefully at Silas. Silas nodded and swivelled his wrist so a mug of tea materialised in his hands.

“Drink this, love, wake up a little more, and then in the kitchen to cook the Christmas feast for tonight.”

Emerys nodded, leaning into Silas’ touch as he kissed her cheek and forehead. “Anne will already be awake and by the fire; go rouse Sebastian otherwise he’ll sleep the whole morning away.”

Silas chuckled at how well they knew their children as he stuffed his feet into slippers and tightened his dressing gown around him. He padded up the stairs to the mezzanine of the house, pushing unruly curls out of his eyes, and knocked on Sebastian’s door before stepping quietly into the room.

It was too quiet.

The bed was made, the floor was clear of laundry and Sebastian’s woollen jumpers weren’t hanging off the back of his chair. The worn boots Silas knew his son loved weren’t by the door.

Sebastian was gone.

Silas breathed in deep, held it for ten counts and exhaled sharply. His eyes focussed in on the desk – there was no note. Blood thundered through his veins, a flush of anger rising to his cheeks as steam practically billowed out of his ears. Sebastian was still on probation – would remain on it until he graduated from Hogwarts – and he was still being reckless. Didn’t his genius-yet-idiotic son understand what was at stake? Silas had thought Azkaban had knocked some of the ego and arrogance out of Sebastian; it seemed he had thought wrong. Coupled with the fact that Sebastian was also able to Apparate – and Silas knew his boy wouldn’t let his lack of a licence stop him from doing so – it widened the scope of where he could have disappeared to.

“Emerys?” he called out, trying not to let the panic in his voice alert her to his fear. “Can you come up here, love?”

Emerys’ footsteps creaked along the floorboards until she appeared next to Silas, steaming mug of blackcurrant tea in hand. She peered over his shoulder as she picked at a piece of lint on the jumper she had thrown over her nightgown, scowling heavily as the realisation hit her. She growled, a deep, primal noise that emanated from the back of her throat and stormed past Silas to rummage through Sebastian’s wardrobe. If he had really left like he had in the summer, his cupboard would be empty.

“More trouble than he’s worth, sometimes,” she muttered under her breath as she sifted through the room, looking for any evidence that would clue them into his location. She could feel Silas’ reproachful glare boring holes into her and she stared back, regarding him evenly. “I will never not love Sebastian; I just don’t like him and approve of his actions at the moment. This is not the boy I hoped we were raising.”

Silas pursed his lips and flicked his head towards Anne’s room. If there was anyone that would be able to clue them into Sebastian’s latest bout of insanity, it would be her. Emerys nodded, raking her hands and pulling frantically at the roots of her hair, as she always did when Sebastian frustrated her to no end. She slipped her hand into his and gave it a small squeeze, a reassurance despite the frown plastered onto her face, as she led them downstairs to where Anne was.

Anne’s ears pricked as she heard the heavy steps of her father and the angry stomps of her mother approach her. She bowed her head and busied her hands, continuing to knit a half completed scarf. Tension twined around the room, her breath catching in her throat, as Anne contemplated whether to betray her brother’s confidence in her or not.

She couldn’t.

Not to her twin, her other half.

Sebastian had always done his best to protect her, even when she didn’t listen to him, always had her back; it was time for her to show that she could – and would – do the same.

“You’re up early, Mum,” Anne said, her knitting needles knocking together with a metallic sounding thud. “Time for us to start on the Christmas Feast before the Reyes, the Weasleys and other Hogwarts staff join us?”

Silas crossed the room and knelt down in front of Anne, his worried brown eyes meeting her unruffled ones. “Anne, where is your brother?”

Anne’s needles stopped clicking. She chewed her lip, eyes darting between her father and her mother. Even though Silas seemed fairly unfazed, Anne could see the tautness of the muscles in his shoulders, the twitch of a tic near the corner of his eye, the hair that stood up on end since he had run his fingers through it so many times. Her mother said nothing, but Emerys never needed to; her face always came with subtitles. Her glare was so intense Anne quailed underneath it, her wrinkles and frown lines carving crevices deep into her face.

“Anne, answer your father.”

Anne set her knitting aside, winding up the wool she hadn’t used back into a small ball. The movement gave her time to think, stalling the conversation she didn’t want to have.

“Annette Elizabeth Sallow, answer your father’s question now!” The glacial tone in Emerys’ voice left no room for argument. Anne’s lips pressed into a thin line at the rebuke, her already pale skin paling even further.

“Sebastian is on probation! If something happens to him and you haven’t told us where he is, I will be holding you just as responsible as him!” Emerys snapped, pacing agitatedly across the floor as she spat out her rage. “Anne, tell us where he is! I know you know; I can see it in your eyes!”

“Feldcroft.” Anne couldn’t raise her head to look at the forlorn expression on Silas’ face. After the events of last year, none of the Sallows had wanted to step foot back in the Merlin-forsaken hamlet. But Sebastian, despite his misgivings, had, and he had done it for them. Anne was well aware that Sebastian was more empathetic than he let on; he would have known that no-one would have been able to face the hamlet this year, not when everyone was feeling too raw from The Siege, and he also knew how important tradition and family was to Silas. Sebastian had only woken Anne up earlier in the morning to spare his mother and father the pain of having to go back to the scene of the devastation that wrecked their lives.

Silas’ eyes grew wide in horror as Emerys let out another frustrated, primal growl as she paced the floor rapidly. She hissed her disapproval of Sebastian, muttering about how he was putting himself at risk as she rubbed her hands over wearied eyes, fretting that he was breaking the terms of his probation and was undoing all the progress he had made during his term at Hogwarts.

Silas didn’t respond to his wife; his thoughts were busy spiralling.

Feldcroft.

The name was synonymous with pain, layered with ash of regret and desolation. He could still see the smouldering rubble, still hear the screams of the women and the crunch of the bones as dead babies and toddlers were piked around like footballs. Could still smell the iron in the air, see the stains of blood seep into the soil of the hamlet. His heart thudded as the image of Emerys sprawled on the ground, incapacitated as a Venomous Matriach reared over her seared to the forefront of his mind. Silas’ knees creaked as he buckled under the weight the word.

Anne finally looked up at her parents, determined, stubborn and resolute. “Seb’s not being reckless. He’s being selfless.” Anne ignored the huff of disapproval from her mother and stood up, nuzzling into Silas. “He’s gone for you. So have Imelda and Garreth. Sallow blood waits for no-one, Dad. You told us that.”

Silas swallowed, eyes dulled.

Painfully. Audibly.

And despite his misgivings, he nodded his acceptance. It had been nearly a year since his mother and his father had been murdered by Ranrok and his Ashwinder cronies, and Silas was still struggling with the monumental loss. Sebastian had his own pain, but he was a braver man than his father as he was tackling going back to Feldcroft for the family when Silas couldn’t.

Emerys came to a standstill, her head snapping up as her dark gaze appraised her daughter. As much as Anne mirrored Emerys when she was that age, the wisdom and loyalty that she had towards her brother was reminiscent of Silas. They were qualities that she had encouraged and cultivated within her daughter, and qualities that seemed to be biting her on the backside now.

Stony faced and resolute, Silas snatched his cloak off the hatstand. His eyes met Emerys’ and he nodded as he stuffed his feet into boots. Emerys’ lips twitched – half a pout, half a smile – and Silas smiled back, ever so slightly, before heading to Aranshire’s Floo Flame and transporting himself to Feldcroft to collect his errant son.

Amelia and Eleazar Fig materialised out of the Floo Flame in Feldcroft. Eleazar stepped out of the grate with grace and dignity; Amelia tumbled to the ground like she had just been spat out of the fire. She groaned, her stomach rolling and clenching as the acid tornadoed up her throat.

“Breathe, Amelia, this will pass,” Fig said, kneeling down next to Amelia in the hopes that his presence would help settle her. He contemplated rubbing her back, but Fig was also aware of how skittish Amelia could be. It seemed that the only person Amelia was truly comfortable enough for tactility was Sebastian; not that Eleazar could blame her, given her upbringing.

Amelia nodded, breathing in through her nose, holding for ten counts, and exhaling slowly. She swallowed the bile climbing up her throat – Floo’ing was something she never thought she would adapt to – and grasped at her head as she rose to her feet. She muttered something about despising the method of travel and rubbed at her eyes to clear her clouded vision.

The well that Eleazar and Amelia were intrigued by stood in the centre of the hamlet. The residents milled around the stone cylinder, casually chatting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, completely unaware that the monument in their village was part of the history of her Ancient Magic. Amelia paced around the circumference of the well, fingers tracing over the masonry. She was hoping to feel some sort of magnetic pull towards it, the same feeling when she had discovered the Gringotts vault, but there was nothing. Her eyes dimmed; all this for naught.

She sighed, heavy with disappointment, and shook her head at Fig. The elder man seemed unfazed and he simply shrugged, reminding Amelia that Osric’s intelligence was rooted in theory and sometimes theories meant that they shot and they missed. The well was insignificant, but the dilapidated castle that crumbled up the hill from the town centre might have secrets that only Amelia could reveal with her gift. Eleazar’s eyes flicked between his young charge and the path that led up the snow-capped knoll and held out his hand, an open invitation.

Amelia glanced once more at the well as Eleazar led her away, as though she was daring the well to prove her wrong before exhaling in resignation and taking Fig’s hand. His palm was warm, skin dry and rough and it grounded her in a way she had only felt with Sebastian. Without speaking, they trudged through the mud and slush, up the incline, boots crunching on the frost and snow. The castle loomed over them, a half decayed skeleton in the wintry light, stone walls withering with time and trauma.

The pair were halfway up the hill when they heard shouting fracturing the stillness of the day.

It was a man’s voice.

Sharp.

Serrated.

Scathing.

Amelia and Eleazar exchanged a glance. Eleazar’s eyebrows knitted together tightly and his muscles tensed. Amelia also bristled; her breath caught in her chest and she shivered, although it wasn’t from the cold. Instinct surged through her. She grasped her wand tightly in her hand and her legs burned as she sprinted towards the noise, ignoring Eleazar’s cry for her to slow down.

The path curved to where the once-stately mansion was. A few timber beams that had collapsed lined the ground, a caved-in roof let flecks of snow and sleet flutter to the ground. In the middle of the wreckage stood two figures; one angular and angry, while the other was hunched in on himself, his arms wound tightly around his torso as he shook with unbridled rage.

The scent of star anise and leather lingered in the air.

Sebastian.

She would have known his stance - and scent - anywhere.

The Auror that had testified against them at the trial was also there, prowling around Sebastian like a wolf would circle prey, voice seething with bitterness.

“How dare you?!” Solomon spat, breath stinking of soured alcohol visible in the cold. The bottle in his hand smashed to the ground at Sebastian’s feet. “You come here, think a little swim in the ocean and scattering a few petals over their grave absolves you of your misgivings?! That you being here is enough of a substitute for my parents?!”

Sebastian said nothing, mulishly glaring at a rock beside Solomon’s foot. He chewed on his lip so hard he drew blood. His voice, when it came, was low, raw, and lacking the jovial amusement Amelia had come to yearn for.

“They died in The Siege of Feldcroft. I didn’t bring the filthy Loyalists or Ashwinders here!”

“You watched it happen! And you did nothing! You didn’t even go out and fight with the other men of Feldcroft, you weakling!”

Amelia watched the muscles in Sebastian’s jaw twitch, saw his nostrils flare in annoyance, watched the light in his eye dull down and the shutters roll up.

“And where were you?! Where were you that night that my grandfather was murdered?! Where were you the night my grandmother was…?” Sebastian shuddered as the horrific memory played out in his mind. “I fought the only way I could have done! If you think I’m a coward for not fighting and staying to keep my sister and the other children of the village safe – as a fifteen year old, underage wizard – what does that make you?! The world’s most cowardly Auror?!”

Sebastian spat the words out, needles barbed, drawing himself up to his full height so he could tower over Solomon Sallow and glower down at him.

“You didn’t try hard enough. And now your sister wastes away and Silas is too broken to step foot here. But here you are, back to dance on their ashes and bring shame to the memory of them, still parading your guilt like it’s a damned medal to be proud of!”

Amelia had heard enough. She stepped forward before Eleazar could stop her, marching so that she was standing in line with Sebastian. Her voice was a harsh snarl, yet her words rang clear through the air.

“Don’t you dare speak to him like that!”

Sebastian’s eyes widened in shock. Not just that Mia was by his side, but that she was rushing in to his defence. No-one had done that for him in recent times, but then, when he thought back to how Amelia stepped forward at his trial to clear his name, he wasn’t entirely surprised she was standing up for him now. He glanced down at her hands; ethereal blue blanketed her fingertips. Without even thinking about it, Sebastian covered the magic leaking out of her with his hands so Solomon couldn’t see it. While the teenaged boy didn’t know much about Ancient Magic, he knew that there were many undesirables out in society that would happily exploit her for her magic. If there was one thing Sebastian would do, it would be to minimise the risk of that happening.

“Mia,” he warned, shooting a furtive look down at where their hands were entwined. She nodded, breathed in deep and held her breath before breathing out slowly, just the way Sebastian had taught her to.

The intensity of Solomon’s dark gaze could have incinerated Amelia and Sebastian where they stood. His scowl turned into a sneer as he watched the young girl come in to protect his stubborn brother’s son. His moustache quivered as his lips moved, spitting out insult after insult in their direction. “And what would you know about it, girl?!”

Eleazar Fig couldn’t hold himself back any more, not when two of his young charges were being denigrated by a man who had disgraced the name of Auror and had been dismissed from his job after the debacle that was Sebastian Sallow’s trial over the summer. Not that the children were aware of it; Eleazar only knew because Osric was his inside man at the Ministry, and rumour had it that Solomon wasn’t adapting to life without his job particularly well. Alcohol had become a constant companion, as had fits of temper as he scuttled back to Feldcroft to be haunted by the ghosts and regrets of his past while residing in his deceased parents’ cottage.

“Go home, Solomon!” Eleazar moved in front of the teenagers, arms akimbo like a shield. “Leave these children alone and sober up!”

Solomon growled and attempted to step towards the trio but he stumbled over his feet. Eleazar took the momentary distraction to catch the former Auror and steer him back down the knoll towards the hamlet’s centre. The snap of tension dissipated as the two older men disappeared from sight, and Amelia breathed out a small sigh of relief. Her gaze skittered over Sebastian; she had never seen his face so guilt-ridden and thunderous at the same time.

“Sebastian?” she ventured quietly, unsure of how to continue. What words could she say to lessen the sting of the damning accusations from Solomon Sallow? It seemed almost inconsequential to ask if he was okay, when she could clearly see that he had been shaken to the core.

Sebastian nodded – as if he had read her mind – but Amelia knew that he was telling her the answer he thought she wanted to hear. His jaw was tight, but Amelia took it as a good sign that he didn’t recoil from her touch where their hands were still connected.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he cracked in a faux jovial tone. Amelia scowled at him, able to see right through it and Sebastian dropped the façade. “What are you doing here, Mia? Feldcroft is not a happy place, nor is it what it used to be.”

Amelia tilted her head to the side. “Professor Fig thinks Feldcroft might be connected to understanding my… ability.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed but he didn’t press the point.

“What are you doing here, Sebastian?”

Sebastian’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding audibly against each other. His grip on her hand tightened and his breath caught in his throat. He contemplated not answering, but he also knew that he had to be selectively honest with her if he wanted Mia to help him in his quest to cure Anne.

“My grandparents... they live here – or rather, they used to.” His voice clammed up and he swallowed past the lump that had formed behind his Adam’s apple. “The Siege of Feldcroft. They were murdered a year ago by Ranrok’s Loyalists and Ashwinders. A lot of horrific events happened that night, including Anne being cursed.” He shuddered as the screams and cries pealed through his head. Even one year on, it was still as visceral as the night of the Siege. The anger and rage was just as palpable as it bubbled underneath his skin.

He stepped forward, tugging Amelia impatiently behind him. “Up here. That plateau is where Anne was cursed. I tried to stop her, tried to get her to stay indoors, but she ran before I could catch her. And then by the time I caught up to her, all I heard were the words children should be seen and not heard, while a goblin aimed a wand at her!” The vitriol in his voice made Amelia shrink back into herself, and she turned as noise pricked her ears.

The ground crunched underneath hurried footsteps, foreboding. The chill in the air burrowed deep into Amelia’s bone marrow. Something was about to happen; she could feel it. Her fingers curled around her wand and she lifted it up, just in case.

Silas Sallow ascended the slope, boots muddy and cloak flapping in the wind. His eyes locked onto Sebastian, then Amelia, and then trailed down to where they were holding hands. Something hardened and softened in his expression at the same time. Sebastian met his father’s gaze and peered over his shoulder, flinching in anticipation. Wherever Silas was, Emerys soon followed and vice versa.

“Your mother's not here this time, son. You came for the right reasons. Anne told us why you’re here.” Silas stepped forward and reached up to tap Sebastian on his nose. Instinctively, Sebastian’s nose wrinkled and the corner of one side of his mouth lilted up, as it always did when his father booped him. Sebastian nodded and leaned into the touch.

Love you too, Dad.

The moment was tender, but it had to break. It always did. A high pitched, shrill note pierced the air.

All three of them stilled, Silas drawing the children behind him as he brandished his wand like a fencing sword.

From the ruins emerged a horde of goblins, their metal armour clanking as they marched towards them, a macabre soundtrack to the battle that was about to ensue.

“Get behind me and stay behind me!” Silas snarled, glowering at the askance expression on Sebastian’s face. “Especially you, Sebastian, since you don’t have permission to carry a wand while you’re on probation!”

But Sebastian used his selective hearing to ignore the cry from his father and plucked Amelia’s wand out of her hand. It was almost as familiar as his wand, almost as comfortable and natural to use, but there were a few deliberate differences. Amelia’s wand wasn’t able to anticipate his moves and the power behind his spell casting felt a little off.

But those were minor bugbears in the grand scheme of things. Sebastian pivoted at the sound of wind rushing by his ear, casting a Shield Charm to protect Mia and
himself.

“Offence or defence?” Amelia chuckled darkly, pressing herself as close to Sebastian as she could be without getting in his way. She contemplated snatching her wand back from him, but conceded the point that he was far more experience and proficient in duelling than she was and it was better for her if she stayed under his watchful eye instead.

“You have to ask?” Sebastian parried back, slicing a goblin with a well timed diffindo.

Silas flanked Amelia’s other side, so she was in the middle of a Sallow sandwich and he depulso’ed some of Ranrok’s goblins away from them. Near her feet was some rubble; Amelia bent down and threw the projectiles as hard as she could at their adversary. The rocks hit the goblin armour with a dull thunk and Sebastian couldn’t quite stifle a snigger as one of Ranrok’s Loyalists stumbled backwards.

“Take that!” Amelia roared, throwing more handfuls in all directions. Anything to help assist the Sallows.

“Good girl, Mia!” Sebastian praised, pivoting them again to avoid an arrow fired their way. His timing was a little off and it grazed past his arm, scraping layers of skin off him. Blood trickled slowly from his wound; he winced, but there was enough adrenaline in him to keep him fighting on.

“Sebastian!” Amelia cried out as his blood stained the sleeve of the indigo dress Fig had picked out for her to wear. “Drink a Wiggenweld!”

“Would if I could, Mia.”

Spells and curses continued to fly around the ruins, a smattering of reds, purples, blues and yellows. Silas moved swiftly and effectively, a blade slicing silently through the air. Sebastian, less graceful; his battle technique seemed to consist of flinging curses and charms hard and heavy, and hope something struck their opponent, her wand a conduit and extension of his grief and rage.

Another gust of wind rushed past Amelia’s ear. Sebastian dropped to his knee, groaning and clutching his abdomen. Silas gaped, helpless and horrified as his son mirrored his daughter in the throes of one of the attacks from her curse, his heart leaping into his mouth. Red stained the ground and the sight of it clouded Amelia’s mind.

The tingle surged through her, ethereal blue flames licking around her fingertips. Her eyes narrowed, glacial, and she channelled her anguish at seeing Sebastian on the ground through her arms. The air vibrated and crackled; lightning snapped down upon them. Goblins thrown up and down in the air like they weighed little more than sacks of potatoes.

The splinters of bones as their necks snapped when they hit the ground.

The obnoxious squawking of chickens as they scratched at the ground.

The smell of charred flesh and gunpowder lingered in the air.

The sound of Amelia’s body hitting the floor as her legs gave way from underneath her.

“Seb!” This time it was Silas who screamed out his son’s name, thrusting his wand to one side as he knelt by his hurt boy. A cursory glance over at Amelia; she was still conscious, just exhausted from unleashing her special brand of magic. Nothing that he couldn’t handle, but his first priority was making sure Sebastian was alive and as unharmed as he could be.

“’M alright, Dad,” Sebastian grumbled, once more feeling emasculated that his father had to save him in front of Amelia. “I wasn’t cursed; just hit by an axe.”

“Just hit by an axe,” Silas scoffed, waving his wand over his boy’s torso to seal up superficial wounds. “As if that makes it any better.” His eyes glanced furtively around their battle arena; Silas knew that round two was fast approaching, and with his son injured and Amelia depleted after using her magic, he didn’t want to stick around. Not unkindly, Silas hoisted his son to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist and brushing the curls that were in his eyes back. “Come on, Seb, I need you to walk to the Floo Flame so we can go home and get some Blood Replenishing Potion into you.”

“Mia.” Sebastian pointed to the ground, where Amelia was shakily attempting to stand. “We take her with us. Professor Fig is dealing with…” he trailed off, not knowing whether to bring up Silas’ estranged brother with him.

Silas nodded grimly, and with another wave of his wand, he charmed Amelia so that she was as light as a feather. “There you go, Miss. Calloway. You should find it easier to bear weight now.”

Amelia smiled thinly, concern souring the corners of her eyes as she glanced at Sebastian.

“Downhill! Now! Move!” Silas ordered, feet moving as quickly as his mouth.

The three of them scuttled down the hill, breathing heavily from the stress and exertion of it all. Amelia’s knuckles were white as she clenched her fists. Blood saturated the heavy cotton of her dress – some of it hers, most of it Sebastian’s – but she didn’t care.

She was alive.

They all were.

The Floo Flame glinted enticingly in the sun, a lighthouse in a storm, as Eleazar Fig hurried over to them.

“Amelia! What, in Merlin’s name, transpired while I was indisposed?”

“Not here. Aranshire.” Silas’ voice was steady, dark with a hint of accusation. He had noticed how Amelia’s gift had burst out of her when she saw Sebastian on the ground. Coupled with how she reacted when Sebastian was in danger of being sent to Azkaban, it wasn’t something Silas was chalking up to coincidence. There was more at play between his son and the girl Fig thought of as his daughter. Without hesitating, Silas pushed the two teens into the hearth, flung some powder in their direction. A flash of green flames, and they were gone. His eyes bored holes into Eleazar, so intense the older man had to blink and look away.

“Given the attachment between them, I believe it’s time you came clean with me about Amelia and her magic. Specifically, why is my son the trigger in unlocking her power.”

Chapter Text

The reedy, whiny voice of Ignatia Wildsmith chirruped obnoxiously as Sebastian and Amelia whirled through Aranshire’s Floo Flame. Sebastian watched as Amelia stumbled, ashen-faced and queasy and he moved behind her to brace her. She clung onto him, a thin smile shot his way in thanks.

“Come on, Mia, this way,” Sebastian said, steering Amelia through the hamlet until they reached a double storey house with roses and lavenders in perpetual bloom in the flowerbeds around the house. Amelia came to a standstill, feet dragging through the powdered snow. Sebastian stopped, head tilted to the side as he remembered what Anne had told him.

Show her parts of the world and let her know it’s safe for her to take part in it too.

He came back to her side, softening as she nuzzled into his warmth and his lips brushed over her temple. “It’ll be okay, Mia. I promise. Trust me.”

And despite all her misgivings, Amelia did trust Sebastian, so she let him lead her up the cobblestone pathway to his house. The lights flickered through the window and she could see the shadow of a waif-like girl standing in the kitchen, julienning carrots and parsnips. Amelia tensed; the last time she had interacted with Anne had been in the Ministry’s bathroom at Sebastian’s trial, and the words shared between them was acrimonious at best. Surely her presence would ruin what would most likely be Anne’s last Christmas with her family.

“Mia,” Sebastian said, squeezing her hand and nudging her along. Amelia gritted her teeth at Sebastian’s persistence but it wasn’t in her to push back against him, not when she was reeling after unleashing her Ancient Magic in defence of him. “It’s my Ma, Annie and my Dad. Fig too; I’m sure they’ll be along in a minute. It will be okay.”

The front door to the Sallow homestead flew open, slamming against the wall. A tall, willowy force of nature hurricane out of the house towards them.

“Where have you been?! No note! Bed empty! Son on probation gone!” Emerys whirled towards the two teens, instinctually drawing Sebastian into her arms so she could appraise the hole in his abdomen with a heavy frown, pressed Blood Replenishing Potion and Wiggenweld Potion vials into his reluctant hands, and then cuffed him upside the head for his honourable stupidity.

“Anne knew,” Sebastian retorted, rolling his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his head. “Didn’t want to wake you up at the crack of dawn. Not that I would be able to, anyway,” he added, knowing that Emerys slept like the dead and it required warfare to rouse her out of sleep.

Dark brown eyes narrowed in his direction; Emerys had always known her children were intelligent, but not for the first time in recent years, she wondered when her son had developed into a bit of a smart-arse and was capable of using that intelligence against her.

“Drink. The. Potions.” Emerys ground out, beadily eyeing the blood that had blossomed on her son’s shirt. She raised the material up from Sebastian’s stomach, wincing at the injury her son had sustained and noting that there was a smaller, more dainty figure behind him. “Then bath – not for you, our guest goes first – and start peeling potatoes for Christmas dinner.” The tone in Emerys’ voice left no room for Sebastian to argue. Instead, he simply bowed his head, popped the cork on the bottles and downed the liquid. The Wiggenweld wasn’t too bad – it tasted of lime jelly – but the Blood Replenishing Potion was akin to eating tripe and beef liver, two of the most awful offal Sebastian had ever had the misfortune of consuming.

Emerys peered around Sebastian, her eyes falling on the trembling girl, hunched over as if making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible would help her blend into the background and slink out of sight. Dark patches of crimson stained her dark purple dress, welts and weals as marks of battle blooming on her hands and cheek. Motherly instinct had Emerys reaching out a hand to Amelia, her unwavering stare coaxing Amelia into holding her hand and leading her into the warmth of the house.

“You too,” Emerys said, waving her wand in an arc so she could draw towels out of the linen cupboard and into Amelia’s arms. “Take a bath and clean yourself up; I’ll clean your dress in the meantime so you’re not walking around like a wounded beacon.”

Amelia opened her mouth to protest – she was not used to anyone but Sebastian and Eleazar showing her this level of care – but when she saw the determined frown on Emerys Sallow’s face, Amelia snapped her jaw shut. She tilted her head to the side, realising just who Sebastian had inherited his stubborn streak from, and she knew that she was no match for the stubbornness of a Sallow. Sometimes, resistance was futile.

“You take as long a bath as you want, and I’ll get you some clothes to wear in the meantime,” Emerys ordered with a kind smile, nudging Amelia towards the copper tub that had steam rising from it. Emerys appraised Amelia’s form; she was taller and more curvaceous than Anne’s current emaciated form. There was nothing in Anne’s wardrobe that Amelia could borrow without significantly transforming the material. Sebastian, on the other hand, had plenty of shirts and pants that Amelia could wear comfortably while her dress was being washed; Emerys would leave the clothes for Amelia on Sebastian’s bed. Emerys closed the door behind her with a gentle thud and left Amelia to her own devices, sensing that the girl was overwhelmed with what the Sallow house was offering to her.

Amelia sagged as the door clicked in the lock, her grip loosening on the towels that she held in her hand. She tugged at her dress, letting the material pool to the floor as she wearily unlaced her corset, massaging at where the boning had left indents in her skin and sighing at the release from the restrictive contraption.

She had never been able to enjoy a bath before.

Not at Eleazar Fig’s house, even though he had encouraged her to indulge, because she felt like she was intruding on his space.

Not at Hogwarts either, since there were no baths that she knew of. Just the shower stalls in the dormitories. They were far more opulent than the showers that dribbled cold water and spluttered out rust at St. Calloway’s Orphanage, policed by Sisters that yanked her out of the shower and spanked her across her backside if she used more than her allotted time washing herself.

This was warmth wrapped in lavender oil, steam rising from a copper basin in a house filled with people that had accepted her, despite having every reason in the world not to. Amelia wiped the steam off the mirror above the sink and stared at her reflection. Dried blood flaked on her cheeks, her blue eyes were lined with dark shadows and had seen far too much before her time. Roses and violets flowered on her wrists and arms, bruising Amelia hadn’t even felt form underneath her skin.

Her limbs felt heavy with dust and blood and she stepped into the bath, feeling like an imposter in her own body.

Heat seared through her bones and she sank into the water.

Her head tipped back, hair fanning in the water and the clear water stained light red, eyelids fluttering closed.

Amelia didn’t cry. Not loudly, anyway. But a tear slipped down her cheek and disappeared under the water and the foamed bubbles. Not unnoticed anymore, and not unimportant either.

Even though the brunet man was shorter than the elder wizard, Silas Sallow angled his head upwards and stared down Eleazar Fig, lips drawn into a thin, unimpressed line.

“So.”

The word sounded like a coded accusation, as did the frozen, hefty exhale that followed the word.

Eleazar’s blue robes swished impatiently around him as the grey haired man paced, raking a hand through his hair. His face tugged into a frown, exaggerating the wrinkles that already existed as he walked in circles, lost in thought.

“She was never supposed to bond like this,” Eleazar managed. “At least, not this strongly and not this soon. And not with him.”

Silas remained unmoved, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “And yet she has.”

Fig’s jaw clenched at the combative stance that was emerging between him and Silas Sallow. If what he suspected was correct, he needed the Sallow family as his allies, not his enemies; Sebastian – and his parents and sister by extension – would be crucial in keeping Amelia’s power in check and thereby keeping Amelia safe. He stared into the fading flickering light of the Floo Flame, the one that Sebastian and Amelia had just vanished into.

“When Amelia Calloway was turned over into my care, the Ministry did so without context. There is only one person that’s conducting research into what Amelia is, and he works in isolation. A faction within the Department of Mysteries; no-one outside of him can know details of what he’s discovered, unless he chooses to reveal them.”

“Who?!” Silas growled, fingers tapping impatiently against his biceps. Eleazar shook his head; he was not at liberty to reveal George Osric’s identity to anyone else.

“It’s not important, Silas,” Eleazar tried to smile reassuringly at the younger man in an attempt to quell his rising anxiety.

“It is to me! This is my son, my child embroiled in this, and I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe! I’ve lost too much lately; I’m not losing him! You’re not a parent; you wouldn’t understand.”

The words stung, but instead of Eleazar rising up to take the bait he remained silent. He wasn’t a parent, at least not until Amelia signed the adoption paperwork, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care for the girl as though she was his own. He opened his mouth, speaking as though Silas hadn’t interrupted him.

“The Ministry believed that she wasn’t an issue; they didn’t know she had any power until Sebastian’s trial. But it became apparent. Her powers don’t lie dormant; it’s not just her seeing Ancient Magic. It’s her harnessing it in a way that protects and benefits her.”

None of this was news to Silas; he was intelligent enough to have figured this out for himself. He had no issue with the girl and her mystical power – after all, it was her ability to wield Ancient Magic at his son’s trial that stopped Sebastian from rocking backwards and forwards in a cell in Azkaban for the rest of his life – but his concern was growing as he had realised that Amelia’s Ancient Magic was more pronounced when Sebastian was around.

“And Seb?” Silas prompted, keen to get to the important information.

“That’s where Amelia’s magic becomes complicated.” Eleazar’s eyes finally met Silas’ stormy glare. “Her magic doesn’t just react around him. I have a theory that it activates because of him. Amelia’s power is tied to her emotions, and Sebastian seems to unlock all her repressed feelings; it only manifests fully when he’s in danger, or he’s threatened.”

“And Seb is only ever in danger or threatened when he’s around Miss. Calloway,” Silas argued, a dark, steely note in his voice. He wished his son had listened to him when he had warned Seb about staying away from Amelia Calloway, but Silas also knew how stubborn and bull-headed his offspring was; Sebastian always did what he wanted to do, damn the consequences.

“Exactly. They’re bound together by some invisible force. Not choice; more divine intervention. The tether is there and it strong between them. Amelia and Sebastian’s emotional attachment to each other is the fuel for her Ancient Magic. To attempt to undo it now might put both of them at risk. It will do more harm than good.”

Silas could read between the lines. Rage boiled through his blood at Eleazar’s words. The older man wasn’t wrong; both Amelia and Sebastian were at risk due to her power. Amelia, because Ranrok and Rookwood were after her and they had a hefty ransom on her head, viewing her as a tool to be utilised in war instead of the girl that she was. Sebastian, because if he was key in unlocking her power, there was no doubt that unscrupulous Dark Wizards and Witches would kidnap him to lure Amelia into rescuing him. Neither option filled Silas with glee; as a Hogwarts professor, it was his duty to look after the welfare of all charges under his care.

“You haven’t told her, have you, Eleazar?”

Eleazar shook his head slowly. Amelia had only just become at ease with the Wizarding World, she was finally lowering her guard and realising how to live as a fifteen – soon to be sixteen – year old; she did not need to be saddled with worries that would make even the most accomplished witch or wizard quake in their boots. Amelia wasn’t meant to live in fear of what she could become.

Silas huffed out another breath in disapproval; Eleazar’s silence had put an unwitting target on both of their backs. “What happens when her need for power consumes my son?! Or when my son gets discarded as collateral damage?! Your silence for three months on this might have killed them both!”

Eleazar bit his lip, eyes closed, and looked away. It was no answer, but it was an answer in itself, and if looks could kill, Eleazar would have keeled over stone cold dead at the glower Silas was sending his way. If what Eleazar had heard from George Osric was true, it wasn’t Amelia that would suffer the most; it was Sebastian who would be a man destroyed when he realised he was used for her benefit.

The flames in the hearth had dissipated into thin whisps of smoke, secrets between them binding them together. Two fathers, with a heavy truth shared between them.

“Silas, it is imperative that you keep what I’ve told you to yourself. Not just for Amelia’s safety, but for Sebastian’s too.”

Silas nodded grimly, but he was going to include one caveat. “I’m not keeping this from Emerys. Sebastian is her son too; she has every right to be aware of the risks you’ve exposed our son to, and dangers you’ve kept from us. There are no secrets between a man and his wife.”

For a moment, Eleazar looked older, face thin and haggard with age. As if time had worn him down with deliberate strokes, desperation and devastation carved like crevices into rock.

“I have tried to keep both of them safe!”

“And yet,” Silas cut in, voice deceptively mild. “My son keeps ending up in the crosshairs of a war he has no business of participating in. In a battle that isn’t his to fight. He’s sixteen years old; he hasn’t even Come of Age! All because you’ve been too afraid to tell Miss. Calloway who she is and what that means for her.”

“She’s a child!”

“She’s a weapon!”

The words hung over them like a stormy cloud.

Eleazar drew himself up to his full height, conviction straightening his spine. “She’s a girl with a heart that has been burnt and scarred. A girl who has been made to feel like an outsider for a talent that is beyond her control. I am not going to be the one to divulge that she exists simply to be unravelled!”

Charged silence filled the air. Eleazar’s fingers snapped against his skin as he clicked. A scroll, yellowed with age and furled up with a dainty blue ribbon, landed softly into Silas’ hands. Silas’ fingers worked quickly to untie the bow, eyes blurring together as he scanned the parchment.

It chronicled the history of Ancient Magic. Silas’ mouth formed a perfect circle as he read; Eleazar nodded grimly every time the younger man glanced up at him.

“There were others like her. Not just ones that could see Ancient Magic, but ones that could feel and use it too. Controlled it with their emotions. Embodied all it entailed. Most remained dormant, but for some people the magic seized full control even before the bond was awakened.”

Silas’ throat tightened. It was almost painful to get the words out. “This has happened before.”

“Yes. Always the same pattern. A gift within a wielder. Powerful in their own right, when they believe in themselves. And then…”

“A boy,” Silas ground out, fingers tracing over ancient script as his brain translated what he was reading. “Who unlocks her full potential.”

Eleazar nodded. “A boy who is the tether. Either through love, or rage, or grief or fear or any combination of the above.” He swallowed. “The results so far have been catastrophic. The tether gets consumed by the wielder. Or the wielder is corrupted by the tether.”

Silas clenched the parchment in his fists, the paper crumbling into quintessence of dust. “Are you saying that my son is fated to die for her?!”

“No. I’m saying that Amelia and Sebastian are destined to be intertwined with each other; only a fool would rail against a weighted dice. What one of them does will ripple through the other – always. This is beyond us, beyond them and beyond the Ministry of Magic. It is too late to stop what has already started.”

Silas shuffled from one foot to the other. The inevitability of what lay ahead was a bitter pill for Silas to swallow, but he had no option but to do so. He breathed in deep, pinched the bridge of his nose as he counted to 7,245, and breathed out slowly, rolling back his shoulders and adjusting his posture as though he was getting ready to wage war.

“Let’s start preparing them for what lies ahead, then, Eleazar. Together. Because my son and Miss. Calloway are already at war.”

Emerys bustled through the kitchen like a woman possessed, barking out orders at Anne and criticising Sebastian’s lack of potato peeling prowess. She huffed when she saw her son had left half the peel on the vegetable and deemed him incompetent at the job and took over from him, banishing him to sitting at the dining room table.

Salt crystals had formed in his hair, dried out his skin and Sebastian used Anne’s wand to stir the pot that had the gravy in it while his hands shredded slices of bread into crumbs for the stuffing. Anne came to sit down beside him, shivering as she held a cup of tea in her bony fingers. Sebastian leant down and sipped from Anne’s drink, much to her annoyance.

“How are you?” Anne asked, scowling as Sebastian’s saliva tainted her jasmine and snow-pea tea. She had noticed her twin’s hunched shoulders, the slight furrow as his brows knitted together, the scabs and scars and ache in his fingers.

Sebastian shrugged, unsure what Anne was really asking. On the surface, it seemed like an easy question to answer; physically, he was still alive. But his sister had a habit of asking simple questions with complex intentions behind it. Emotionally, he was numb inside. The day had already been taxing, and it was only mid-morning. Honouring his grandfather and grandmother had been conflicting; rage and despair at their demise, a slightly misplaced sense of pride as he, Imelda and Garreth honoured their memory, self-loathing and disgust as Solomon Sallow spat out bitterness and blame at his feet.

“How are you, Annie?” Sebastian deflected, trying to shift her laser beam focus off him. He had become accustomed to the clawing feeling near his appendix – referred pain from Anne’s curse – so much so that he had learnt to block it out and carry on as if nothing was wrong.

Anne shrugged, knowing exactly what Sebastian was really asking. Anne knew her demise was coming soon. The curse was ravaging and savaging her, and as much as Anne projected a calm façade, inwardly she was panicking. Her death would leave a gaping hole in their family, one that no-one would recover from. The knowledge that her parents would have to bury her twisted her heart painfully, the knowledge that Sebastian would eventually go on and adapt to a life without her ached in a way she couldn’t put into words. Knowing that the world would turn, the sun would rise in the east and set in the west as it always had and always would, whether she was alive or not, was why she had released Ominis from their courtship and why she was feeling morose.

“Best not to ask a question you don’t want an answer to,” she muttered, stabbing through a carrot with more force than necessary, and that was an answer in itself. Sebastian scowled, his fingers crumbling stale bread into sand as silence fell between them as he stuffed a slice of bread between his lips to stop him from snapping back at Anne’s dismissive response.

The floorboards creaked as footsteps pattered through to the kitchen.

Soft, hesitant and unmistakeably Amelia’s.

Sebastian looked up, cheeks bulging with food as his fingers stilled on the slice of bread he was crumbing, a red shade tinting his cheeks as his eyes roved over her.

Amelia stepped shyly towards Sebastian; always gravitating towards him when she needed comfort and support. Her damp hair cascaded down her back, the ends curling and twining around each other, her skin was still flushed and warm from the bath itself, eyes soft but guarded at the same time as they skittered around the Sallow kitchen, taking in every aspect of the room from where the doors and windows were to the quiet little corner she could shuttle herself to when she was overwhelmed with the attention she had garnered from Sebastian’s mother. Sebastian’s old shirt was slightly big on her frame – the hem brushed against her thighs and she had to roll the cuffs of the sleeves up so that she could use her hands. His pants were secured on her with a belt, but even the belt was too big to cinch in at her waist; the material bunched and slouched around her hips. It hid the outline of her body, but somehow enticed Sebastian to her even more.

Sebastian blinked rapidly at her; Anne sniggered as her brother watched on like a stunned mullet, mouth agape and absolutely gormless. She nudged his ribs, painfully, to bring him back to the present. Emerys stopped from where she was skinning the turkey, her dark eyes missing nothing as she watched her son’s bumbling around the girl he seemed to be taken with.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” Sebastian stammered out, rubbing at the back of his neck as he flushed port-wine.

Amelia gave a small nod, her fingers anxiously twisting strands of her hair around a finger. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Sebastian didn’t mind. Not that he was going to disclose this, but after his first kiss with Amelia, his fantasies of her had her wrapped around him, with both of them in varying states of undress, supple strokes being traded between them as they explored each other in a more intimate way. His flush deepened as his thoughts turned slightly more raunchy than he could have ever shared in front of his mother and his sister. His insides internally combusted, the tips of his ears burning so hot they could have cooked the Christmas roast Emerys was preparing.

“Sit down.” Anne’s voice was clipped, but not unkind, and she pointed to a chair that was opposite her. Her dark brown eyes – somewhat more hardened than her brother’s – dragged over Amelia, as if she was assessing the auburn-haired girl’s worth. Amelia must have passed some sort of unwritten test; she sat down on the edge of the timber seat, her fingers drumming a steady beat against her thigh. Anne poured a cup of snow-pea and jasmine tea and pushed it towards Amelia without a word but with a twitch of her lips.

Amelia blinked at the peace-offering, her fingers unfurling from around her thigh and wrapping around the ceramic. The tea was tepid, but the heat and the warmth radiating out from Anne’s actions enveloped Amelia like a tight embrace. Amelia sipped tentatively as she accepted the olive branch and acceptance Anne was offering her, a stark contrast to the last time they had met in the bathroom at the Ministry of Magic.

Over the rim of his own cup of stolen tea, Sebastian smiled and quirked his eyebrow at Amelia.

Warm enough?

She nodded, but what she really meant was, yes, I’m safe here with you.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp’s Poidsear Coast Cottage was cold and damp. A candle flickered as a sharp, icy blast of air rattled through the house. Aesop shivered as he used his wand to extinguish the remnants of a fire as he prepared to meet with members of Wizengamot. Part of being Sebastian Sallow’s probation officer meant that Aesop Sharp would meet with Thomas McLaggen, Bernice Goyle and Justus Pilliwickle once a month to reassure the Wizengamot that Sebastian was adhering to the terms of his probation. It had been challenging convincing the men that the troll attack in Hogsmeade was a warranted use of underage magic, but since that incident, Sebastian had held up his end of the probationary deal.

For the most part.

Aesop smoothed his hair back with some pomade and he pushed the buttons through the holes on his waistcoat, straightening his tie and rubbing a hand over the rough whiskers on his cheek as he heaved out a sigh. A hastily scrawled parchment lay on the kitchen table, next to a half-drunk cup of tea. Silas was aware that Aesop had his monthly meeting regarding his son’s probation. The Wizengamot, once again, was aware that Sebastian had used underage magic as a defence against Ranrok’s Loyalists and Ashwinders. It was Aesop’s job to convince the Wizengamot that the circumstances around Sebastian’s use of underage magic was justified, and then relay the news back to the Sallow family when he joined them for Christmas dinner later that evening.

Aesop’s dark eyes narrowed as he read the note. Wherever Amelia Calloway and Sebastian Sallow went, trouble seemed to follow them. Like Silas, he had tried to gently steer Sebastian away from Amelia, but it had not worked. He had seen this kind of bond before; devotion and recklessness climbing their way up like vines growing in cracks in stone. They built each other up and they held each other down, true partnership in all aspects of life. What he had said to Sirona all those months ago held true; Sebastian and Amelia were powerful enough on their own, and teamed up together, they were formidable.

Aesop wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Whether they would support each other or destroy each other.

Still, there was no time to dwell on it now; he had to get to the Ministry of Magic.

The door shut quietly behind him and Aesop shivered as snow fell on his shoulders. Life as Sebastian’s probation officer had become more complex due to his charge’s entanglement with Amelia Calloway; there was more to the budding relationship than met the eye – that was what Aesop’s gut was telling him – and it was imperative that he got to the bottom of it, if only to protect Sebastian from failing his probationary period and being condemned to Azkaban.

There was only one man that could help him. After the Wizengamot check-in, Aesop vowed to drop into the Department of Mysteries to pick apart George Osric’s brain.

Grey eyes that held storms narrowed as hands crumpled up a manuscript that held nothing of value. The low hum of memories once forgotten to time lingered in the air. George Osric pulled off his pince-nez and kneaded at the jelly of his eye.

Another dead end.

Miriam Fig had uncovered small surges of Ancient Magic around the globe in her travels and she had theorised that small deposits of Ancient Magic manifested wherever there was a wielder. Given that Hogwarts had been built upon the bedrock of magical civilisation, it stood to reason that there were more Ancient Magic hotspots in and around the Scottish Highlands. Where they would be remained a mystery, but George suspected that the only person who would be able to locate them would be Eleazar Fig’s young protégé.

Thinking about the only Ancient Magic wielder he had the privilege of meeting had George puzzled. Amelia Calloway was nothing like the previous Ancient Magic wielders. Percival Rackham was wise beyond his years – even as a child, according to all written accounts George could unearth – choosing to use Ancient Magic for the benefit of villages that were struggling, providing them water in times of drought, replenishing the dirt with nutrients when the soil was depleted and unable to sustain the growth of crops, but even he had been tempted by the pull of his power. Isidora Morganach was slightly more conflicting as she seemed to be more interested in harnessing Ancient Magic for her own purpose instead of the betterment of society. She had pushed the boundaries of her magic, posing a moral quandary as to whether there was a limit to how Ancient Magic could – and should – be used. Isidora also exuded a strong iron will and fortitude to leave no stone unturned when it came to utilising her power. She let the power go to her head; there were no checks and balances to get Isidora to slow down and consider the long term, ethical effects of using her gift the way she had intended to.

Amelia seemed too guarded to allow Ancient Magic to flow through her and meld with her the way Percival and Isidora had. She was too repressed, too traumatised by the outbursts he had seen when he had delved into her memory and too terrified of allowing the magic that was inherent in her to reach its full potential. Fear had silenced her, but there was a tiny sliver of hope.

It seemed that Amelia Calloway had succeeded where Percival and Isidora had failed. Amelia Calloway had found her tether in the dark-haired, freckled face boy that Amelia had been intent of keeping to herself. His care and compassion when he stroked her cheek levelled her, made what she thought of as a curse easier to bear. Her tether was the person that would keep her emotions grounded, keep her in control and utilising her Ancient Magic the way she wanted to, instead of having her Ancient Magic sap her dry until she was nothing but a husk of what she already was.

“Osric!”

The door to George’s dingy office slammed open. Aesop Sharp’s silhouette filled the frame, strong and imposing and a figure to be reckoned with. George’s fingers hurriedly flitted over documents and folders that no-one else’s eyes could rove over, and he shoved them under other pieces of paper that cluttered his desk.

“Aesop. What can I do for you?”

“You can start by telling me how Amelia Calloway and my probationer are linked.”

“Ah.” George rose to his feet, hands resting on his paunch as his thumbs twiddled around each other. Sparks shot out from the end of his wand; George had materialised a floral armchair near his desk and gestured for Aesop to sit down.

“I’ll stand,” Aesop Sharp growled, the stiff line of his shoulder and meticulous tie knot not quite hiding the fact that something unsteady lay beneath his polished exterior. The muscle near his eye twitched, his jaw clenched.

The man had made it his mission in life to uncover truths and turn them into burdens that he could not shoulder alone.

“I take it you’ve heard about the events in Feldcroft?” Aesop prompted, his fingers drumming impatiently on the timber of Osric’s desk.

Osric nodded slowly, his grey eyes impassive so he didn’t give his secrets away. He waited for Aesop to continue, a twisted game of cat and mouse playing out between them as each man eyed the other one up beadily, hoping that the silence would break them. A wise man had once told Aesop only a fool opened their mouth before the other party crumbled and revealed their hand. George Osric was a formidable opponent, eye contact never breaking from behind his round glasses as his slate-grey eyes held Aesop’s obsidian ones. Aesop’s fingers stilled, lips turning down as his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, laser-beam focus trained on Osric. Osric feinted a wince and without warning, slashed his wand through the air, a depulso so powerful it knocked Aesop off his feet and sent him crashing into the stone wall behind him.

“An unwarranted attack on the mind is against the law. Legilimency should only be used in extenuating circumstances. You should know that better than most, Auror Sharp,” Osric chided, settling back into his chair and busying himself with work as Aesop groaned and massaged his head. There was no hint of glee in Osric’s tone, just disappointment, as though he expected Aesop to have put up a better plan of attack.

His head was tacky, the strands of salt-and-pepper hair he had gelled back working loose of its hold and falling over his forehead. Aesop winced and reached inside one of the cavernous pockets of his overcoat. George Osric flinched minutely; he had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye and it would have been naïve of him not to expect retribution from the Auror.

But no spell or charm came his way. Both of them were acutely aware that any further attack would escalate them into territory neither one of them could come back from.

Instead, Aesop Sharp pulled out a green vial, popped the cork and downed his Grand Wiggenweld potion in three easy swallows. George let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as Aesop rose to his feet, brushing dust and debris off his shoulder.

“Unprovoked?” Aesop grumbled, rolling his shoulders as he sat down on the proffered chair from before. “I highly doubt that.”

George didn’t look up from his research. Instead, he seemed maddeningly calm and comfortable for someone who had just assaulted a Ministry official. “I don’t owe you transparency, Sharp,” he said, cooly, and his tone underscored the tension between them. “The Department of Mysteries operates under their own accord and isn’t bound by the same legislation the rest of the Magical Community are held to. I do not report to you and I do not have to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Aesop laughed, a deep, husky chuckle without any humour as his arms crossed over his chest. His foot tapped impatiently on the cobbled floor, persistent. “You’re far too intelligent to think this is about jurisdiction.”

“It’s always about jurisdiction, especially when you’re demanding answers to questions you haven’t earnt the privilege of asking.”

A beat of silence between them.

“You wouldn’t have known Amelia Calloway was an Ancient Magic wielder had I not drawn her to your attention,” Aesop muttered quietly. “That alone determines that I have the privilege to know as much as you.”

The air hummed with unsaid words loitering between them.

“How much do you know of Amelia Calloway?” Osric’s fingers steepled under his chin.

“Enough to know that wherever she goes, so does Sebastian Sallow, and trouble follows them like Stinksap.”

A flicker of something intelligent sparked in Osric’s eyes. Sebastian Sallow? The boy that had been plastered all over the media in the summer was the boy he had seen in Amelia’s memories. The one that she was protective over. The one that was hers and hers alone.

It all made sense now.

“They are bonded,” Osric said evenly, scribbling on parchment as Aesop choked on the air he had just breathed in.

“Bonded?! They’re sixteen, or soon to be! They have their whole life ahead of them to find who they really… bond to!” Aesop spat out the words as if it was poison.

“Not in a marital sense. Or not yet, anyway,” Osric mused. None of the other known Ancient Magic wielders had ever found their tethers, and to Osric, it made perfect sense for a wielder and a tether to bond in all ways. Emotional, magical, physical and marital; there was a nuanced understanding that allowed them to find solace in each other, something that they would not get with anyone else. “Not with rings, but in all other ways. Wielder and Anchor. Power and Conscience. Storm and Shelter. Eleazar is aware of this; he can monitor and temper the situation with Amelia Calloway from Hogwarts.”

“It is not just Amelia Calloway that needs tempering,” Aesop argued, growling once more. His charge was more like his father than he realised; Sebastian’s kiss with Amelia had mirrored the one that Silas had shared with Emerys when they were in their fifth year at Hogwarts. If the son really was like his father, there was no doubt in Aesop’s mind that Sebastian would fall just as hard and fast for Amelia as Silas did for Emerys. Bonding may not have been in the marital sense, but it was definitely established in the emotional one. “Sebastian is equally enamoured by her, and if that poses a risk to him and his ability remain a free man, I should be made aware of it.”

“Their magic is intrinsically linked to each other. Especially hers; it responds to his emotional state. The deeper the entanglement, the more reactive her Ancient Magic becomes, the more she can wield it.”

That stood to reason; Aesop had been witness and subjected to Amelia’s Ancient Magic first hand. Their first meeting had Amelia render him unconscious as her magic leached out of her, unbridled and uncontrolled as she had been questioned over Sebastian. Then there was Sebastian’s trial, where she had turned members of the Wizengamot into the chickens that they were after trying to punish Sebastian for her transgressions. There was the troll attack in Hogsmeade; Sirona had later found out and told him that Amelia’s magic only manifested after Sebastian had taken a clobbering on her behalf. Then there was the attack with Poppy in the Forbidden Forest; Amelia had just said goodbye to Sebastian for the Christmas holidays and was no doubt feeling vulnerable and alone from it. It seemed that history had repeated itself, with Amelia annihilating goblins and Ashwinders after Sebastian had taken an axe to the stomach for her.

“The more dangerous she becomes,” Aesop corrected, huffing out a breath through his nose. He rubbed at weary eyes, wondering how he could extract Sebastian from Amelia without harming either one of them. No doubt that if Silas and Emerys learnt of this, they would also be encouraging Sebastian to keep his distance to keep him safe.

“Yes, but not out of malice. Out of fear and emotional instability.” Osric stood up and placed a warm hand on Aesop’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “She’s a Wielder with one eye on the past and the other roving for dangers she perceives to be true, even if they don’t exist. One eye trained into oblivion. It sounds like his presence, nothing else, grounds her. Or, to be more precise, she’s choosing to allow herself to be grounded by him?”

“And if she stops choosing?”

Osric didn’t answer. Instead, he merely pulled a buff coloured file from a mountain of paperwork and passed it to Aesop. Aesop scanned the pages, face paling behind his scruff as he read.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement
S. Scythe - Obliviator Report
14th July 1887
Town Hall, City of Westminster, London.

Aurors responded to a mass panic of Muggles after an undercover agent in a portrait reported a breach of magical power. Evidence of a major magical malfunction was present, although the perpetrator could not be detected via a Trace signal. No magical fingerprint could be isolated to track to the perpetrator. It is entirely plausible that the perpetrator is a visitor from another country, given that our undercover agent was unable to identify who they were and that many of our French, Swiss and Italian counterparts are vacationing here for the summer.

Multiple Muggles report that the hallway had been lined with marble and deep-ash timber, and that there was a tremor and an ice-blue flash before the floor liquified and timber caught alight. Several Muggles had to be treated at St.Mungo’s for third degree burns from the melting marble before their memories were altered and the offending images removed. The bodies of three Muggles cannot be recovered – they are encased in marble that cooled and solidified around them. Their families have also had the Memory Charm performed on them to remove their existence from their recollections.

Referred to the Auror Department and Department of International Magical Cooperation for follow-up.

Below the report were some photos that showed the devastation and destruction that trailed in wake. Aesop shook his head slowly as he closed the folder and placed it back on the desk.

“You see her as a girl caught up in something she doesn’t understand, and you’re not wrong. How can she understand what she is when we don’t understand it either? But it is imperative that you understand this: Amelia Calloway isn’t just a fifteen year old girl. She isn’t just a Gryffindor student at Hogwarts. She is a source of power, and like all sources, if left unchecked…”

Osric trailed off, eyes boring holes into Aesop, as though he was trying to search the older man’s soul. There really was no need to complete the sentence.

Aesop Sharp shifted, eyes narrowing once more as his face tugged into a frown. He was smart enough to read between the lines and understand the weight of words that remained unspoken. Sebastian was wrapped around Amelia like ivy twined around a rock. He never saw Calloway as danger – or if he did, he was continuing to be a sixteen year old, impulsive boy seeking thrills – just as someone with worth and worth saving.

“Let’s hope that Sebastian can continue saving her then. If he stops, then…”

This time Aesop trailed off, thinking about the Scottish Highlands that was his home. If Sebastian couldn’t reign Amelia in, then she could decimate the whole Highlands with her in a fit of temper.

Osric nodded as realisation dawned on Aesop’s face. “This is why I study Ancient Magic. This is why I study her. This is why I keep my files in the shadows of the world. Because one day someone will come storming into my office, not asking if she can be trusted, but if she can be stopped. These are dark times we’re in; it would be folly if that answer fell into the wrong hands.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Aesop cautioned, rising to his feet and heading towards Osric’s door. He hadn’t received the answers he was after, but he had answers all the same.

“I’m well aware that there’s more to this than just smoke.”

“Stand too close and you’ll get burnt. As will everyone else.”

The candle on Osric’s desk flickered, wavering like his resolve, and George gritted his teeth and shook his head. Aesop frowned, and in a swish of his overcoat, stormed out of the Department of Mysteries.

Unlike Amelia’s time in the orphanage, Christmas at the Sallow household was filled with laughter, merriment and love. She had spent the morning acclimating to the Sallow household; initially every loud cackle of laughter had her jumping out of her skin, noises she wasn’t used to hearing this time of year. Every time she was passed a cup of tea by Anne, the severity of the girl’s scowl lessened, until it seemed like a shadow of a smile crossed her face. Sebastian’s mother had insisted Amelia called her Emerys, gently braided her hair so that the wet didn’t drip down her back, and she pushed plate after plate of sweet treats in Amelia’s direction, mock glowering at her to eat it all up. It was all too much to take in, too overwhelming and a stark contrast to what she knew and Amelia did what she did best when she was faced with what she could have had and what she had missed out on. She retreated into her shell, tugging tendrils of hair out from the braid so that they covered her eyes, a shield and a barricade from what she was scared to let in.

Sebastian knew.

He always did when it came to her and he would take regular intervals from the list of jobs Emerys piled onto him to take Amelia outside into the garden and sit with her as she breathed through the panic. His hand was a warm comfort, grounding her as she spiralled, and every now and then his lips would ghost over her ear and he would reassure her that she was safe, and that she was doing wonderfully well. Amelia would smile back, but it didn’t quite quell the panic in her eyes.

To help her unwind just that little bit more, Sebastian would place his hand in the small of her back and lead her to the upright piano in the Sallow living room, depositing her on the rickety, wooden stool that his mother had taught him how to play on. Amelia’s fingers hovered over the ivory keys while Sebastian hovered over her, pressing her fingers down gently while he taught her how to play O Tannembaum. It took multiple goes and multiple fails and a small fit of frustration, but eventually Amelia was able to play the first verse of the song flawlessly, something that she delighted in. Sebastian delighted with her, pressing a quick but heated kiss to her lips after checking that no pesky little sisters or his parents were watching.

Eleazar Fig and Silas Sallow eventually made their way into the Sallow homestead. Eleazar smiled warmly as he saw Amelia, bathed, fed and tended to by Emerys; Silas grimaced and growled as he watched his son – his little boy who was tethered to Amelia for his life and whatever it cost him – enraptured by the auburn haired girl.

“Amelia,” Eleazar called out as he reached into a pocket in his blue robe. “I would trouble you for a moment of your time, if you will.”

Amelia pushed the stool back and sat down on the sofa next to her benefactor, tentative, as though she was waiting for another shoe to drop.

“I know you have never received a Christmas present before in your life; please allow me the honour of giving you your first gift.” Fig pressed a sealed envelope into Amelia’s hands.

Amelia raised a fine, auburn eyebrow in his direction, placed a finger under the flap and neatly opened the envelope. Parchment fell into her hands and her eyes widened, blue and glacial as she read it. Eleazar Fig smiled warmly at her; Amelia stared back, expression inscrutable, before she flew out of the room, parchment flung to the floor. Eleazar sighed as he bent down to pick up the paper; he had not seen his gift backfiring, but the more he thought about it, the more he should have expected it.

Sebastian had been watching the scene play out, and as soon as Amelia flew from the room, so did he. She had sought refuge outside on a wooden pallet bench, arms and legs knotted around her so tight it was hard for him to see where her head and shoulders were. He followed, snagging a thick, woollen robe from the stand near the door and draped it over her so she wouldn’t freeze in the elements.

“Mia?”

Amelia simply sniffed in response, hands gripping at her scalp so harshly her fingertips had gone white.

“Mia? Talk to me, please.”

Snow fell between them and Amelia tentatively raised her head from where she had tucked it into her torso.

“Adoption papers,” she mumbled hoarsely, using the sleeve of the shirt she had borrowed from Sebastian to wipe the snot and tears away from her nose and cheek. “He wants to adopt me, make me his daughter.”

Sebastian stayed quiet. He wasn’t sure why this was a big deal, but then again, he had grown up with parents and a sibling. He had an identity that had been shaped and moulded by people that loved him unconditionally, even if they despaired at him sometimes. Amelia had to claw for what little she had.

“Who will I be if I sign them? Amelia Fig? Amelia Calloway? Who am I now? After all this time, why me?”

“You’re Mia,” Sebastian replied, as if the answer was simple all along. “You’ve always been Mia; whether you sign the papers or not, you’ll always be Mia.”

He scooted closer to her, wrapped a muscular arm around her so his body heat would keep her warm. “You once asked me what Mia meant. It was a few days after we met. We had lunch in Regents Park, a feast out of all the food we indefinitely borrowed from some street vendors. Do you remember?”

Amelia gripped his hand tight and nodded slowly, wondering where he was going with this. Blue eyes stared up beseechingly at his brown ones and he smiled, softening as she leant into him.

“Mia is a name with many meanings,” Sebastian explained, his breath fogging up into mist as he spoke. “In Scandinavian nations, it means bitter.”

Amelia scowled; was that really what he thought of her? Although with the way she had reacted, bitter probably wasn't too far off the mark. Sebastian laughed and shook his head.

“My mother has Italian heritage. Explains her fiery temper, I guess. And her motheryness too. Her parents – when they were still alive – would visit us when we were little and speak to us in Italian. We picked it up, bit by bit. In Italian, Mia means mine.”

“Mine?” Amelia echoed, a warm glow emanating from her heart as she rolled the word around on her tongue. “You knew from then?”

“I knew from the moment I saw you in the library. Purple is a rather alluring colour on you, and your eyes reading at a speed that can rival me? Captivating. I knew then that you were mine. So sign the papers or don’t sign them. That’s your call; it won’t change a thing. Just know that to me, you’ll always be Mia. Mia Calloway – or when we make it that far – Mia Sallow. You’ll always be mine.”

And Sebastian raised her knuckles to his lips and sealed his vow with a kiss.

Chapter Text

The walls were white.

Cold.

Detached.

Clinical.

Anne Sallow shivered as she pulled the hospital blanket over her. Her body was failing her, but her mind was as sharp as ever; she could see the toll her lack of health was having on her family.

Her mother had curled into the edge of an armchair. Soft snores bubbled out from her slightly parted lips. Emerys’ once glossy, voluminous chocolate brown locks had dulled, thinned and matted. Skin that was normally rich with pigment had faded; stress had stripped the olive hue out of her and replaced it with a pale, sickly grey. Shadowed rings bruised underneath her eyes, wrinkles tooled into her face because of Anne’s illness.

Her father was no better; hair that had once been jet-black now had strands of grey. Facial hair that had once been trimmed and brushed now grew wild and unkempt. Laugh lines had soured with stress and worry; a permanent furrow had carved its way onto Silas’ face. He was the embodiment of his last name, so pale he rivalled a ghost.

Anne sighed quietly, a little puff of air that would have held no consequence, had it not been for the dark-brown head of hair resting next to hers.

“Annie? Are you okay? Do you need anything? Can I get you anything? Water?”

Anne snuck a bony hand out from underneath her blanket and grasped at her brother’s hand. She squeezed with as much strength as she had in her – a little flutter on Sebastian’s palm – and nodded towards the water jug on her bedside table. The tepid motion underscored just how important it was for him to research Amelia’s power and see if he could use it to help find a cure for Anne; he was running out of time because she was too.

“Of course,” he said, voice thick with sleep and fear. Sebastian’s chair scraped against the floor as he moved hurriedly, almost tripping over his own feet as he did Anne’s bidding, eyes never leaving her. Anne had to choke back a small laugh at her brother’s ineptness; it was almost like he was scared that if he blinked, she would wither away in front of him.

Anne hated it. She hated the effect she had on her family, the way that they seemed to dissolve like sugar cubes would in tea, every time she slipped a little closer towards death. She hated the way Sebastian’s hands shook as he poured her a glass of water and passed it to her. Her older brother, who had been so shamelessly reckless and unbearably loud and annoying as he picked on her when they were growing up, was now moving around her like a timid child, her protector and guard all in one.

He held the glass to her lips, one hand supporting her back as Anne sat up to drink. She sipped slowly, throat raw and dry, but grateful for her sibling’s empathy.

“Thank you, Seb,” Anne murmured and she patted the side of the bed. Sebastian sat down, toeing off his boots and swinging himself onto the bed by Anne, folding himself up into the narrow slice of bed that Anne had made for him, as he had done so many times as a child after a nightmare. Anne’s eyes roved over him. “You look like hell.”

“Thank you, Annie. Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me. I guess it takes one to know one.”

Anne snorted and closed her eyes. Sebastian couldn’t help but place his hand on her ribs, his way of reassuring herself that with every rise and fall of her chest, she was still breathing and still alive. They lay in silence for a while. The squeak of the wheels of a trolley echoed through the corridor outside. Their mother’s snores permeated the air. The room was dim, long shadows cast against the wall.

“Sebastian, what are you doing here?”

“Where else would I be, Annie?”

Anne shot him a knowing look. “It’s the fourth of January, Seb.”

“I’m well aware of the date. I know how time works.”

“That’s not what I was getting at, and you know it.”

Sebastian shifted, rolling over so that his back turned to Anne. “What do you want me to do, Anne? You’re here; there’s nowhere else I need to be.”

Anne rolled her eyes and shook her head. For a genius, Sebastian was more emotionally dense than the slice of sourdough that lay on a plate of untouched food.

“Your whole life can’t revolve around me, Seb. I won’t be around forever, and there’s someone else in your life that needs you today.”

“You won’t be around forever, which is all the more reason for me to stay.” He rolled over again, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could face Anne. “I didn’t think you liked Mia anyway.”

“I never said I didn’t like her. I don’t know her well enough to make that judgement. From what I’ve seen of her, she is good for you. You’re less reckless, less impulsive when you’re with her.” Anne shifted, mirroring Sebastian’s pose. “Tell me; if I wasn’t in here today, what would you be doing for her?”

If life had treated the Sallows better, Sebastian knew exactly what he would have been doing.

Mia’s birthday.

She had never had a proper birthday before, and now that their relationship had developed beyond them dancing around feelings neither one of them wanted to acknowledge, he was determined to show her what birthdays were really like.

Nothing extravagant – Mia would run a mile from that, and no Sallow birthday had ever been over-the-top – but a day where she was surrounded by her friends, laughter and merriment. A small platter of food that they could pick away at, parlour games like charades and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey to be played until she cut a rich, decadent cake and made a birthday wish.

There must have been something scrawled across his face because Anne smiled at him in that annoying, knowing way of hers when she had reached a conclusion before Sebastian had even made a dent in understanding what his emotions were.

“Y’know, you never told me how you and Amelia met,” Anne murmured, yawning and blinking sleepily.

Sebastian’s bushy eyebrows tugged together. He was damn sure he had purchased all the gossip rags for Anne when he had escorted Mia to Hogsmeade at the start of term so that she could peruse them at her leisure. She should have been able to glean all the information she was after from that.

Anne snorted in derision once more; twintuition acting as clairvoyance because she knew exactly what was running through Sebastian’s mind. “If I believed everything I read in Witch Weekly, Amelia would be heavily pregnant, you and her would be married by now, and our mother would have attached several lead weights to your bollocks to castrate you for your uncouth behaviour. Alas, our mother hasn’t tied you down to turn you into a eunuch and you still have the ability to procreate, so I can only conclude that there was gross embellishment in the article.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh at Anne’s damning yet accurate assessment of their mother’s actions and shook his head. He would indulge Anne, and as he recounted that fateful day in Marylebone Library, an idea formed in his mind. His brain must have been whirring away loudly because Anne interrupted his tale with an exaggerated yawn and an impish grin.

“Go on, Seb,” Anne smiled, kicking him off her bed as she always did when she wanted her space back to herself. “Make her day and make yours. And for Merlin’s sake, do something about that hideous mess you call hair!”

Sebastian hopped on his feet as he pulled his boots back on and raked his hands through his curls. “Better?”

“I doubt anything could make that bird’s nest better, but it’ll have to do.”

Both twins glanced over their parents. Sebastian chewed on his lip; ruby red droplets bloomed and dripped onto his skin. Anne rolled her eyes and nodded. As if he even had to ask; of course she had his back and would cover for him.

“Thanks, Annie,” Sebastian said, quietly opening the door to her room.

“Always.”

A poignant beat of silence.

“I love you, Seb.”

Two bounding steps back to her bedside. A kiss pressed to her forehead, the way Sebastian had seen his father bestow on his child.

“I love you too, Annie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Christmas and New Years had gone in a blur. Amelia had mulled over the paperwork Eleazar had handed her at the Sallow household, reeling from the shock and intensity of it all before scrawling her signature next to Fig’s as the year rolled over from 1890 to 1891. The pair welcomed in the New Year with a warm hug as Eleazar sent Athena off to the Ministry of Magic with the signed adoption paper for processing.

Eleazar was finally a father, and Amelia finally had a parent that cared about her.

It was a Christmas present and a birthday present for Amelia, who had turned sixteen on the 4th of the new year. Eleazar had woken her up with a simple breakfast of tea, toast and fried mushrooms – a delicacy Amelia had tried for the first time at Hogwarts and discovered that they were very moreish – before they ventured to the Ministry of Magic so the Registry of Births and Deaths could finalise the adoption. Changing Amelia’s last name to Fig would have been one change too much for her to cope with, and Eleazar was content to leave that point alone.

Amelia Calloway was officially Eleazar Fig’s daughter.

Knowing Amelia hadn’t ever celebrated her birthday much before – his research into her upbringing revealed that all the Sisters at the orphanage would do was give her a sliver of a stale piece of dry, crumbly fruit cake – he had forgone his plans of throwing her a large gathering to celebrate her birthday and her new family for a quiet, afternoon tea back at his townhouse in London.

She was startled by tea in fine china cups and saucers, an array of finger sandwiches filled with chicken and tarragon, smoked salmon and cream cheese, corned beef and mustard, and the presence of a cake – an actual cake – a two layered vanilla and rosewater sponge with a Chantilly cream, coated in layers of purple royal icing. Candied lilacs clustered at the edge of the cake, topped with sixteen glowing candles.

“Make a wish, child of mine,” Eleazar murmured, raising a camera that Miriam and he had used on their travels when they were young and hopeful for the future, so that he could take his first family portrait. The flash was blinding, but not as glittering and shiny as the smile that split Amelia’s face wide.

Eleazar retired to his striped armchair in front of the fire, book in hand as he glanced at his daughter above the pages, quiet contentment radiating out from within him. A tinge of sadness lingered in the air; from a photo frame on the wall, Miriam smiled down on them.

Amelia lay supine on the rug in front of the fire. The plate she had from afternoon tea was still half-filled with food and she nibbled at it tentatively at regular intervals as she flicked idly through some of her textbooks, completing extra work assigned to her over the holidays so she could catch up on the four years of magical learning that her companions had. The flames flickered in the hearth, the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed ten as the sky darkened to a navy blue. With a genial, gentle smile, Fig headed up the stairs into his room, a fatherly grumble that felt far too natural falling from his lips.

“Don’t stay up too late, Amelia. It’s important for you to get some rest too.”

Amelia nodded as she scribbled on a scroll of paper, dipping her quill in an inkwell and making more notes. The house breathed softly, creaks and groans punctuating the silence as the fire crackled quietly in the background. Amelia sighed softly, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. Life had changed, and this time it felt like the life was hers. This time last year, she was huddled under a threadbare blanket, stomach rumbling as she stared into a bleak future that held nothing of worth. The Sisters kept reinforcing the notion that she was fast approaching her ‘sell-by’ date, and if she could not secure and engagement with a suitor, then she would be penniless and destitute. Now she was coming into her own; she had a father figure – despite the identity crisis the adoption had initially caused, Amelia was fast coming around to the idea of having someone unconditionally standing by her – and she had friends – another novel concept, but Natty and Garreth were always there for her when she needed them.

And then there was Sebastian.

He called her Mia when they met, and he had finally revealed what the name meant. She was his, in more ways than one. Amelia couldn’t explain it, but there was an inevitability that existed between then, a magnetic attraction that pulled them towards each other, no matter how hard they had tried to resist it. Every time she thought about him, her stomach flitted and her pulse picked up pace ever so slightly. Remembering the way his lips melted into hers, the way his caresses made her knees weak caused the heat to rise to the surface of her skin.

Amelia’s mood soured slightly as she thought of him; since Christmas at the Sallow home, Sebastian had sent her at least one letter a day. They were often mundane, chronicling what he had gotten up to that day, describing life in Aranshire’s hamlet, and reassuring her that he didn’t miss her too much. Amelia had to chuckle – she was astute enough to read between the lines and know that Sebastian was missing her company as much as she was missing his.

But today she hadn’t received anything from him. It was unlike Sebastian to forget anything when it came to her; his memory was sharper than hers.

His lack of attention stung more than she cared to admit.

She sighed, rolling up the paper she was writing on and placing her inkwell and quill on the ledge above the fireplace and shoved her book back into her bookbag. A flash of movement by the window had Amelia grasping for her wand as she opened it up and stuck her head over the snow-capped ledge.

Sebastian grinned up at her from the pavement, hands shoved into his pants pockets as his hair ruffled in the wind. Amelia blinked, rubbing at her eyes as though she was making sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“Happy birthday, Mia!” Sebastian smiled, flicking his head towards where the front door of the townhouse was.

“Sebastian! What are you doing here?”

“Birthday tradition. Well, the inaugural one since I’ve made it up this year.” His caramel eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and he gestured to the door once more. “Get dressed because we need to go.”

“Sebastian,” Amelia hissed, glancing up the stairs to the upper floor of the townhouse. “Fig’s asleep. I can’t just –”

“All the better. Come on, I promise I’ll have you back before midnight, Cinderella. Boots, dress and coat, Mia. Midnight’s burning.” He leant casually against the front door, arms crossed lightly over his chest, somehow exuding confidence and a slight impatience at Amelia’s vacillation.

“Trust me.”

And as always, Amelia did.

The city thrummed to its own beat. The drunken brawls that spilled out onto the street was little more than hushed mumbles from Sebastian and Amelia’s elevated position in the sky. The lights on the embankment of the Thames glinted in the background, and Sebastian led Amelia out onto the rooftop of an apartment block with his hands covering her eyes.

It transpired that Sebastian hadn’t forgotten to write to her; he was just too busy in the day as he was setting up her birthday surprise, but it was not without its hurdles. Fate had a bitter twist in store; Anne had taken a turn for the worse, writhing around and screaming in agony as she clutched and clawed at her appendix. The Sallows had rushed her to St. Mungo’s, and Anne had been admitted for observations while the Healers tried to stabilise her decline. Emerys and Silas’ attention had diverted fully onto their ailing daughter, and in their exhausted state, neither had noticed their son sidle out of the door.

Last summer, Sebastian would have used their lack of attention to wreak havoc and trail devastation in his wake, but his trial, week in Azkaban and probationary status had matured him. This time, Sebastian had cast an eye over his slumbering and exhausted parents as they held vigil over Anne’s bed, bundled himself up in jumpers, shrugged on a coat and wound a scarf around his neck as he headed up to the rooftop he had once camped out on, using his afternoon to set up for Amelia’s birthday.

“Surprise!” Sebastian removed his hands from Amelia’s eyes, and Amelia gasped.

The tent that had bamboozled her the night she met Sebastian was pitched against the chimney stack. It was small and unassuming, but Amelia knew better than to judge the tent by its outwards appearance.

“Just bigger on the inside?” she chuckled, pointing at the tent.

“You catch on quick,” Sebastian laughed back as he held the flap open for her to enter. Amelia ducked her head as she walked in, gasping once again as she took in her surroundings.

Candles levitated and floated around the living room. A small, red and white checkered rug with fluffy cushions and woollen blankets lay on the floor. There was a stein of Butterbeer for her and non-alcoholic fizz for him, next to a platter of cheese, pome fruits and bread.

“Just like the night we met,” Sebastian nodded, lowering himself onto the rug and passing Amelia a small plate of apples, cheese, pears, plums and a slice of bread. Amelia smiled in reminiscence, nibbling on an apple slice.

“The night you told me I was a witch and you weren’t scared of me. I looked at you like you were insane. To be fair, I still think you’re a little insane; you’re standing by me.”

“Where else would I be, Mia?” Sebastian huffed with a laugh, deliberately not thinking of Anne in her hospital bed. “Why wouldn’t I stand by the most stunning, brave girl I’ve ever met?”

“I was terrified when you told me because it made so much sense, and yet it went against everything I had been raised in.”

“Still brave,” Sebastian argued, drawing Amelia into his arms as he snagged a cube of cheese off the platter and popped it into his mouth. “And still trusting me.”

Amelia nodded, peering up at him through her eyelashes. How could she not trust him; everything he had done, he had done with her best interest in mind.

A pause settled between them, leaden with heavy, unspoken words. Amelia shifted, burrowing further into Sebastian until her head rested in the crook of his neck. She could feel Sebastian’s smile imprint on her as his cheek rested atop her head, and that made her smile too. The snow flurried down outside the tent, somewhere in the distance, Big Ben chimed eleven times.

Sebastian cleared his throat – Amelia could feel the rumble of his vocal chords vibrate through her skin – and shifted. He reached behind him, rummaging around until his fingers found a small package wrapped clumsily in brown paper. An indigo ribbon with silver polka dots tied in a bow was the only flourish on the otherwise inconspicuous package. Sebastian thrust it at Amelia, red staining his freckled cheeks as he rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously.

“I know it’s not grand and that you deserve more, but this is for you.”

Amelia sat up, hands carefully unwinding the ribbon and using it to secure her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes peered up, blue and questioning, and Sebastian encouraged her to unwrap her gift with a nod of his head. Unlike him – he would have simply ripped the paper apart and let the shreds fall to the ground like confetti – Amelia unfolded the brown paper and ran her fingernail down the folds, scoring them into place.

“I just… I saw this and thought of you. I saw how tightly you hung onto Buttons after…” Sebastian trailed off again, swallowing tightly. He didn’t want to taint her first pleasant birthday with memories of him torturing her, nor did he want to reveal how skint he was by stating he had found the gift in a bazaar and had used his wit and looks to con the stall owner into giving him the present for free. “I wanted you to have something comforting. Something soft.”

Amelia looked down.

In her hands was a small teddy bear. The lilac fur of the toy was soft and velvety under her skin, slightly worn, as if it had been pre-loved. One button eye was slightly more shiny than the other, and a crimson and gold scrap of silk was knotted clumsily around the bear’s neck.

Gryffindor colours.

The shock must have been scrawled over her face, jaw slackened and eyes wide open, because Sebastian shut her jaw, looking sheepishly and slightly embarrassed in her direction.

“It’s stupid.” Sebastian squirmed, the humiliation of not being able to afford to gift her a present that was worthy of her overpowering his brain and paralysing his tongue.

Amelia blinked against the stinging in her eye as she surged forward towards him, arms looping around his torso and squeezing him tight, her voice a quiet mumble into his shirt. “It’s not stupid.”

The snow fluttered around the walls and roof of the tent. The soft glow of the candles danced in rhythm with the fire that crackled and flickered in the background. Amelia nestled back into Sebastian’s side; it was almost natural for him to wind his arm around her and pull her into him, press a tender kiss to her temple as his fingers played with the tendrils of her hair that had escaped her bun. “Happy birthday, Mia.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. But I didn’t follow it up with this.” Sebastian tilted her head up to his, caramel eyes glinting in the light as his lips sealed over hers, thumb caressing her cheek. Amelia kissed him back, her fingers furling against the soft collar of his shirt.

The warmth of his body comforted her, the world and their troubles blurred and faded into nothingness. For the first time in a long time, Amelia and Sebastian both felt that they were at peace.

Chapter Text

Thursday 17th May 1888

His hair was wet with sweat, curling in the wind as Sebastian walked off the Quidditch pitch after training. His Quidditch jersey – also washed in sweat – lay folded over one arm while his other hand carried his broom and Beater bat. Imelda gagged, held her nose and fanned the air in front of her.

“Come on, Mel, you love the stench of sweaty men,” Sebastian goaded, deliberately raising his arm so his armpit was directly next to Imelda’s nose. “I’ve seen you at the Inter-hamlet Quidditch tournament – always hanging around at the end of the match to talk to the players and sniffing their scarf when you’re lucky enough to get one.

“I don’t mind the smell of man. Unfortunately, you are not a man,” Imelda roasted back. “You’re just a boy who’s trying too hard, awkwardly testing your flirting on me. It’s not working and it never will. We grew up together; you’re like the annoying big brother I never had.”

Sebastian mimed being wounded, clutching at his chest where his heart would be. “Just stab me next time, Reyes; it’ll be less painful. Besides, Sam and Violet don’t think my flirting’s half bad.”

“Take a shower when you get back to the castle; don’t be so melodramatic, Sallow!” Imelda flounced off in a huff, linking arms with Anne as she waited for them outside the doors to the castle. Anne looked absolutely mortified, bright red and her eyes were darting around the ground as if she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole, something hidden behind her back. Behind her stood Emerys and Silas Sallow, face impassive.

Sebastian slowed to a crawl. Both his parents waiting for him? That only happened when they had bad news to impart.

“Son, come with us to our office.” Silas’ voice rumbled through the air, even and impassive. Still not giving anything away.

Sebastian gulped, paling as he ran through a list of all his transgressions over the past fortnight.

This can’t be good. Did they find out I was the one who set of Filibuster’s Dragon Flaming Fireworks in the library so I could try getting into the Restricted Section, even though I blamed that on Anne? No, probably not; Ma said that if she heard of me making Scriber’s life a misery, she’d take my broom, snap it over her knee and then strike me senseless with my Beater bat.

He took mincing little steps, trailing behind the skirts of the dress his mother wore. “Ma, if this is about the bubble bath in the water fountain in Central Hall, I can explain that.”

Emerys’ head swivelled as she slowed. She tilted her head to the left, eyes narrowed but expression quizzical. She seemed surprised at the revelation; Sebastian could see the cogs in her mind grinding as she filed that away for a later date.

“Is this about me hexing ink bottles to dive bomb Prewett as he walked between classes? He deserved that because he was insulting Anne and Mel.”

“No, it’s not about either of those indiscretions right now, but believe me, we will be discussing them soon. You realise you’ve just confessed to two crimes in under twenty seconds, Sebastian, and your father and I will decide how we deal with them later.”

“Can we not discuss them and pretend we did?” Sebastian gulped and realised he had just dug his own grave. He looked over at his father in mute appeal. Silas shook his head; he was clearly going to back his wife on this one.

The door to Emerys’ and Silas’ joint office creaked open. A Victoria Sponge and a tray full of chocolate eclairs lay on the table, along with the remnants of chocolate fudge cake and Ginger Newt biscuits. Anne’s favourite snacks, and a clear indication that whatever Sebastian was going to be subjected to, Anne had to go through it first. In some ways, it was a small comfort for Sebastian; it would be something that they could laugh about or commiserate together later.

“Sit down, Sebastian,” Emerys said, piling a plate with food and passing it over to him. She sat down in the chair opposite him, Silas perched on the armrest.

“Why?”

“Your father and I need to have a talk with you. A general… life talk.”

Sebastian shoved a mouthful of cake into his mouth, eyeing both his parents like they were about to neuter him. Cheeks bulging with food, he crossed his legs, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Emerys looked at Silas, cocking her head between her husband and her son. Silas stared back, pointedly waiting for Emerys to start the conversation.

I started the conversation with Anne. I took point with Anne while you sat in the background. It’s your turn to tell your son about the facts of life.

Silas rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, playing with the tails of his tie, deliberately not meeting his son’s eye. “Seb, you may have noticed that you’re going through some… changes. You’ve grown a lot in a short amount of time, you may have started sprouting hair in places you never had before, your voice sometimes cracks –”

“It does not!” Sebastian squeaked out around a mouthful of Victoria Sponge. He had lost dignity and denial all in one fell swoop.

“Sebastian, you smell like a wet troll in heat,” Emerys stated bluntly, sliding some lavender coloured potions his way. “Drink this every morning – it will help with the changes that are making you testosterone on legs.”

Sebastian looked at the bottles containing the potion and screwed up his face in disgust at the flowery scent. “Ma, are you sure this is for me and not a perfume for Anne?”

Emerys glared at him, unimpressed. “I gave birth to you and raised you for thirteen years; I think I know the difference between my son and my daughter by now. It helps with the hormones making you smelly and stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Yes. You can’t honestly look me in the eye and tell me desecrating the fountain in Central Hall or assaulting a peer with ink bottles is a mature, carefully considered idea.”

Sebastian couldn’t deny his mother’s point, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He eyed the pile of food on their desk: no doubt his mother and father were gearing up to slaughter him with sweetness.

Merlin help me, it’s not that talk, is it? I think I learnt more from when I walked in on them at seven than I will from this. I know how babies are made, and it’s not by holding hands and kissing for too long.

“Yes, son, this is it,” Silas chuckled as his son turned bright red. “And you may think you know it all because of what you inadvertently witnessed as a child, but there’s more to this than you think. Listen closely, because we will only tell you this once. After that, you can come to us with questions when they arise.”

As though they had spent thirteen years rehearsing for this moment, Emerys summoned a book off the shelf next to the window and it landed neatly in Sebastian’s lap. The cover was leather bound, gold, embossed letters reading So, You’re Becoming a Wizard with Feelings!

Sebastian jerked his hands away from the tome as though he had been burnt. He glowered at the dark blue leather and then at his parents as though they had personally offended him.

“This is for you to read in your own time; we know you learn through books rather than lectures,” Silas explained, rising off the armrest and coming to stand behind his son. “But in the meantime, your mother and I will impart some wisdom.”

“Please, don’t. Having to walk back to the dorms with this under my arms is humiliating enough.” Sebastian’s cheeks burned, a wine stained nebula clashing horribly with his freckles, and he shovelled eclairs, sponge cake and Ginger Newts into his mouth with a ferocity that surprised everyone. If there was ever a moment for him to expire on the spot because he had choked to death, it was now.

Emerys ignored Sebastian’s obvious discomfort and embarrassment and continued to speak as though he was paying rapt attention to them. “We’re not sitting here saying that you’re not allowed to explore your feelings. You’re allowed to like girls.”

“Or boys,” Silas helpfully supplied. “Your mother and I don’t discriminate that way. Or both. Or no-one at all. But if we ever catch wind of you engaging in any improper behaviour –”

“Such as kissing someone in a broom cupboard when you should be in class, or being caught with your trousers and underpants around your ankles while inside someone else,” Emerys clarified, knowing that Sebastian had a knack for finding loopholes to exploit. “Those are some of the many examples of unsuitable behaviour I could list.”

“Please stop!” Sebastian clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut, praying fervently that he was stuck in a nightmare and this wasn’t happening.

“Then I will personally ensure that you’ll be married by morning and you’ll have your own set of twins to look after before you're twenty. Those children will have your father’s curls and my sass, and that will be your karmic justice for the next eighteen years, at least,” Emerys continued, as though her words weren’t coming from experience and weren’t mentally scarring her child.

“Sebastian, do you know how expensive a child is?” Silas picked up where Emerys left off. “We do. Multiplied by two, because we have two children.”

Sebastian blanched; the thought of being romantically linked to another female – or anyone – was making him want to vomit. His mind was made up; he was never touching another being. Ever. He was never going to allow himself to feel; feelings would be his downfall. “Can I go and eradicate this from my memory?”

“Do you understand our expectation of you, Sebastian?”

He nodded. Anything to get him out of there.

“Then, yes. You may go and shower now. And don’t forget to use shampoo and soap too!”

Just as mortified as his sister had been when he had glimpsed her earlier, Sebastian hid the self-help book under his Quidditch jersey and high-tailed it out of the room, praying to Merlin that no-one saw him with it under his arm.

“Do you have to go back tomorrow?” Emerys murmured, her fingers curling around the soft material of Silas’ sleep shirt as his arms enveloped her body. “I miss you when you’re not here. You make the days better.”

Silas sighed, a puff of air blowing out against his wife’s face. Anne had spent nearly a week in St. Mungo’s as the Healers worked on stabilising her failing body as best they could. They had done their best, but there was no slowing the progression of Anne’s curse, and the Healers had discharged Anne earlier in the day. Anne had been beyond exhausted; she had crawled into her bed as soon as the Sallow family returned to their home. Sebastian had taken vigil by her bedside, hand on her ribs so he could reassure himself that Anne was still breathing as she slept, Buttons shared between them under their arms. The rhythmic rise and fall of his sister’s chest lulled Sebastian into a slumber, his finger placed in the palm of her hand, and Anne would squeeze it every so often subconsciously to confirm that she was still in the land of the living.

“Come on, love, time for bed for us,” Silas deflected, steering Emerys down the stairs and into the master bedroom. As much as Silas was reluctant to return to work, he knew he had to. It had been hard enough convincing the Headmaster to grant Emerys an undefined sabbatical (unpaid, of course) instead of demanding her retirement when it became apparent that Anne would need around-the-clock care; with the knowledge Fig had imparted into him, Silas knew it was imperative that he return to Hogwarts to make sure that Sebastian and Amelia were safe together and from each other. It wasn’t news that he had shared with Emerys – despite stating to Eleazar that he had no secrets from his wife, the timing to tell her wasn’t right. Call him selfish, but Silas wanted one last Christmas with his family intact, with Anne still present, Emerys and Sebastian unburdened with the knowledge that Sebastian was the only gatekeeper in preventing Amelia from unleashing the full range of her magic on anyone in the Wizarding World.

Sebastian Sallow was the failsafe for the powder keg that was Amelia Calloway.

Emerys nodded, more at the acceptance of Silas going back to work while she stayed at home and watched the daughter that they loved more than they could put into words slowly disintegrate in front of her eyes. She wondered if it was an option for them to swap roles for a term; Silas could stay at home with Anne, while she returned back to Hogwarts as Professor of Muggle Studies and Music, but then she remembered why they had decided that Emerys would stay at home. Sebastian was still at school, and as much as the mother and son loved each other, they clashed in all the wrong ways. Minor disagreements spilled out into two cataclysmic volcanoes erupting at each other, decimating anyone that had the misfortune of getting in their way. In a lot of ways, Silas was the parent that could parent Sebastian more appropriately, and having been a Fifth Year at Hogwarts, Silas had a more nuanced understanding of the issues Sebastian would face and know how to steer his son through them.

“Keep an eye on Sebastian and Amelia’s relationship when you go back,” Emerys mumbled, pulling her nightgown on and untangling and brushing her hair from its braid. “Might be an idea to have The Talk with him again.”

“What talk?” Silas asked, pulling back the covers and slipping into bed. He had only just wrapped his head around Fig’s disclosure. He hadn’t even thought about how to broach it with his son.

“The. Talk. The one that reminds him that any impropriety on his part will result in him being married and possibly saddled with twins of his own, as I prophecised all those years ago.”

Silas huffed air out through his nose again. The image of Sebastian curled around Amelia in his bed flashed through his mind, their hands grasping at each other as if their life depended on it, the way their hair braided together on the pillow as if they were destined to be joined.

“That horse has bolted, love,” he grumbled before he could stop himself. Emerys’ eyes glowered at him through the reflection in the mirror.

“What was that?!”

Silas winced at the sharp, serrated edge to Emerys’ voice.

“Silas Spencer Sallow, you will tell me about our son’s illicit romantic entanglements and you will tell me now!” Emerys stormed over from the dressing table to tower over Silas’ side of the bed. Her shadow cast a damning indictment over her husband as she brandished her hairbrush like a weapon.

“They’ve already spent the night together; I caught Miss. Calloway in Sebastian’s bed just before the Yule Ball. And I suspect that Sebastian and Miss. Calloway spent the night together on her birthday too, but that's just a theory.”

There was a beat of silence. Emerys blinked rapidly as she digested the news.

“And you’re telling me this now?! Nearly a month after this unholy union commenced?! We don’t keep secrets from each other, Silas! When something happens, you tell me! That’s what makes us work!”

“Sebastian assures me that nothing untoward happened between them!”

Emerys let out a sarcastic, unamused laugh. “How do you know when a teenager is lying, Silas? Their mouth is moving, and our son is very much a teenager!”

Silas rubbed at his temples, groaning softly. Since Emerys was waving the hairbrush in front of him in a manner that indicated that she would insert said brush into a very uncomfortable place if he didn’t come clean, he knew it was time to be honest with her. That or she’d smack him over the head with it. Not that it would make much difference; he would simply comment about the brush needing sturdier bristles to break the tension of the moment, or wind up Emerys more and misdirect her from the issue at hand.

“I was hoping it was a once-off, and I dealt with it at the time. No need to keep rehashing something that’s been addressed.”

Emerys stared in shock and horror. Whatever Silas had done at Hogwarts hadn’t been effective; she had seen Sebastian’s eyes glint with lust and desire as he gazed at Amelia over Christmas. The hairbrush smacked against her palm and she clicked her tongue in irritation. “Silas, at the rate Sebastian’s going, we’ll have grandchildren underfoot by this time, next year! Just like his father, that boy!”

“More like his mother, Emerys,” he parried back, with a quirk of his eyebrows and a knowing smirk. “I distinctly remember one of us pouncing on the other to progress the relationship, and it definitely wasn’t me.”

Emerys sagged. The truth had stumped her and Silas used the moment to sweep his wife up into his arms and pull her into bed with him. The sheets were cold, but Emerys’ fury would keep him warm throughout the night.

“It’s become more complex, love. This isn’t just teenaged, puppy love anymore. It’s beyond anything that we could have ever imagined.”

Emerys stilled in Silas’ arms, turning her head so her brown, inquisitive eyes could read his dark and stormy ones. Her lips pursed, nostrils flared.

Go on, then. Untangle it for me.

Silas watched, still and unmoving, a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti. There was no safe way to do this, not when he had just managed to untangle it for himself, and with Emerys’ tendency to act impulsively first and worry about the fallout later, he had to make sure that Emerys knew exactly what was at stake for the greater population of the Magical community. But Emerys was looking at him as if she already knew, as if she was daring him to confirm the worst.

“Eleazar told me something about Amelia, and how she links to Seb.”

“What about it?” Her voice was as sharp as broken glass, her body stiff and taut in worried anticipation. She couldn’t take any more heartache and heartbreak, not when her daughter was dying and she feared her son going the same way.

“Amelia and Sebastian are bonded.”

Emerys snorted; Silas wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, or hadn’t already gleaned from watching the two lovesick teenagers moon around each other.

“No, love, she’s magically tethered to him. Her power reacts because of him. Aesop spoke to me a few days ago. We’re worried that if something happens to Sebastian -”

Emerys’ strangled gasp cut Silas off. She rolled out of his arms and pushed herself up so that she was sitting cross-legged, hands raking feverishly through her hair in a manner that was reminiscent of Sebastian when he was stressed beyond belief. “Is she a danger to our son?! To our family because of the bond?! If Sebastian gets hurt… could she do something catastrophic?”

“Not could, Emerys. Has. When they were at Feldcroft, when we were battling against Ashwinders and Loyalists, Seb took an axe to the stomach. He fell and she unleashed. For him, she burns like an incandescent wraith. She burns as he bleeds.”

Emerys swallowed. Painfully. Audibly. Her fingers toyed with the doona cover, knuckles turning white with how tight she fisted the material in her hand. “She saved our son… and that terrifies you?”

Silas opened his mouth and closed it, searching for the words. He wasn’t terrified of Amelia; he was terrified of what she might represent. He stood by what he had spat out in anger at Eleazar earlier; Amelia was a scared girl, but in the wrong hands, she was also nuclear. He was terrified of what would become of his son because of her. Of what would become of her if something untoward happened to his son. It wasn’t about love anymore – it was power. Wielded, unchecked and tied to a teenaged boy who once got stuck inside enchanted armour as he hid from his mother's wrath because he had trailed mud through the office Emerys had just tidied after his Quidditch practice.

Amelia was bound to a boy that let his emotions and his heart rule his head.

“What happens to Sebastian when he loves her, then?”

Silas shifted uncomfortably. His eyes dragged over the faded tessellations in the wallpaper of their room. The temperature had dropped from the icy undercurrent of the conversation and he shuddered. “That’s her strongest lifeline. That could be his undoing.”

Another beat of silence.

“How long have you held onto this, Silas?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Emerys already knew.

Silence stretched between them, a chasm that they couldn’t bridge.

Emerys shifted, rolling onto her side so her back was to Silas.

“Emerys? Love?”

“Remind me to eviscerate you in the morning for not telling me sooner. I’m too tired to do it tonight.”

A dry chuckle escaped Silas’ lips as he tenderly kissed her temple. “Raincheck for the next holiday? I have a rather busy term up ahead.”

“I’ll do it in the morning before you leave for work.”

“As you wish, love,” Silas said, and with a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the candles in their room so they could get some sleep.

The Sallow kitchen was almost too quiet for a first day back to school. Under normal circumstances, the kitchen was the heart of the Sallow home, a scene of chaos and cacophony as Sebastian and Anne would hurriedly shovelled bits of buttered toast into their mouths while locating misplaced quills, scribbled away to complete forgotten homework and riffled through the laundry to find the unmatched socks to pack into their trunk. It was almost as if the room was too small to fit four bodies in it; they were constantly bumping into each other and squeezing past each other so they could leave home and get to Hogwarts on time for lessons to start.

But normal circumstances didn’t exist for the Sallows anymore.

Morning light filtered through the window, a wintry glow that lulled Sebastian Sallow in a false sense of security as he stumbled into the kitchen, school shirt half untucked while his Slytherin tie draped around his collar. Bleary eyed, he reached for the kettle and poured himself a strong Darjeeling tea with a splash of milk and sat down at the table, opposite his mother. A plate of eggs and toast levitated towards him, and Sebastian’s stomach rumbled at the smell of it.

Silas had left early in the morning to go to Hogwarts; Eleazar had called for a private audience with him and Sharp to discuss how they would support and keep Sebastian and Amelia safe from their bond. Anne was still upstairs, sleeping fitfully in order to regain what little strength she could. Their absence made the kitchen feel strangely empty.

Emerys watched him shovel a whole egg into his mouth and gulp it down with some tea, a charged silence blanketing them with words no one wanted to say.

“Something wrong, Ma?” Sebastian mumbled, briefly looking up at her. His mother’s movements were too precise as she scraped strawberry jam across her toast.

Emerys didn’t blink – not once – as she placed the knife down with all the gentleness of a javelin throw.

“I had an interesting conversation with your father last night,” she said, tone too saccharine and that made the hair on the nape of Sebastian’s neck stand up on end. That tone was never good. He contemplated running – self-preservation was screaming at him to do so – but he also knew that his mother was tenacious; she would simply accio him back to his seat and then incarcerous him to the chair until she had verbally decimated him.

“Do you know what it was about?”

“No?” Sebastian crammed some more food into his mouth. Anything to avoid the conversation that was going to ensue. It could have been about any of his transgressions; his habitual late arrival to Defence Against the Dark Arts – it was just so hard to get out of bed and get to class on time, and he did enjoy winding up Hecat a tad – or his most recent, unsanctioned excursion to the Restricted Section of the library, where he was caught by his father and Madame Scribner.

“I’ll give you a hint.” Emerys smiled, teeth bared and sharpened to a point. A viper before she struck. “It starts with you, involves Miss. Calloway, and ends with me being the last to know that the two of you are sharing a bed.”

Sebastian choked mid-swallow, face flushing crimson. He let out a noise that definitely wasn’t human; it was a cross between a shriek and a manticore’s mating call. He forced himself to push the food down his windpipe, wheezing that he was fine while simultaneously wishing for a meteor to plummet out of the sky and flatten the house so that his mother would stop.

“Are you fine?” Emerys asked rhetorically, chomping angrily into her toast. “Because I’m not fine with this revelation, Sebastian! My daughter is upstairs, slipping through my fingers, and my son is improperly intimate and entangled with a magical anomaly that could decimate our entire world if you’re not careful!”

“Ma, you’ve already traumatised me once in my life with this conversation; we don’t need to do it again! Besides, I still have that book you gave me – I’ll refer back to it if I need to!” His appetite evaporated, Sebastian made to leave, dropping his half-eaten breakfast plate in the sink. As predicted, his mother dragged him back to his chair, glowering at him.

“Sit!” she snarled, and like a puppy that had been scared into submission, Sebastian sank like a stone onto his chair. “And, yes, we will have this conversation again and again because it appears that since all the blood has rushed to your downstairs head, there’s not enough left in you to use your brain!”

Sebastian flushed and buried his face in his arms. Merlin, there was something even more horrifying at having to have The Talk when he was sixteen as opposed to thirteen, especially when she was wielding words with surgical precision to strip his dignity – such as it was – away from his bones.

Emerys pressed on, oblivious – or in spite of – Sebastian’s discomfort. “Let me make myself perfectly clear: if Amelia ends up with child because of you, you will marry her and I will personally make sure that you are saddled with the consequences. All of them. The nappies, the midnight feeds, the incessant screaming, the lack of sleep –”

“Oh my Wizard God, please stop!” Sebastian was just waiting for the ground to swallow him whole. “Nothing has happened between us! To use your terminology, I have not dipped my wick with her or with anyone! It’s not like that! We just… fell asleep together that night.”

Sebastian’s eyes shifted, first to the left and then to the right, as he delivered his semi-lie. They hadn’t just fallen asleep together; he was a comfort to her when she needed it the most, especially after he tortured her in the Scriptorium. Despite him promising that he would get Mia back home before midnight, the heat of his body against hers and the warmth of her body nestled into him like two jigsaw pieces fitting together had meant that they had spent the night together in the tent on the rooftop in London a few days ago. Nothing too unchaste occurred between them; Sebastian was too much of a gentleman to push boundaries when Mia was only just becoming comfortable with outwardly showing signs of affection towards him. He knew that if he wanted to last a lifetime with Mia, he needed to go as slow as she needed, and he was happy to do so.

But that was information he hoped his mother would never find out about, a secret shared between him and Mia.

The silence that followed Sebastian’s confession was long, awkward and somewhat relieved. The wind had been taken out of Emerys’ sails and she sagged back into her chair, a relieved sigh escaping her.

“You’ve liked girls and boys before, but it’s never been like this for you. Listen, son, I know what you are to her, and I can see what she means to you. That’s not the issue. The issue is what happens because of this. There’s more to you and Amelia than anyone understands, and that terrifies me. This bond… this magical connection between the two of you… it’s dangerous and unpredictable. If you let this go unchecked, she could ruin you. You could annihilate her.”

Sebastian’s fingers traced the wooden grain of the table. Slowly and deliberately as he digested his mother’s words, the words slipping into place as he recalled snippets of a hushed conversation that occurred between Eleazar and Silas over Christmas.

“Ma, I’m not courting Amelia because people think we’ve bonded with each other. I’m courting her because I choose her. Every time. The same way you choose Dad. The same way Dad chooses you.”

“Our love took time. Yours and Amelia’s lust is something unchartered,” Emerys countered, just as serious and sombre as her son had been. “It’s different between your father and myself than it is for you.”

“No, Ma, it really isn’t. Not in all the ways that count.” Quiet conviction laced Sebastian’s tone and underpinned just how earnest he was in his feelings towards her. It was not something that went unnoticed, and Emerys knew that the more she tried to tug Sebastian away from Amelia, the more stubbornly they would cling to each other. All she could do was hope for the best and be there to pick up the pieces if it all fell apart.

There was another beat of silence.

“Now, if we’re done here, I think I’m going to go to school. This has been more mortifying and horrific than fighting barrel loads of Ashwinders and Loyalists.”

“Oh, you think this was bad, son?” Emerys called out to Sebastian’s retreating back. “Next time I’ll pull out the blackboard and start drawing diagrams!”

Sebastian let out a strangled noise and bolted for the Floo Flame, relief washing over him as the emerald flames transported him away from his mother’s vicious tongue and to the safety of the Slytherin Common Room.

Chapter Text

Even though Yuletide was over, the festive air still lingered in Hogwarts. Wreaths hung on doors, garlands twined around bannisters to staircases and mini pine trees stood in unassuming corners of the castle. Flurries of snow flitted outside the window, but the real storm simmered inside the castle’s hallowed halls as three men with vested interests in two teenagers sat around a small, circular table. The icy chill in the air underscored the tension in Eleazar’s office.

“Sebastian and Amelia are both targets for Rookwood and Ranrok,” Fig stated as though he was talking about the weather. “You are both aware of the connection between them; it makes both of them powerful in their own right and vulnerable as well. I propose that we revoke their privileges until the threat to them ceases; they will not be permitted to leave the ground of the castle unless they are under teacher escort.”

Silas crossed his arms over and huffed, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in displeasure. “We can’t restrict their movements, Eleazar. It’s unfair and impractical, and we don’t know when Ranrok and Rookwood will tumble. They’re teenagers; headstrong and cocksure. If they really wanted to leave and traverse the Highlands, they will, regardless of whether they have a teacher with them or not. I’m telling you, we cannot let them keep this up! This tethering? This bond? It’s not healthy, for either of them! He spends most of his time fixated on her, and she clutches at him like he’s the only thing clinging her to reality! We must sever them! For both of their benefit!”

“My daughter is perfectly capable of defending herself! The tethering allows her to do so!”

“Yes, but at the expense of my son!” Silas snapped, rising to his feet and pacing the room in frustration. “And what happens when my son inevitably takes a fatal curse for her?! How does she react then?! We don’t know!”

Aesop Sharp dragged his limp leg slowly over the rug of Eleazar’s floor, sipping from a dainty cup of tea, scowl etched onto his face and cogs in his brain grinding away as he waited for Silas to run out of steam. It was a mistake to think that Emerys was the feisty, passionate Sallow; it took a lot to work Silas Sallow up, but when he got to that point, he was just as impassioned as his wife, if not more so.

“This is trauma bonding, Silas and Eleazar,” Aesop murmured, catching a break as Silas caught his breath. His tone was cool, clinical; a doctor diagnosing an illness that could be as benign as a tumour or as malignant as cancer. “It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. Not surprising, considering what Sebastian and Amelia have been through.” He thought back to the file he had read in Osric’s office, his blood turning to ice as he remembered. “And frankly, Silas, I disagree with your notion to sever them.”

Eleazar’s eyes flashed with something Aesop couldn’t quite place – gratitude for an ally, he imagined – and he nodded in agreement, gesturing for Aesop to continue.

“I think it would be prudent for them to anchor each other instead of have them spiral alone.” Aesop waved his ebony wand over the desk. A manila folder, overflowing with parchment, landed with a soft thump on the wood. “Sit down, Silas. This is Sebastian’s school and Ministry record. Have a look at it; there is a sharp change in his behaviour since Amelia has become a more… enduring presence in his life.”

Silas glowered but stopped pacing, pulling his reading glasses out from the breast pocket of his shirt. He leant over the table, eyes roving over the parchment in a blur as he skimmed the file. “Correlation doesn’t equal causation, Aesop. Yes, his miscreant nature has dialled down, but that could be attributed to a number of causes – puberty maturing him, his trial by Wizengamot and stint in Azkaban and having to face his mother’s wrath and my disappointment scaring him into submission could have affected this too – not solely to Miss. Calloway’s presence!”

“You tell yourself what you need to hear to make you feel better, Silas, but the fact is indisputable. The bond between them has tempered Sebastian’s reckless nature. Recklessness that stems from a misplaced sense of guilt.”

Silas and Eleazar froze at the revelation. Silas’ nostrils flared, as they always did when his emotions teetered on a knife edge and threatened to get the better of him.

“As his probation officer, Sebastian has revealed a number of things to me, and to another safe person in our community. No, I will not betray his confidence and disclose the nature of those matters.”

Silas opened his mouth, figuratively ready to throttle the information out of Aesop. “He’s my son, Aesop! I have a right to know!”

“No, Silas! These are not my secrets to tell! If Sebastian chooses to tell you, that’s his choice to make. But in the meantime, let him come to me so I can help him rather than have him shoulder the burden of everything he has gone through and everything he’s facing on his own.”

A beat of silence. Betrayal rankled in the air.

“I’m his father, Aesop,” Silas said quietly, jealousy seething underneath his words. “I will always be his father since he sprung from my loins. You cannot take that away from me.”

“I know that, and I have no desire to take it away from you; that relationship is precisely why he has come to me instead of you. What I do desire, however, is to find a way to help our young charges navigate the road ahead of them as unscathed as possible.” Aesop placed his teacup down on the table and steepled his fingers under his chin. His lips twitched underneath his facial hair, and he blinked rapidly between Eleazar and Silas.

Eleazar blinked back. Osric had told him that Sharp had made an unscheduled appearance in his office, and that Aesop was privy to just as much information as he was. Silas was the only one that had been left in the dark – to some extent – and that was for his own benefit. Too much knowledge distilled in one person was a dangerous thing.

“What are you proposing, Aesop?” Eleazar asked, voice weary and worried at the same time. “War is on the way, and we both know that there are never any winners in a war. Just plenty of losers and plenty of victims. How do we stop my daughter from becoming a victim?”

“The issue is that we have two children that are in over their head because war is on the way. They are clinging to each other like lifelines in a world that wants to drown them. If one of them slips, the other goes down with them,” Silas growled, deep and primal, his fatherly instinct rising to the surface causing him to bristle. His muscles tensed, the vein near his temple pulsed in anger and worry.

“This is not an issue that we can fix with curfews, detentions and constant surveillance. As Silas rightly said, they are teenagers, and teenagers will find ways to push and break boundaries, regardless of what it will cost them.” Aesop sighed, shifting on his seat so he could draw himself up to his full height. Authority emboldened him; his back straightened and his shoulders squared as he continued to speak. His tone was sharp, but not unkind.

“What I propose is structure, not confinement. They should be permitted to go where other Fifth Year students can go, but they must respect established boundaries. For their safety and for the safety of others. We give them routines and responsibility – apart and together. Let them feel safe and grow, but also let them realise that they are capable without each other. The bond exists; there’s no denying it, and it comforts them. But comfort can quickly turn to clutch, and that is what makes their connection so tenuous and dangerous. For Sebastian, he cannot complete his community hours service around the Scottish Highlands anymore; it is too dangerous for him to be out on his own. I will speak to Sirona about having him work at The Three Broomsticks and advise the Wizengamot of the changes so that he completes his probation successfully.”

The words hung in the air. Eleazar nodded stiffly at Aesop’s words; Silas ground his jaw mulishly, not completely convinced but prepared to give Aesop’s strategy a go.

“Sebastian and Amelia need to be taught to defend themselves, turn a weakness and an exploitive point into a strength. They are quite emotive, and when their emotions get the better of them…” Eleazar stated, quietly tapping away at the table. “A strong mental defence is just as important as a physical and magical defence. Do you concur?”

Silas nodded stiffly once more, but could instantly see a flaw in Eleazar’s plan. Who could they trust to fortify their children’s mental defences and teach them Occlumency? It would require skill and a certain level of detachment to repeatedly expose Sebastian and Amelia to Legilimency attacks, and Silas was aware of how agonising they could be. He wasn’t sure he could subject his boy to that at his hand; as a child, every time Sebastian cried because he had scraped his knee or been punched in the face by his sister, Silas’ internal organs had bled in pain for his baby. Eleazar seemed equally as conflicted, not wanting to inflict any more pain and suffering onto a daughter he knew had suffered more than anyone should have in her sixteen years alive.

Eleazar tilted his head towards Aesop. Silas’ eyes widened at the suggestion, unsure if Aesop was the right person for the role. Aesop’s eyes met Silas, hard and unwavering. Silas exhaled heavily, nostrils flaring as he raked a hand through his curls and rubbed at stubble covered cheeks.

“He will not go, Aesop. I know you mean well, but he doesn’t see it that way. He’s a broken boy that doesn’t want to acknowledge that he’s broken. Emerys and I already broached the topic with him when you first proposed he receives help from a Mind Healer.”

“That’s as may be, Silas, but I’m not asking for permission anymore. As his probation officer, it is within the scope of my role to mandate any reformatory practice that can aid Sebastian’s rehabilitation from teenage menace to responsible, young man.” Aesop paused, sipping from the cold tea to fortify him.

“He will Come of Age this year; the Wizengamot will not be lenient on him anymore. Nor to Miss. Calloway, so I suppose I must extend this offer to you as well, Eleazar.”

Eleazar’s ears pricked up. He shared Silas’ concern and would have much preferred someone he knew to perform Legilimency on his daughter, not some stranger. Ideally, he would have guided Amelia through fortifying her mental defences, but he also knew that his gentle approach and tender nature with her would have been counterproductive. Both he and Silas were ill-suited to the task because it involved their respective children. His eyes trailed over Aesop’s grizzly face, a suitable contender for the task. Aesop was gruff but compassionate, caring but detached towards the teenagers.

Aesop caught Eleazar’s eye and chuckled darkly. “I doubt my bedside manner is best suited to the role. Besides, I am Sebastian’s probationer; I cannot risk gaining knowledge that would then require me to report it to the Wizengamot. I cannot report on what I do not know. No, it must be Healer Fray who helps us in this endeavour.”

“Healer Fray?”

“Yes. Expert in the field of mental resilience and defence.” There was a note of finality that indicated that Aesop would not say more. Aesop rose to his feet, groaning as his knee creaked under the weight of what lay ahead of them. He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a consent form, as if he had been carrying it around since he had first suggested Sebastian get therapy back in October. Silas sighed and signed his signature reluctantly on the parchment, even though he knew it was in his son’s best interest to do so. Eleazar followed suit. All three men exchanged a glance, an uneasy truce and alliance forged out of necessity.

Aesop nodded and limped towards the door.

“We need to start acting fast, before Ranrok and Rookwood realise what we know and what we’re up to. Keep this between us for now; we’ll reconvene later.”

Sebastian and Amelia hit the ground running with their return to Hogwarts. Even though they were still in their Fifth Year, going from 1890 to 1891 made the impending OWLS seem as though they looming over them. The increase in workload from their teachers reinforced that notion, and it was easy for them to slip back into their evening routine of studying in the library, with Sebastian always preparing a fruit platter of apples, pears, cubed cheese and crackers for them to snack on while they poured over books and scribbled notes.

The only major change to their routine was Friday afternoons. Aesop had successfully negotiated Sebastian working off his community service hours behind the bar over the weekends; his shifts started an hour after classes ended and he spent most of his weekends under Sirona’s watchful eye. In some ways, it was a blessing in disguise; Emerys and Anne would travel to the tavern every other Saturday to meet with Silas and spend some quality time with each other. Anne particularly delighted in watching her brother work and issue minor grievances to him, especially since Sirona followed the adage of the worthy customer is always right and Sebastian had to capitulate to whatever whim Anne decided she wanted to follow. It usually revolved around her demanding mocktails of varying complexity, and then complaining that the ratio was off and the drink was unpalatable so Sebastian would have to remake her beverage. Sebastian had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear it, reminding himself that he was doing this for his little sister – no matter how annoying she was as she interfered with him working – and that he should relish what time he had left with her.

After all, he wasn’t any closer to finding a cure. The diary he had stolen out of the Scriptorium held promise, but exploring and researching its contents had been pushed to the backburner as Anne’s recent hospitalisation and Amelia’s birthday took precedence over it. It was an avenue that he needed to pursue, but finding the time to do so was challenging.

The weeks blended into each other, and the subzero temperature thawed ever so slightly as January bled into February. The routine of the week was helping provide Amelia with structure, and she knew that after double Transfiguration with Professor Weasley on a Friday afternoon, she was expected in Eleazar Fig’s office for a spot of afternoon tea and a chance to discuss how the week had gone, along with any new information George or he had uncovered regarding her Ancient Magic ability. Amelia would sip at her mug of lavender and vanilla chai, sweetened with a touch of honey, as Eleazar whittled away.

“I’ve been studying the book you recovered from the Restricted Section of the Library, Amelia,” Eleazar mentioned as he bit into an almond finger. The book in question lay on the desk, quietly thrumming with untold secrets, a magnetic pull drawing Amelia towards it. Ethereal blue light licked her fingertips as she reached out for the book and she opened it. The spine of the book splayed open, jagged edges of paper sticking up like a warning.

“There are pages missing!” she exclaimed, eyes quizzical as she blinked at her father. “Why would someone go to all that trouble of hiding a book and then rip pages out of it?”

“Why, indeed!” Eleazar sounded troubled but amused. “A book without pages is somewhat useless.”

Amelia twirled a lock of hair around a finger, lost in thought. There must have been something compelling and condemning on those pages for someone to have gone to all the trouble of befouling a book and then hiding it so far under the bowels of the library it was unlikely to be uncovered.

“They must be somewhere. But where?” she mused, sipping her tea to slow her thoughts.

Eleazar smiled; his daughter thought the same way he did. When he discovered the book had pages removed from it, he had contacted George Osric right away. Osric had theorised that someone had been desperate enough to keep that information a mystery, they may have killed for it to remain hidden. He combed the Ministry of Magic’s files, active cases and cold cases, with only one case catching his eye.

A man had gone missing and a woman had been imprisoned in Azkaban, convicted to his murder without any evidence to support the claim. Apollonia Black, it transpired, had sworn to a false testimony in front of the Wizengamot and had condemned Anne Thisbe to a fate worse than death. It had been a gross miscarriage of justice, but no-one that cared enough had enough influence to launch an appeal into the botched investigation, nor did they want to cross the Black family. Helen Thistlewood was the Auror alive that had been involved in the initial investigation; Osric had implored Fig to reach out to Thistlewood and organise a meeting to suss out any new leads that would be worth investigating.

“That’s a very good question, my child.” Eleazar flicked his wand; two cloaks sailed through the air and landed neatly on his lap. He pulled the black wool over his trademark blue overcoat and knotted a grey scarf around his neck. “Dress warm, it’s still cold outside, and we have a meeting at Hogsmeade to attend.”

The atmosphere inside of The Three Broomsticks was raucous, as it always was on a Friday. Sebastian preferred the evening rush to the lull of the morning shift; keeping busy kept his mind occupied and stopped him from dwelling on all the problems in his life. He cast an eye near a table at the fireplace; a woman with hair pulled back so tight it made her frown look severe, arms crossed over her chest. The table she had chosen had two other chairs, as if she was expecting company, but the aura around her screamed that everyone else should stay away. Sebastian made a mental note to keep an eye on her; he knew the signs of troubled distress because he could see it in himself every time he looked in the mirror as he shaved.

“Sebastian, tables upstairs need clearing,” Sirona instructed, throwing him a rag soaked in soapy water. “Once that’s done, I need you tending the bar; it’s too much for me to keep up with.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sebastian intoned, mock-bowing towards her as he took the stairs two at a time. Sirona swatted at him, but couldn’t quite hide the laugh that escaped her at the young man’s nature. Sebastian had been working under her for four weeks, and she was starting to view him as a surrogate nephew, offering him a sympathetic ear when he wanted to vent and unsolicited advice when he needed someone to lay it out straight for him.

The door to the tavern opened; vanilla and cinnamon wafted in on the breeze. Sebastian paused from where he was stacking dirty dishes, rag slung over his shoulders, and he peered over the mezzanine railing. Mia had walked in, snow flecks that were unmelted glinting like diamonds under the light. Fig was with her too, and he helped her shrug out of the cloak that had trailed in the snow as they walked over. The young man’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he watched the duo walk to the woman he had clocked earlier, shake her hand and take a seat at the table. The conversation was hushed, and it didn’t seem like a pleasant conversation. Sebastian watched, his own face pulling into a heavy frown as he watched Mia’s expression take on a stormy appearance. Fig also looked disturbed, but there was a hint of resignation to his body language. A moment later, Sirona passed a note to Fig. Fig scowled, muttered a few words to Mia and then headed out the door, leaving Mia alone with the woman Sebastian had seen earlier.

None of this assured Sebastian that Mia was in good hands, so he gathered up the dishes Sirona had sent him to collect and dumped them in the sink behind the bar before surreptitiously moving towards the table. He mimed cleaning tables around them, but the truth was that he was eavesdropping.

Curiosity burned within him.

What were they discussing that made Amelia so concerned?

He inched closer, straining his ears as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on the table nearby.

“– she has most likely deciphered the puzzles that led to Jackdaw’s death. Unfortunately, Azkaban has taken a toll on her mental faculties; no-one knows how long Anne Thisbe will remain lucid. It is imperative that you recover those memories and prove her innocence before that happens!” The woman, face haggard with age and stress, reached out and shook Amelia by the shoulders to emphasise her point.

Azkaban.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold at the mention of the notorious prison. His grip on the rag tightened, movements freezing as his knuckles turned white. The noise of the tavern paled into insignificance, a dull, underwater murmur in the back of his mind. All he could see was Mia’s side profile, drawn and pale, the fire casting an eerie glow over her as she nodded, chewing on her lip so hard she drew blood. His heart thudded against his ribs, a slow drumbeat of dread.

He didn’t know who the woman was. He didn’t know what Mia had just agreed to, what danger she was going to throw herself into without him to help protect her – every fight she had fought had him in her corner.

He didn’t know, and that felt like he was out of control. That was the worst part of it. It was just like when Anne had been cursed all over again – everything was slipping through his fingers, everything was just out of his reach.

The woman stood up sharply, knocking the chair she was on to the ground with a clatter. Amelia rose to her feet and with grim determination, nodded at the woman. They walked quickly towards the door, quicker than Sebastian could have followed them without drawing attention to himself. He dodged patrons and weaved through the crowds until he managed to sneak outside, just in time for him to watch the older woman snake an arm around Mia’s shoulders and Apparate them away.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp stretched as he stood up, rubbing at his eyes. Marking had tired him out and it was time for him to take a mandated break.

Silas Sallow usually picked Sebastian up from Hogsmeade and walked him back to the castle, a bit of father-son time that no-one would begrudge him. Unfortunately, Silas had been slated to patrol the perimeter of Hogwarts at night as part of his teaching duties and he had asked Aesop to collect his son. Aesop had obliged; Sebastian was still his probationer, and the pair had reached an uneasy understanding that if there was anything Sebastian wanted to talk about that he didn’t want to burden his father with, the teen could turn to Aesop.

Aesop shrugged into his coat and cloak and wound his scarf around his neck. He was running late – Sebastian’s shift ended in five minutes – and while he wanted to enjoy a leisurely stroll to the wizarding town, he would have to Apparate to Hogsmeade instead once he had left the portcullis of the castle. He twirled gracefully on the spot, visualising the cozy tavern in his mind, a loud crack punctuating the air as he disappeared from sight.

The door to the pub slammed open. A hurricane flew towards him, a tangle of arms, legs and messy brown hair.

“Professor Sharp! She’s taken her! You have to help me!”

Aesop blinked as the words assailed his ears. His lips pursed and his face scowled as the boy in front of him shook and trembled. Whether it was out of fear or anguish, Aesop didn’t know, but it was clear that the boy was working himself into a frenzy.

“Let’s get back to the castle and you can tell me more,” Aesop said, pulling the teenager towards him. Sebastian wrenched himself out of Aesop’s grasp, pacing frenetically as snow crunched underneath his boots. He shivered as the biting wind cut through him, the damp chill settling into his bone marrow.

“No! Someone took Mia to Azkaban! She doesn’t know what it’s like, she’s not prepared; she can’t even cast a Patronus! I’m going to get her, with or without your help!” He paused, arms crossed over his chest as though he was trying to hold himself together. His teeth gnawed on his lip, biting through the flesh until he drew blood. Metallic tainted the air; Sebastian wiped away at it impatiently as he tapped his foot, waiting to see what Aesop would do. Determination glinted in eyes that morphed from caramel to sable. “Without will take longer.”

“Alright, Sebastian, you have my attention. However, I will not discuss this with you in the middle of the street while it’s so bitterly cold.” And without giving Sebastian an opportunity to argue, Aesop pulled the boy into the tavern with him. A swish of his wand had the heavy oak doors closing behind them. Aesop pulled up pew at the bar and Sirona immediately slid a stein of cider his way, as she always did when Aesop sat at her bra. Sebastian growled; every minute that they wasted was time that Mia wasn’t under anyone’s watchful eye. Aesop glared back beadily and gestured for him to speak.

“It was a woman. Old. Haggard face. I didn’t recognise them. What if it’s someone that’s working for Rookwood?!” Sebastian fretted, raking his hands through his hair, fingertips white. He glanced at Sirona, wordlessly asking her to verify what he had said.

Sirona nodded as she polished the wooden top of the bar, pointedly staring at Aesop. “He’s not mistaken. Helen Thistlewood was here with her.”

Aesop nodded grimly. Helen Thistlewood was renowned within the Auror office. Quick-witted and no-nonsense, she had accrued one of the highest arrest records in the department. She was known for being ruthless amongst criminals and her colleagues in her quest to try and rid the Wizarding World of shady characters. She never crossed the line like Solomon Sallow had – she was far too intelligent for that – but she did toe over it in a way that could never be traced back to her. Amelia Calloway was a child – legally – but that wouldn’t stop Thistlewood from using her for her own means.

Sirona speared Aesop with a look that pierced right through him, somehow exposing all the parts of him that he wanted to keep hidden. Aesop sipped slowly from his cider, reaching into the pocket of his coat and handing Sebastian his wand. Sebastian stared, mouth open in shock, at the invitation Aesop was granting him.

“Let me get one thing straight, Sallow. I am not doing this because I think you should be with me; I am doing this because we both know you will break the terms of your probation to go after her anyway like the determined, bloody menace that you are. Might as well have me there to keep you as in line as I can. Now, you will follow every order I give you to the letter. No arguments, no defiance; whatever I say, goes.” Aesop waved the willow wand again, encouraging Sebastian to grasp onto it.

Sebastian’s fingers curled around his green and black checkered wand handle, the tightness in his chest loosening ever so slightly and warmth spreading through his fingers as he was reunited with his wand. The gesture was more than just handing over his wand; it was Sharp’s way of standing by him through thick and thin, the only sentiment that the older man could show after years of heartbreak. It was Sharp’s way of acknowledging how precarious Amelia’s situation was, and how seriously he took Sebastian when it came to her wellbeing. It was a level of trust Sebastian had never been entrusted with before.

“Thank you, Professor Sharp.”

Amelia had thought Scotland in winter was the coldest she had ever felt, but Scotland felt like a balmy summer’s day when she compared it to Azkaban. The sky was dark and stormy, the wind nipped at her nose and ears so badly she could feel icicles form on the tips. She shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering so much she bit down on her own tongue. She winced and stifled the cry of pain at the pointed glare Helen Thistlewood sent her.

“Pull yourself together, girl. Plenty of people here who’ve had worse.”

Amelia ducked her head and nodded as she pulled the robe Fig had given her tighter to her body. It was a vain attempt to retain what little body heat she had generated, but the island Azkaban was located on was particularly adept at sapping the warmth out of anything living.

Three towers ascended into thunderous, cumulonimbus clouds. Electricity crackled through the clouds as thunder snapped in the background. Howls of anguish echoed through the air, almost as if people were being tortured in the most inhumane way possible. The iron and rock fortress loomed intimidatingly over Amelia; instead being a powerful woman that could wield Ancient Magic and take down Ashwinders and Loyalists with a flick of her wrist, she felt like she was a little girl back in the orphanage, being scolded and whipped by the Sisters for any minor transgression until she had learnt the error of her ways and prayed to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in for forgiveness.

Helen Thistlewood strode towards the portcullis, as though the towers of Azkaban was just like any other building. Amelia trailed in her wake, tiny little steps highlighting just how badly she wanted to turn tail and return to the safety of the Gryffindor Common Room, laughing and gossiping with Natty and Garreth, as they always did on a Friday evening.

A thin, short witch intercepted them as Helen powered her way through the office of the Aurors of Azkaban. Amelia’s eyes skittered over her quickly; brittle, grey hair that had been pulled back so tight it had smoothed the wrinkles out of her dull skin. Green eyes that had aged before her time, as if she had seen horrors that were too grotesque to put into words. Lips drawn into a thin, unimpressed line as she appraised the interlopers to her terrain.

“Kendelway,” Helen muttered tightly, her brisk pace coming to an abrupt stop in front of the diminutive woman in front of them. “Out of the way; important business to attend to.”

“That’s as may be, but you can’t just barge in here without authorisation!”

Helen stopped and swivelled slowly on the spot. Her long fingernails tapped a steady tattoo against the clipboard that was held in Kendelway’s hand. “Then grant me authorisation.”

“No. That’s beyond the scope of my role. You are not above authority anymore, Thistlewood.”

A shift forward.

The tension between Helen Thistlewood and Kendelway would be cut with a blunt knife. Amelia shrunk into herself, hoping that by making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, she could escape the verbal ping-pong match that was playing out in front of her. All Amelia wanted to do was to find out where the missing pages to the mysterious book was, not get caught up in strife between two people she hardly knew.

Helen glowered at Kendelway, the weight of a thousand unspoken words and memories between them. “It would behove you to remember whose influence you used to gain this role, Keziah. Without it, you would be destitute and penniless, on the verge of being sacked for being a less-than-mediocre Field Agent. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Keziah swallowed. For all the time she had spent as Head Auror of the Aurors of Azkaban, Helen Thistlewood could decimate her self-worth with a few choice words. Still, she was a far cry from the probationary officer that had worked underneath the Auror standing in front of her. Keziah flipped her braid from one side to the other as she squared her shoulders, hands on hips, refusing to be cowed into silence by Helen’s domineering personality. “And yet here I am, and it is my governance over Azkaban that has ensured that the Magical Community is safe.”

Keziah didn’t even flinch when Helen Thistlewood moved swiftly behind her. Thistlewood drew herself up to her full height, trying to intimidate Kendelway into succumbing to her will. It wasn’t as successful as Helen had hoped; Keziah’s expression was impassive, tired and unrelenting, an expression honed and perfected through years of safeguarding the notorious prison.

“I said no, Thistlewood. I know why you’re here; Thisbe has been convicted and deemed a dangerous threat! If you want entrance to see her, you must fill out the appropriate forms, have them signed off by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and submit a -”

Helen moved faster than Amelia could comprehend.

A slice of a limb through the air.

The flash of sparks emanating from Helen’s wand tip.

The thud as Keziah Kendelway’s immobile body slumped to the floor, like a puppet without strings, her clipboard clattering to the floor.

Amelia let out a strangled gasp, eyes wide open in horror, as she scrambled on her hands and knees to Keziah. Fingers rested on her sternum; it was a relief for Amelia to feel the rhythmic beating of Keziah’s heart under her hand, feel the rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath she took.

“What did you do?!” Amelia cried out.

“What needed to be done,” Helen replied smoothly, brushing strands of hair that had worked its way loose from her updo back behind her ears. “We have no time to argue with bureaucracy or play a dim-witted, diplomatic game. Understand this, child; there are no niceties in Azkaban. You do what you have to do to survive.”

“She was just doing her job,” Amelia whispered, eyes darting between an unconscious Keziah and a ruthless, pragmatic Helen.

“And I’m doing mine!” Helen snapped. “There’s an important memory in this prison that you must uncover, and you will extract it from Anne Thisbe, regardless of the cost! I’ll drag you through this prison unconscious, if that’s what it takes!”

Amelia froze as she realised the extent Helen Thistlewood was willing to go to, to achieve her means.

The howls of the prison echoed louder. Or perhaps they were laughing at Amelia, mocking her predicament and lack of viable options to extract herself from the mess she was in. The air around her seemed laden with hopelessness and defeat, leaving a burning, bitter taste in her mouth.

“I thought I was here to help you. I thought you were going to help me.”

Helen ignored Amelia’ plea for understanding. She waved her wand again, yanking Amelia to her side and casting a binding spell between them. An invisible tether shackled Amelia’s wrist to Helen’s, handcuffs restricting her as they moved into the bowels of the prison. The binding charm tugged viciously on Amelia and she stepped, tumbling over the hem of her robe. Even though they were now inside, the chilled air ripped through Amelia and she shuddered. The macabre nature of the prison hummed uneasily around her; her Ancient Magic bubbled in her blood.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder, Keziah Kendelway’s lifeless body growing smaller in her vision as she was dragged further and further away from safety. And she realised – far too late – that she had allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. The stability of her life now – having friends that knew just what to say to elicit chirrups and giggles out of her after a long day of learning, having Sebastian hands in hers as he kissed her when he escorted her back to the Fat Lady’s portrait after studying in the library with him, the safety of being Fig’s adopted daughter – had allowed her to quash her basic instincts, the one that screamed at her that people in her life were stranger, or acquaintances at best.

If her life before Hogwarts had taught her anything, it was that strangers and acquaintances always let her down.

She had let her guard down, let people that didn’t necessarily hold her best interests at heart in, and now she was paying the price for it.

The sense of foreboding settled like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach.

As Helen Thistlewood dragged her through the prison, Amelia vowed that if she got herself out of this mess unscathed, she wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Aesop Sharp shuddered as the howling gale scratched at his face. The salt spray from the ocean lingered on his tongue and dried on his skin. He was appropriately dressed for winter, and his thick, woollen coat and robes couldn’t keep the damp and depressed atmosphere of Azkaban out of him. Sebastian was faring much worse than him; the boy hadn’t even stopped to put a jumper on when he had insisted Aesop accompanied him to the prison, and he had turned an ashen blue-grey colour, the colour that Aesop had only seen on corpses.

Sebastian’s frigorific fingers ghosted against Aesop’s hand as the Auror removed his cloak and passed it to the teenager. Sebastian shot Aesop Sharp a tight, small smile in thanks and draped the cloak over his shoulder. Aesop nodded back, just as tight and stiff in his movements as he took in the sight before him.

In his haste to collect Sebastian from The Three Broomsticks on time, Aesop had grabbed the first cloak to hand; it was the dark cloak that was part of the Auror uniform. Sebastian’s broad shoulders filled out Aesop’s cloak well. The authority held within the robe draped around the younger man well; Aesop was sure he was catching a glimpse of who Sebastian could be in the near future… if the boy could just keep on the straight and narrow and get to the end of his tenure at Hogwarts and his probation without majorly cocking it up.

“Remember,” Aesop growled. “You do whatever I say. No arguments, no questions. If I say jump, you jump. You don’t ask me how high; you just do. If you can’t do that, I will simply leave you out here and venture in on my own.”

Sebastian’s jaw jutted out at the implication, but he nodded and held his wand out in front of him as though it was a shield that could protect him. Aesop regarded him steadily but when all he could detect was bald honesty from Sebastian, he nodded in return and strode towards the portcullis of the prison.

The duo waited for someone to authorise their entry into Azkaban, as was the procedure they had followed when Sebastian had been voluntold to go there after his trial, but no-one appeared. Aesop’s foot tapped impatiently on the ground; Sebastian picked at his cuticles and chewed on his lip until both parts of his body were bleeding. A soft snort and a loud crash had the portcullis retracting to allow the pair to enter the reception area of the prison; Aesop had clearly gotten impatient and had cast a non-verbal depulso to allow them entry.

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes honed in on a body slumped on the floor. There was something familiar in her, and belatedly he realised that it was Keziah Kendelway, one of the Aurors that had taken him under her wing while he had completed his community service in jail.

“Professor Sharp! Is she -?” he broke off, unable to finish his sentence as he pointed at Keziah’s still and unmoving body.

Aesop bent down as best as he could – the intense cold was causing his joints to stiffen and seize up like he was a tin man left out in the rain too long – and felt at her neck. There was a faint beat, thready but constant. “She’s been Stunned, Sebastian. She’s not dead.”

Aesop twirled his wrist and a glass of water materialised from the molecules of air around them. “Enervate,” he muttered, pointing his wand at Keziah. Keziah gasped, desperately drawing air into lungs that felt like life had been pummelled out of them.

“Aesop?” she squinted up at the shadows looming over her, blinking as another silhouette came into focus. “Sallow? I thought I said I never wanted to see you here again!”

“Me too,” Sebastian muttered dryly, chuckling darkly at the irony of her words. “But here I am.”

Keziah groaned as she forced herself into a sitting position, untying and retying her hair to distract the men from the fact that she was trembling. “Aesop, Thistlewood’s here. She has a minor with her. I tried to stop her, I tried to bar her entrance…”

Aesop nodded, soothing her with gentle ‘shhh’ noises. “I know, Kendelway. Thistlewood’s pragmatic and brutal and will stop at nothing until she gets wants. None of this can be laid at your feet, but I must know who Thistlewood is trying to see. Where would she be going? The minor with her is also under my care and it is imperative that Sebastian and I get to Miss. Calloway before the Dementors do.”

Keziah opened her mouth, ready to question Aesop’s sanity. Was sending a sixteen year old boy into the depths of hell really a good idea? The stony look of resolution on Aesop Sharp’s face made Keziah swallow her words and she nodded. At least Sebastian had been in Azkaban before; there wasn’t much he would be shocked by this time around.

“Anne Thisbe. Thistlewood’s going to her, for Merlin knows what. Cell number 1745.”

Aesop grunted as he rose to his feet and blinked at Sebastian. Sebastian’s lips drew into a line so thin they almost disappeared. The boy blinked back at the older man, raised his wand in a salute, and with a swish of their cloak, Aesop Sharp and Sebastian Sallow sprinted into the hallways of Azkaban prison.

A glimmer of light hopped ahead of them. Amelia wasn’t sure if it was a hare or a rabbit that bounded before them, but in the grand scheme of things, she supposed it didn’t really matter. Helen strode on, a woman on a mission, and Amelia was towed along behind her. The binding burned against Amelia’s wrists, the brand of shame and lack of autonomy searing into her skin. She bowed her head, letting loose tendrils of hair fall over her face, a curtain blinding her to the grim reality around her. Ancient Magic hummed in her blood, but every time a dark, shadowed spectre floated near her, dread overpowered her and the magic within her stifled. She shuddered, wincing at the high pitched screech that assaulted her ears.

“Thistlewood, over here!” a voice crooned out of the darkness. “Want to see what you made of me? Want to gloat?”

It was too much for Helen to resist. The bones in her neck crunched as she twisted her neck in the direction of the voice. Footsteps clicked against the rock floor as Helen approached the bars of the cell.

“Anne.”

An emaciated figure stepped towards the bars. Her hair was ragged, half of it scratched out by her own fingernails. Scabs on her scalp had been picked and gouged at so severely they were never going to heal. Her cheekbones protruded from underneath her skin, sharp and jagged. Her eyes were sunken into her skull, dark brown. Eerie but twisted sanity flickered behind her irises.

“Anne’s gone; she’ll come back when I want her to. Just little old me left in place when Anne goes away.” A skeletal hand slipped through the bars of the cell and with a strength that belied her weakened frame, Anne clawed at Helen, grasping her by the nape of her neck and slamming Helen’s forehead into the rusted iron bars. There was another sickening crunch as Helen’s forehead caved in on itself, blood and bone and brain matter spraying onto Anne as she continued to smash Helen into the iron rods.

Amelia dry heaved, vomiting a little inside her mouth, as Anne’s forked tongue lapped at the blood that was trickling down her face as though it was as sweet as honey. The little blue animal that had been guiding them dissipated, plunging them into total darkness as Anne released Helen’s body from her grasp. The air rattled as the dark, menacing spectres swooped down on her. Death and decay lingered in the air, the stench of necrotic flesh burned acrid in her nose as the spectres formed a circle around her and closed in on her.

It was the most chilling embrace Amelia had ever been in, and she longed for the warmth and safety of Sebastian.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Who could ever want her?

Abandoned. Always abandoned.

Always left out in the cold. Always on the outside looking in.

Always alone.

Fitting, she supposed. She came into the world alone, and now she was leaving it alone too.

Always chastised by the Sisters at the orphanage.

Couldn’t do anything right. Only good for lashes and to be made an example of.

Amelia sunk to her knees, the rock floor scraping her shins to shreds.

What was the point of living?

Who would miss her if she gave in to the feeling of desolation and despair that was overwhelming her?

The hooded ghost hovered over her.

A skeletal hand with long fingers held out a hand to her. Sour breath washed over her like a cursed baptism.

It was so easy to succumb.

A single, solitary tear rolled down Amelia’s cheek as she raised her hand towards the ghost.

Anything to relieve her of her suffering.

Lips ghosted over hers and it felt like an ice-cube was running over her mouth.

“No!”

Amelia blinked. The noise was distorted, but most definitely masculine. Star anise and cedar smoke wafted through the air.

Sebastian?

Sebastian was here?

For her?

Why?

Perhaps he saw something left in her that was worth saving and that ignited the pilot light within her. She withdrew her hand and rubbed at her eyes, squinting to see who her saviour was.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Blue light blinded her as an eagle swooped over her, flapping its expansive wingspan to chase the hooded shadows away. The Patronus screeched defiance in the dark, slicing and gliding through the fog and shadow. Amelia dragged frigid air into lungs that felt like they had been scorched from the inside out.

A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched, curling up into a small ball so nothing else could harm her, arms and hands entwined around her face like protective armour.

“Mia.”

Her blue eyes peeked out from underneath an elbow. Sebastian. Pale and shaken – and a little frostbitten on his nose and ears – but really there. He knelt down by her, pulling off the cloak Aesop Sharp had given him and he tucked it around Amelia to try and keep her warm. His eagle – having done it’s job of dispelling the Dementors – perched on his shoulder, and Sebastian ran a reverent finger against its beak. Amelia burrowed herself into his chest; the smell of cedar smoke and star anise comforting her in a way she never hoped was possible.

“Let’s move before the Dementors return,” Sebastian growled, swinging Amelia up into his arms and carrying her as if she was his bride.

“No, Sebastian, we can’t. Not yet.”

Sebastian glowered at her. Why the hell did Mia want to stay in this Merlin-forsaken hellhole? He wanted to leave as fast as he could, and hopefully never set foot in Azkaban again. Amelia mumbled against his chest – something about Anne Thisbe having information about missing pages from the book she had stolen from the Restricted Section – and Sebastian frowned once more, eyebrows tugging into one, bushy monobrow. No wonder Mia was prepared to risk her sanity and her soul; she wanted information on her special ability. He did too, but there had to be a better way than interrogating Anne Thisbe, a decision that teetered on the line of stable and stupid.

“Sharp’s here,” he disclosed, threads of a plan forming in his mind. “I have an idea, and he’ll help us with it.”

Amelia nodded, far too knackered – emotionally and physically – to argue. She sighed into the cotton of his shirt, closing her eyes and letting the motion of him moving them towards the exit of the prison lull her into a light slumber.

The shadow of Azkaban fused into her bones, but so did he.

Chapter Text

Aesop Sharp paced frantically in the small office the Aurors of Azkaban used to complete their admin tasks as Keziah Kendelway came to. She whimpered and groaned, gingerly pressing against the lump that was forming on her forehead and wiping flecks of dried blood away from the scab that had formed from where she hit her head.

“Aesop,” she murmured hoarsely, reaching for a glass of water and sipping from it. “Where did Sallow go?”

Aesop jerked his head into the hallways of Azkaban. Keziah scowled at Aesop, once more questioning his judgement at letting a sixteen year old boy chase after a sixteen year old girl in the middle of the most notorious prison known to Wizardkind. Aesop shook his head; he had followed Sebastian as Sebastian had sprinted off, but his inability to produce a Patronus made him a liability more than an asset in Azkaban. It also didn’t help that the extreme cold had caused his injured leg to seize up at the most inopportune moment; Sebastian had the benefit of youth on his side.

“Sebastian will be fine,” Aesop muttered, and Keziah wasn’t sure if he was assuring her or reassuring himself. “He has a better defence in Azkaban this time around.”

Keziah quirked a fine eyebrow in Aesop’s direction as she rummaged around in her desk drawer for some chocolate. She snapped off a square of dark chocolate, as bittersweet as her soul, and passed it to Aesop before popping some into her mouth and letting it melt under her tongue. She wanted to call him reckless, but there was something in the cadence of Aesop Sharp’s voice that made her reconsider.

“Sebastian Sallow loves Amelia Calloway,” Aesop stated plainly. “More importantly, he’s in love with Amelia Calloway, and she loves him. That will be their strongest defence, even though they probably haven’t realised it or vocalised it yet.” He deliberately did not mention the bond that existed between the two teenagers; Kendelway didn’t need to know, and the less people that knew about it, the better.

Keziah’s lips twitched; Aesop reckoned it was a small smile, the most she could muster after being exposed to the horrors of Azkaban for so long and both of their eyes tracked to the clock on the wall. The metronome of the second hand ticking away underpinned just how anxious they felt. Keziah stretched, unable to wait any longer, stood up on shaky legs and reached for her wand. Wooziness blurred her vision, but Azkaban was still her prison and there were two teens roaming the halls while Dementors hounded them. It was her responsibility to bring them in safely.

“Keziah, no!” Aesop warned, knowing what Keziah was planning on doing. “You aren’t physically capable for this right now. Trust Sallow; he will not let anything happen to Amelia and he can produce a Patronus to look after both of them.”

Aesop didn’t quite meet her eye as he delivered that line, mostly because he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

The seconds ticked over into minutes.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of the teenagers. Aesop’s breathing quickened and his foot tapped against the stone floor of Azkaban.

The sound of the waves crashed against the rocks.

Twenty minutes.

The howls of prisoners and Dementors churned in the distance.

Keziah’s fingers curled around her wand and she stuffed more chocolate into her mouth, more for something to do rather than because she needed the warmth it provided.

Silence stretched into an eternity, with neither Aesop or Keziah making eye contact with each other.

The door to the room burst open, rattling against the stone wall. Keziah jumped to her feet at the intrusion, wand aloft as she adopted The Teapot Pose, ready to battle if needed.

“Don’t fire; I found her!” Sebastian stumbled in, pale and shaking as sweat beaded down the side of his face. His hair was more dishevelled than ever, flat in some parts and sticking up in tufts in others, and his lips were a frightening shade of blue. His fingers were numb, wand slipping from his grip and hitting the stone floor with a clatter.

Aesop moved as quickly as he could towards Sebastian, hands outstretched so he could take Amelia from him. He set Amelia down on a desk, tucked the robe Sebastian had wrapped around her just that little bit tighter and waved his wand over her. Diagnostic charm orbs hovered over her, and Aesop waited with bated breath to see if Amelia had suffered irreparable harm from Azkaban. Keziah fussed over Sebastian, charming a blanket over him and forcing chocolate through chattering teeth and lips that had fused together. Sebastian usually wouldn’t have let anyone coddle him normally, but he was too distracted by Amelia to protest Keziah mothering him. Instead, he sat on the desk next to Amelia, one hand holding hers while the other hand lay on her ribs so he could feel her chest rise and fall with every shallow breath she took.

“Mia, you’re safe now,” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. Dark brown eyes gazed up at Aesop’s obsidian eyes. Aesop nodded and waved his hand, banishing the orbs away. Physically, Amelia would be fine; she was even starting to come to. Mentally and emotionally… that remained to be seen.

Sebastian took the chocolate bar that Keziah was still trying to feed him and snapped some squares off. He opened her mouth and she mumbled something incomprehensible as he slipped the squares underneath her tongue. “Shh, Mia, it’s me. Just let the chocolate lie. It’ll help. Trust me.”

Something twinged in the pump Aesop Sharp called his heart as he watched the interplay between Sebastian and Amelia. The care and tenderness he was showing Amelia irresistibly reminded him of the way Emerys had cared for Silas when they were all at Hogwarts and Silas had been struck down with a particularly bad case of Scrofungulus in their Sixth Year. It was a highly contagious virus, but that had not deterred Emerys from tending to Silas, feeding him bowls of hot Wormwood soup, coaxing him to sip at Earl Grey tea to keep his fluid levels up. Silas had transferred from the Hospital Wing to St. Mungo’s hospital when it became apparent that the matron’s care wasn’t healing him; as soon as classes were over, Emerys was sneaking out of school grounds so she could Apparate to the hospital and spend her nights with her beloved until Silas convinced her to return to school the next morning.

Not for the first time, Aesop realised that as much as Sebastian was the spit of his father, he had inherited his mother’s spirit.

Amelia stirred, instinctively seeking out the scent of Sebastian. Her head turned to him, her hand squeezed his, faintly, but the pressure reassured Sebastian that she was still alive. “Seb?”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth lilted upwards and he graced Amelia with his genuine, crooked smile. She had called him Seb, a nickname that Anne, Imelda and his father used. To him, it was a sign of their growing emotional intimacy, a sign that she trusted him unconditionally and that she was open for him to know that.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice rough as it cracked with relief. He laid down beside her so their foreheads were touching. He remembered from his first stint in Azkaban that physical touch would ground both of them to reality and help with them getting through the shared horror of the prison.

Azkaban had stirred up unpleasant memories for both of them, after all.

“You’re safe, Mia. You’re safe.”

“Anne… she knows… I couldn’t get it out of her…”

Amelia tried to sit up, but Aesop pushed her back down and passed her a hot cup of bergamot and honey tea to sip from. “Not now, Miss. Calloway. Anne can wait; our priority is ensuring you and Mr. Sallow are alright in the immediate aftermath of prolonged Dementor exposure. Drink. Then talk.”

Amelia nodded and let the liquid scald her tongue as Sebastian pulled her in close to him, his muscular arm winding around her shoulder. Keziah handed Sebastian his own cup of tea and another chocolate bar and he nodded in acknowledgement at her kindness. He let the heat from the tea bleed into his skin, slowly defrosting from the chill of the prison. Amelia sipped and nibbled at the chocolate Sebastian was slipping her. Only after half a cup of bergamot and honey tea, and a bar of chocolate did Amelia begin to speak.

“Anne… wasn’t Anne. She said that Anne comes and goes. There’s something else inside of her, something that has normalised insane cruelty.” Amelia’s body rippled with fear as Helen Thistlewood’s dispatching flew to the forefront of her mind. “She attacked Helen… she’s strong enough to bludgeon her to death. And then those things swooped down and…” she broke off, unable to continue and burrowed her face into the safety and security of Sebastian’s chest. The scent of star anise, cedar smoke, old leather and parchment overpowered her as Sebastian held her close, once more murmuring that she was safe with him.

Aesop’s jaw clenched. He drew himself up to his full height, shoulders thrown back so his body was imposing and his hardened eyes beadily met Keziah’s. Keziah nodded grimly, grabbing her wand and her cloak.

“Cell 1745.”

The tinkle of china smashing against the floor broke the tense atmosphere of the room. Sebastian bristled at the mention of the cell. “You’re going to her?!”

“She won’t talk. She’s not Anne,” Amelia supplied, somewhat unhelpfully. Her blue eyes stared up at Sebastian’s brown ones and she nodded at him. “Seb had an idea that might be worth pursuing.”

Two heads swivelled towards him. Sebastian shifted and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. His plan was unorthodox, that was for sure, but it was so out-of-the-box that it might just work. Aesop cocked his head to the side, arms crossed over his chest, challenging Sebastian to express his views.

“Veritaserum,” he croaked out, blushing as Keziah and Aesop continued to hold his gaze. “If she won’t talk voluntarily, she may need a helping hand in disclosing the truth.”

It spoke volumes when Aesop Sharp and Keziah Kendelway didn’t instantly shoot his idea down but shared a measured look with each other.

“It’s a controlled substance, Sebastian. There are rules and regulations around its use. I cannot just let my hand slip over her drink and con her into a confession.”

Sebastian stared back, pointedly glaring at Aesop Sharp. “It’s not like this is evidence you’d be collecting for a trial. It’s just information.”

“It’s morally questionable.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ignored a moral quandary for the right reasons, Professor.”

There was a beat of silence.

Amelia could have sworn Keziah started to chuckle at the powerplay, but she hastily disguised it as a cough. Aesop’s lips twitched and he muttered, “touché”.

Keziah threw the door to the office open, her cloak swirling around her as Aesop tailed her. “She’ll talk. One way or another.”

A sliver of moon snaked light into Anne Thisbe’s cell. It was a three sided cell – the external wall had been removed so inmates were exposed to the elements – and since they were high up in the tower Azkaban was, there was no way anyone would survive the fall onto the jagged rocks below.

Anne Thisbe stood by the wall, using her fingernail to etch carvings into rock, face pressed against the cool stone. Vibrations tremored through her jawbone as Aesop and Keziah stormed down the hallway towards her. She grinned, picked at the debris from underneath a bloodied and gnarled nail as she stepped towards the iron bars of her cell.

“Looky-looky what the cat dragged in.” She smiled, baring her teeth, decayed and rotten. Her fingers curled around the rusted cell bars and her tongue slithered out to caress the iron. In the absence of blood, this was the closest she could get.

“Step away from the cell bars, Prisoner 1745!” Keziah called out, her voice echoing down the hallway. “You have thirty seconds to comply before I use justifiable force.”

Anne cackled as her eyes roved over Aesop Sharp and she reached out to try and grasp at the lapel of his coat. Aesop met her stare, face impassive as he stepped back.

“I’d rather he forced me.” She fluttered the eyelashes she hadn’t picked out of her eyelids and giggled at him, smile stretched over her face like a demented jack-o-lantern.

“Anne, we need to talk about the pages from the book.” Aesop’s hand reached into his pocket and he pulled out a small vial of clear, colourless liquid. It was a threat and a promise in one gesture.

“I’ll talk to the handsome one, the one with all the frown lines and scars. They make you… seasoned. Like a well-cooked steak.” Anne licked her lips, salivating at the thought of food that had once brought her pleasure and food that she had been denied for so long. Her eyes glazed over with a hunger not meant for food.

“You’ve already sampled one person today; Aesop Sharp is not on the menu,” Keziah interrupted bluntly. “Step back, Prisoner 1745.”

“Shame. He looks like he would taste delicious!” Anne giggled again and crooked a bony finger towards Aesop, beckoning him closer. Aesop stood his ground. He was sweating profusely at Anne’s comments, the red flush creeping up his neck revealing just how uncomfortable he was.

“Enough!” Aesop’s voice cracked like a whip.

Cold.

Brusque.

Final.

Anne faltered, her breath hitching in her chest. Her eyes were so dark it was hard to distinguish between her irises and her pupils, but they glittered with something unsettling. She inhaled sharply, deliberately, as she appraised Sharp, and trailed her fingers up and down the bars. “I like that. Talk more to me, Sharpy.”

Keziah stepped forward, standing in front of Aesop as a shield. “The pages, Prisoner 1745.”

Anne’s face twisted into a mockery of a pout. “You’re no fun. Never any fun. No flirtation. No foreplay. Just straight to business with you. You should take notes from him.” Anne winked at Sharp and ran her teeth over her lips.

Aesop didn’t react visibly, but his fingers curled into his palms. He pressed hard, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in his skin. “Anne, where are the pages of the book?”

“Pages, pages, pages… torn from the wings of a bird. You can’t cage what wants to fly.” Anne moved away from the bars of her cell to the opening in the wall. She teetered dangerously at the edge. “I want to fly.”

“Anne, no!”

“You care, Sharpy! I might save my flying for another day!” Anne’s shrill cackle pierced through the air and she pivoted on the spot. She stepped away from opening, sat cross-legged in the middle of her cell. Her fingers dug away at her scalp, picking away at leathery skin until she was able to pull strip after strip away.

“Hogs and hogs and fields and fields. A ruined vault holds truth concealed.”

Aesop scribbled the words down in his Auror notebook, eyes never leaving Anne as he tried to ascertain the veracity of her words. There was nothing to indicate that her riddle was a red herring; all he now had to do was decode the riddle to find the location of the pages.

It was a fractured truth from a fractured mind.

He nodded at Anne, tightly. “Thank you, Anne.”

Anne grinned at Aesop, chewing on a strip of skin she had wrapped around her fingers like a dog would gnaw on a bone. Aesop suppressed his revulsion and flicked his head at Keziah, indicating that it was time for them to go.

“Don’t be a stranger, Sharpy!” Anne taunted at their retreating back, her voice taking on a sing-song note. “I’ll miss you!”

Amelia shivered as Sebastian passed her another cup of tea and some more chocolate. She smiled wanly, but that didn’t quell the high despair that was welling up in her. She set the cup down on a table and picked at her cuticles as her eyes glanced at the door.

Aesop Sharp and Keziah Kendelway had gone back into Azkaban because she had failed.

She had been unable to extract the information she needed and other people were now in danger because of her.

“Stop it,” Sebastian murmured, placing his hands over hers to still the movement. “This is not your fault. You never should have been brought here in the first place. Azkaban is no place for you.”

Amelia glanced at him. “You came here.”

Sebastian let out a humourless laugh and raked his hand through his hair. “I was being punished for my sins, so it was fitting. Horrific, but fitting.”

Amelia nibbled away at the chocolate bar, unsure of what to say or how to react. That wasn’t what she meant, but she let Sebastian go with his misunderstanding. A memory of her and Sebastian flashed through her mind; she had been shocked by how broken and withdrawn he had been, but having seen the conditions of Azkaban and experienced it first-hand, she could understand it. She had only been in Azkaban for an hour and it had driven her to the brink of death; Sebastian had been in Azkaban for one week. It was testament to the strength of his character that he had voluntarily followed her back to the place that had nearly wrecked him.

She wanted to ask what memories Azkaban had made him see again, but his eyes were too guarded, too brittle, as if the question would shatter him.

Sebastian shook his head; it was not the time or place to rehash the memories Azkaban exacerbated and made him relive. Instead, he rested his cheek on top of her head, breathed in her scent of vanilla and cinnamon to try and ease his stress.

“When will Professor Sharp be back, Seb?” she asked, knowing that Sebastian was just as in the dark as she was.

“How long is a piece of string?” he replied.

Amelia said nothing. The clock on the wall ticked away in the silence. What had once been comforting now became a stilted waiting game. Each second stretched like treacle. She could feel Sebastian’s hand quiver in hers, even though he tried to hide it.

Before she could say anything to comfort him, the door to the office creaked open. Keziah led Aesop Sharp into the room. The gruff man looked ashen, discomfort scrawled over his face and hands shaking. Without a word to anyone in the room, he grabbed a wastepaper bin and promptly threw up into it. Keziah sympathised; she summoned a glass of water for him and patted him on the shoulder.

“You did well. Not many would be able to withstand that, Aesop, and you got what you needed.”

Aesop’s dark eyes peered over the rim of the basket he was holding, shame and embarrassment at his weakness apparent. His eyes locked onto the children in the room; both students stared at a poster on the wall, studiously avoiding his eye to try and give him as much dignity as they could afford him. Aesop was grateful for their compassion – so different to Anne Thisbe’s twisted flirtation with him – and nausea at the comparison washed over him. He ducked his head and retched again.

“She talked,” Keziah supplied, sitting down to fill in a prisoner-interaction form.

Sebastian straightened up at Keziah’s voice. “What did she say?”

“She said enough,” Aesop said, wiping the vomit from his mouth. There was a note of flatness and finality in his voice that indicated that asking any follow-up questions was a bad idea. “We have the lead we need. The rest… will take time to unravel.”

“Will we have to come back here again?” Amelia’s voice was timid, her eyes wide and fearful.

Aesop Sharp swallowed. The thought of having to subject himself to Anne Thisbe’s perverse pleasures again made a shudder run through him. “No. We will figure it out. Anne’s usefulness has come to an end.”

Keziah duplicated the form she was filling in with a tap of her wand and tucked it into Aesop’s pocket. “Time for the three of you to go. Azkaban’s poison will linger in you the longer you stay here, whether the Dementors can access you or not. The three of you need warmth and comfort now.” She cast a critical eye over Aesop Sharp. “And perhaps a stiff drink or five.”

“Mr. Sallow, Miss. Calloway, back to Hogwarts. Now.” Aesop Sharp stood up and held out his hand to steady Amelia. “Sebastian, you know the way to the jetty; the boat should still be there. Time for us to go.”

As they clambered desperately into the boat that Aesop Sharp had enchanted to row at a speed that could rival a motorboat, Amelia clung to the warmth of Sebastian’s hand. For the first time in hours, she felt like she was finally able to breathe.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled in the hearth as Silas Sallow hovered over the hearth. His night duty had finished – he had clocked off at midnight – and part of his bedtime routine was sitting by the fire, contemplating life with his wife. Time flew by – reading the latest Sherlock Holmes to her always made the minutes tick away in the blink of an eye – and the pitch black sky started to lighten to a navy blue.

“So it’s been a good week at work?” Emerys’ voice filled the room, light and airy as her face flickered into shape in the fiery logs. She stifled her yawn behind her hand; Silas’ voice was smooth like velvet and had always been able to send her off to sleep. But their weekly fireside chats was one thing in her life that she looked forward to and she was damned if she was going to let her exhaustion rip a small shred of joy away from her. Even the mundane aspects of work for Silas was exciting to her.

Silas nodded. “Busy. The Seventh Years are starting to realise just how close their N.E.W.T.s and graduation so I’m spending a lot of frees running revision sessions for them. And then there’s the marking I neglected to do in the holidays.”

Emerys smirked. She knew her husband well enough to know that he wouldn’t touch the mountain of papers he had to grade over the holidays – even though she nagged him to do a little every day so it wasn’t so bad – and now him being ignorant of her advice was biting him where it hurt the most. Silas side-eyed her, umber eyes flashing dangerously at Emerys as a warning for her not to gloat. There was only one way to distract Emerys and that was to pivot the conversation.

“How’s Anne?” Silas asked, pushing the words out of a tightened throat as he thought of his ailing daughter. “Plateauing or still declining slowly?”

Emerys didn’t say a word.

She didn’t have to.

Even through the smoke and ash of the fireplace, Silas could detect the wounded hurt in her eyes. He blinked back tears; knowing that their daughter was dying and seeing his wife suffer for it was more than he could bear. Unconsciously, his fingers clenched into fists. Sod his job; his family was more important and his wife and child needed him. Weeks of torn loyalties had left him raw, but his family would always win out. Emerys and the children they had made out of their love for each other were his entire world; the rest of it could incinerate into ash. Headmaster Black would have his request for leave in the morning, and if Black denied it, Silas would present his two weeks’ notice to the man instead.

“No, Silas,” Emerys murmured, chewing on her lip. “You know what your salary pays for, and Sebastian needs you there.”

Silas blew her a kiss, a poor stand-in for the hug he desperately wanted to give her. She was right – she always was – but it didn’t lessen the anguish and emptiness he was feeling inside.

“Seb’s finally calming down a bit,” he added. “Routine is working for him. Quidditch practice at sparrow’s fart, classes during the day, Crossed Wands at lunch where he’s set to be the reigning champion again – although we’re not supposed to know about that,” Silas smirked, his lips twitching in an amused fashion as Emerys let out the first genuine laugh she had all week. To Silas, it had the searing heat of sunshine after a rainstorm and he was relieved to know that his wife was still capable of finding a sliver of happiness in their world, despite how dark and desolate it seemed. “Homework and weekend shifts at Sirona are giving him a rhythm we couldn’t provide over the summer.”

“Sebastian less reckless? Who’d have thought that would happen?” Emerys huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her sarcastic laugh lingered on the ash in the air and echoed around the room, making Silas chuckle too.

“I suppose a week’s community service in Azkaban will do that to you. But it’s not a bad thing, given that he’s the fuse on a human firework. He lights up and so does she. Despite that, Amelia is good for him in a controlled environment, with adults to guide them through the turmoil they’re about to face. She keeps him grounded because he has to keep calm to keep her calm.”

Emerys huffed again, but the undercurrent of the air pushing out of her nose carried a tinge of worry and fear. She was sceptical; the Slytherin in her knew that people were conniving and back-stabbing, and she wanted to spare her son the pain of being discarded after Amelia got what she could out of him. She was about to speak, hesitation flashing over her face when Silas turned his head. His attention had been diverted by a sharp rap on the door and a voice calling out his name.

Silas straightened, knees creaking as he stood up. He shot a furtive glance at the fireplace; communicating via fire wasn’t deemed appropriate and went against the Code of Conduct for Staff and Students. In her wild, unruly way, Emerys ignored the rules she deemed stupid and illogical and placed a charm on the fireplace in their joint office anyway. It had been a Godsend for the Sallow parents as Sebastian and Anne spent a lot of time with their grandparents – both maternal and paternal – while Silas and Emerys had to chaperone school events overnight. The fireplace allowed the children and parents to talk to each other every day and helped the Sallows feel connected to each other.

Emerys’ face flickered in the flames, uncertain if she should stay or go.

The knock came again, firmer and more desperate.

“Silas, it’s Aesop! Open up! It’s urgent!”

Emerys glowered at Silas, embers as fiery as her temper and she flicked her head to the door. Silas worried his bottom lip and Emerys shot him the most deadpan stare she could muster. Aesop wasn’t going to dob Silas in over a contraband fireplace. Silas sighed, conceding defeat and stepped to the door.

The sight before him shocked him to the core.

Standing there was Aesop Sharp, eyes wide open as if he had relived a thousand memories he would have rather purged from his head, holding his pale and shaking son in his arms.

“Sebastian?!” Silas pulled his boy into a strong embrace, cradling the back of Sebastian’s head as Sebastian nuzzled into his shoulder, the same way he did as a baby. He rocked the boy in his arms, traced soothing circles on his back and murmured quiet reassurances into Sebastian’s ear. “Dad’s here. It’ll be alright.”

Almost as if he was on autopilot, Silas reached up and booped Sebastian’s nose. Sebastian’s nose crinkled, as it always did, but the boy didn’t follow it up with a whispered love you too, Dad, as he nearly always did. Silas’ heart splintered; his baby boy was in pain and there was nothing he could do to alleviate it. The only time Silas had seen Sebastian this broken was when he had started the school year after his stint in Azkaban.

“Silas!” Emerys gasped, a keening gulp of air that made Silas’ heart splinter in an entirely different way. She cried out her son’s name, face horrified by what she was seeing. Motherly instinct had her reaching out to her baby to comfort him in his time of need.

“I know, love. I know.” Silas turned back to Aesop, accusations dripping on the tip of his tongue. How had being escorted back from his shift at The Three Broomsticks with a seasoned Auror by his side resulted in his boy falling to pieces?

Aesop stared, expressionless, pointedly not looking Silas in his eye. The answer was buried deep in his soul, but Azkaban had pared him back so that anyone would be able to see him for who he was with a single glance.

“No!” Silas groaned in a hushed whisper, pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. “Why did you take him there?! Last time destroyed him!”

“Miss. Calloway had been dragged to Azkaban by Helen Thistlewood. Sebastian was going to go there, no matter what. It seemed like the lesser of two evils to have him supervised by an adult instead of letting him venture there on his own.”

Emerys’ silence was uncharacteristic as she digested the unpalatable information Aesop was vomiting out. Silas speared her with a glance; all the warning signs were there, from the way her fingers tugged at the roots of her hair, the way her teeth gnawed on her lip, the way her eyes blinked back tears rapidly and he knew what was coming next. The hand that cradled the back of Sebastian’s head moved so it covered his ears and Silas turtled down into his shoulders, aware of the impending explosion.

“You bloody fool!” Emerys shrieked, unleashing all her pent up rage and aggression on the man who had taken her boy and ruined him. Her voice snapped through the room, as sharp and serrated as a knife, so raw that even Silas flinched as he clamped his hands down over Sebastian’s ears. The shriek made Sebastian burrow further into his father, as if he was trying to climb into the older man’s skin and fuse with him.

“You know what that place brings out in him! You know what we went through during The Siege of Feldcroft, what Sebastian bore witness to! You know what it did to Anne!” Her voice broke at the mention of her daughter, fury underpinned by perpetual grief. “You have seen my little boy scream through his night terrors because of what Azkaban dredges up – ”

She broke off, suppressing a sob at watching her son suffer, knowing she wasn’t there to comfort him in his time of need. Her fingers clenched against each other as she twisted in her seat, the stark realisation of how raw her words were settling heavily in the air.

Aesop didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe as Emerys’ tirade washed over him. Each word pierced him, each accusation stung a little more than the last, but he weathered the storm because he deserved the unadulterated anger Emerys was throwing his way. His jaw was tight, molars grinding against each other slowly, eyes clouded with something neither Sallow could read. Sorrow, or perhaps guilt. Maybe stubborn conviction.

“He was going,” Aesop said flatly. “With or without me. Next time I’ll let him walk through the gates of hell unaided, shall I?”

Emerys faltered. The fire in her eyes flickered as Aesop’s words doused her rage ever so slightly. “It doesn’t make it right.”

“It’s not wrong.”

“It is when the only person paying the price for it is Sebastian.”

Aesop eyed Emerys levelly, his voice low and harsh as he spoke. “He would have paid that price whether I was there or not.”

Silas watched the interplay unfold silently, waiting for both of them to reveal their truths so he could logic his way through the information they would disclose. Emerys was right – emotionally, she was looking out for Sebastian’s best interests – but from a practical point of view, so was Aesop. A timid sob stopped his train of thought and he tightened his hold on Sebastian as Sebastian curled into his torso, seeking whatever heat and warmth he could extract from his father, rocking him the way he used to when Sebastian was small enough to fit in the crook of his elbow. The fight between Emerys and Aesop wasn’t doing his baby any favours. Silas murmured more quiet reassurances into the boy’s ear, carding his fingers through brown curls to provide what little comfort he could to his son. From the fire, Emerys leaned forward, as if she could push her way through the flames

The words were a hollow comfort to anyone with the last name of Sallow, but it was all they had.

“Go,” he muttered at Aesop, eyes cutting back to the Auror like shards of flint. “You’ve done enough, Aesop. Look after yourself; Emerys and I will take care of Sebastian tonight.”

Aesop Sharp’s eyes flicked from Emerys in the fireplace, to Silas and then raked over Sebastian. It was an unreadable look – something that Silas could make neither heads nor tails of – and with a curt nod and a swish of his overcoat, he stepped away from the family and trudged to his office so he could wallow in his despair, alone.

When the door to his office closed with a quiet thud, Silas exhaled the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. Emerys’ face wavered in the flames, eyes haunted by the ghost of her son, hands shaking as if she could feel every tremor wracking Sebastian’s body even though she was miles away in Aranshire.

“Bring our boy back,” Emerys said. “I want our son back home, not this hollowed out replica of him.”

Silas’ throat tightened once more, understanding that Emerys wasn’t talking about proximity. “I will.”

He shifted Sebastian’s considerable bulk in his arms, coaxing the boy out of his uniform so he was more comfortable before sliding him under the covers of the bed. Sebastian was pliant, something that twinged at Silas as his boy usually had a bit more fire and bite to him.

“Rest, Seb.” Silas summoned Buttons from the Fifth Year Slytherin dormitory and tucked the teddy bear under his son’s lax arm. Sebastian’s head turned, burrowing into the matted, worn fur of the bear and he inhaled deeply. The action seemed to relax the boy; taut muscles loosening ever so fractionally.

Silas brushed his lips over Sebastian’s temple, a soft kiss as he caressed his son into a fitful slumber. “I love you.”

And just like he had when Sebastian had first come back from Azkaban, Silas Sallow sat sentinel over his son in a striped armchair by the bed, as if his presence would shield his boy from the nightmares of his life.

Amelia’s eyes snapped to attention as a shrill scream reverberated around the room, her arms and legs tangled up in the sheets that were bundled around her. The stench of ammonia and the stark, sterile white ceiling and walls terrified her and her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps.

It was official.

She had gone mad and been set to an asylum, just as the Sisters had promised her would happen when unexplained, inconceivable incidents would happen around her as a child. Amelia now knew those events were caused by her magic, but perhaps her magic was uncontrollable and even the Wizarding World was safer with her locked away in a building where she was only a danger to herself.

She tugged the scratchy blanket she was under tighter around her body that hadn’t stopped shaking, curling up until she couldn’t make herself any smaller and wrapped her arms over her head. Guarded eyes peeked out from a gap and she watched someone shuffle slowly around the room she was in. She shifted, as quietly as she could so she didn’t draw attention to herself and her hand darted out to reach for her wand, fingers curling around the thin strip of wood as though she was greeting an old friend. With a whispered accio, Amelia pulled some empty glass jars off a shelf.

The resounding crash was enough for the stranger to sigh, whirl around and attend to the mess. The room spun and waves of nausea washed over her as Amelia pushed herself off the bed she was lying on and she stumbled to the door. She grappled for the handle, tripping over her own feet as the shadow of a person approached her.

“Stay away!” Amelia shrieked, frantically twisting between the door and the person advanced, each step counting down to her doom. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll hurt you if you do!”

“No, you won’t, Amelia,” the voice said. It was a masculine voice, Amelia realised, laced with compassion and caring, two qualities the Sisters had never shown her at St. Calloway’s Orphanage. The memories of her childhood were still fresh in her mind after the Dementors feasting on her in Azkaban, and the kindness that was being shown to her was setting her on edge.

“How dare you presume to tell me what I will and will not do!” Blue blazes licked the tips of her fingers at her flash of anger. Thunder rumbled in the background and the air sizzled with an electric current. The person didn’t pause his approach and didn’t seem phased by her at all.

“You will not hurt me, Amelia; there is nothing you can do that will hurt your father.”

Amelia stopped clawing at the door at his words. Father? No-one had ever paid any mind to her in the orphanage; the only person who was of a parental age and had shown a significant level of interest and care in her was Eleazar Fig.

And she had signed the paperwork earlier in the year, of that much she was sure. She had been adopted by him. He was her father, and she his daughter.

Amelia squinted against the harsh lights she was under. She blinked and her vision swam into view. Still hazy, but the new knowledge shaped the way she saw the person in front of her. A face with grooves and wrinkles in it, grey hair that had been styled as though the wind had swept it back, a royal blue coat with gold thread patterned in swirls on the lapels of it.

“Come back to bed, Amelia,” Fig encouraged, holding a hand out to her. Amelia squashed her restive feelings and allowed him to tuck her back into the bed she had vacated. As he poured her a glass of liquid that looked like water, Amelia’s eyes traced her surroundings.

It wasn’t an asylum.

She was in what looked like a hospital. Curtains on rails were pushed back between each bed, there was a matron walking around treating other patients on the ward. Why she was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts remained a mystery; the last thing she remembered was Sebastian’s voice booming out some sort of spell while the embodiment of her worst fears assaulted her mind.

Helen Thistlewood had dragged her to a place that was worse than anything she could have possibly imagined to interrogate someone who was two sandwiches short of a picnic. The brutality of the murder of Helen was etched into her memory, and the only reason Amelia allowed herself to be hauled through a building of nightmares was so that she could gain information about the mysterious pages from the mysterious book she had recovered from the library. Not that she had been successful; she could only hope that Aesop Sharp had throttled the information out of Anne Thisbe so that all of her suffering wasn’t for naught.

Her eyes speared Fig with questions that only he could answer.

“Rest, Amelia. We can talk about what happened later.” Eleazar pushed her gently back onto the pillows and tucked the blanket tight under her chin. “Right now, you need to rest and recover from your ordeal.”

Later.

Everything in her life revolved around that word.

Amelia yawned, eyelids fluttering. From being so alert and wary, the sudden drowsiness and relaxation was discombobulating. She swallowed nervously and Fig nodded. “Just a tonic for a Dreamless Sleep. It’ll last for the whole day and it should help with your recovery. Let the potion work its magic, Amelia, and rest. I will see you this evening once you wake up.”

Eleazar waited until the potion had taken hold of Amelia, brushed some hair out of her eyes and with a twirl of his coat, strode to Aesop Sharp’s office.

It was time for him to interrogate the Auror and find out exactly what transpired when he and Sebastian Sallow recovered Amelia Calloway from Azkaban.

Aesop Sharp’s tired eyes trailed around his classroom and he sighed heavily. He was an Auror, not a trained educator, and it showed. While his knowledge on Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts was laudable, his ability to control the behaviour of gaggles of pre-teens who were on Saturday detention with him was severely lacking. Liquid dripped from the ceiling, burgundy pooling on the ground in puddles, the remnants of a First Year’s Forgetfulness Potion. Some genius had accidentally – or at least, that’s what the student claimed; Aesop thought it more malicious than a bout of stupidity – shot a Basic Cast at their cauldron when the potion was in a particular volatile stage of brewing.

The Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose, the headache that had formed from having to listen to the cacophony of his classroom while operating on less than two hours of sleep pulsed behind his eyes. No amount of wishful thinking was able to shift the dull thud from his head, and it certainly wasn’t helped by the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he was wounded to the quick by the look of betrayal Emerys had sent his way. The image of Sebastian cradled in his father’s arms burned behind his retinas, a thorny reminder that when he agreed to be Sebastian’s probation officer, this was not what he had signed up for.

The weight of the previous night clung to him like smoke.

He looked down at the scarred and burned desk he was hovering over, fingers tracing over the grooves of initials of students that had long gone, lingering over lettering that read A.C. He thought of Amelia Calloway, now recovering in the Hospital Wing after her ordeal; she had gone into a catatonic stupor on the boat ride back from Azkaban. Glassy eyed and completely non-responsive, all Aesop could tell Sebastian to do was to keep feeding her chocolate and keep holding her since the physical contact would help ground her to reality. Sebastian’s pallor was as sallow as he had ever seen it, panic and worry intermingled with trust lingering in his eye when he gazed at Aesop and Aesop had tapped the side of the boat with his wand, increasing the speed the boat was travelling at.

“Will she be alright?” Sebastian had asked. Aesop swallowed and pointedly looked away, unwilling to give the boy false hope when there was none to be found. How could there be hope? Azkaban was a demented, desolate, twisted place, if the flirtation Anne Thisbe was firing his way was any indication.

Sebastian, astute as always, understood the silence for what it was and suppressed an involuntary shudder as he tried to be emotionally strong for Amelia. The time for him to crumble into dust would be when she wasn’t around. As soon as Amelia had been deposited in Nurse Blainey’s care, Sebastian’s knees gave out underneath him and the façade he had worked so hard to maintain crumbled to dust. Aesop knew he had to drop a broken and battered Sebastian off at Silas’ door for his recovery, and he lugged the sixteen year old behind him as he walked through the Faculty Tower with the condemnation of a dead man. He had known Silas and Emerys long enough to know there would be a haranguing coming his way for what he had done.

He wondered – not for the first time – if he had done the right thing, if choosing the lesser of two evils would ever feel like anything but a betrayal of conscience.
Not that Aesop had any time to ponder on his existential thoughts; Eleazar Fig stormed through his room and loomed over him in an attempt to intimidate him.

“What did you find out?”

No preamble, no niceties; just straight to business. Aesop could work with that since he didn’t have the mental fortitude to engage in pleasantries.

“What was needed.”

Eleazar tapped his fingers impatiently in front of Sharp. Sharp ignored it, shuffled back to his desk and pulled out a quill to start grading papers. There was little news he could tell Eleazar Fig; he still couldn’t make sense of what hogs and hogs and fields and fields. A ruined vault holds truth concealed meant, and unless he could crack open Anne Thisbe’s cryptic clue, she might as well have shouted Gobbledegook at him.

Fig’s eyes narrowed as he observed Aesop hunching over his desk. The man’s fists were too tight, his shoulders practically drawn up to his ears, eyes shadowed and haunted by trauma that was best left untouched. All the signs of physical distress that Azkaban to a person scrawled in indelible ink over Aesop’s body. Fig dug into the pockets of his overcoat and handed over a Honeydukes Finest Milk Chocolate bar as a peace offering. Aesop’s mouth twisted, not quite a scowl but not quite a smile, and he snapped some of the confectionary off the bar and let the sweet dissolve on his tongue.

“Where do we go from here, Aesop?”

“Thisbe did not make much sense. Talk of flying free, and hogs and hogs and fields and fields.”

Eleazar plucked the quill out of Aesop’s hand and scribbled the words hastily onto a scrap of parchment he had found. It was puzzling, but it was the thoughts of a lucid mind viewed through a fractured lens. All he had to do was Sellotape that lens back together so he could uncover what Anne Thisbe really meant.

Aesop could hear the gears grinding away in Eleazar’s mind, metal screeching against metal and he scowled heavily at the older man. Was he really going to pursue this wild goose chase when all it resulted in was two brittle teenagers being bent and warped – hopefully not beyond repair – and an Auror that had to contend with the affections of a sociopath?

“You cannot seriously think that this is important at this juncture in time, Eleazar!”

Anger – righteous or misplaced, Aesop didn’t know – bubbled viciously through his veins. Where was Eleazar when Amelia Calloway was tasked with meeting Helen Thistlewood? Where was Fig when Amelia Calloway had been taken to Azkaban, with absolutely no knowledge and no defence for what lay in store for her? He had the hide to call himself her father and he hadn’t he tried to fight that turn of events! And now here he was, demanding answers to a puzzle that could wait for a day instead of tending to his daughter’s emotional needs!

“It could be more important than any of us realise. Not just for Amelia, but also for Sebastian, for you and for the whole Magical Community too. The sooner we can find out why Amelia’s Ancient Magic is the way it is and how she can control it better, the better off everyone will be.”

Aesop shook his head, a scathing exhale sent Eleazar’s way. There was no mistaking the fact that Aesop thought Eleazar’s priorities were skewed. “Amelia Calloway deserves a father that will do better.”

“I am doing this for her!” Eleazar snapped back, fingers twitching by his side as he delivered his half-truth to Aesop. Yes, he was doing this for Amelia, but the whole truth was he was also doing this for Miriam and himself, in a vain attempt to try and connect to his deceased wife by tracing her footsteps into her research on Ancient Magic.

There was a very poignant silence as Aesop bore holes into the older man, anger giving way to compassion and understanding.

“It won’t bring Miriam back, Eleazar. There are other ways to pay tribute to the memory of her. Believe me, I know.”

There was another beat of silence as Aesop conceded that he had made his point and recognised that Eleazar needed his help now.
Eleazar bowed his head, blinking rapidly, and went back to scrawling on his parchment. “Hogs and hogs and fields and fields… and flying free like a bird.”

“The usual nonsense one would expect from anyone in Azkaban.” Aesop leaned back in his chair. “Half riddles and whole headaches.”

Fig tapped the quill on the paper, dulling the sharp point to a rounded nib, ink splattering everywhere with every tap. “Hogs and fields… could be Hogsfield. And flying in Azkaban could be falling from a height.”

Aesop snapped his fingers. “Upper Hogsfield. That’s not too far from here, but there’s not much there. Just gossip, goats and Beaumont’s Bar.”

“Not quite.” Eleazar’s eyes glimmered with excitement. He had been perusing Miriam’s journals and she had marked an anomaly in Upper Hogsfield as a point of interest. There were wild surges of magic, Runes no-one in the Auror force could decipher well enough to gain entrance into the vault. It was the perfect place to keep something hidden in plain sight.

Aesop rubbed at his temple as Eleazar talked about the vault. Of course it was practically impenetrable. Of course there were ties to Ancient Magic; anything else would have been too simple and life was a screaming delight of complexities. His lips curved into a bitter half-smile. “You’ll need someone who can read those Runes, unless you’ve developed a new skill while you abandoned Miss. Calloway to Azkaban.”

The jibe was uncalled for, and Aesop winced as the words he couldn’t take back fell from his lips. Eleazar breathed in deep, his nostrils flaring, but he did not rise to the bait. “Silas,” the older man said. “Silas is our Runes teacher; he’ll be instrumental in reading them.”

“You can ask him,” Aesop said flatly, snapping off another square of chocolate and letting it melt under his tongue. “He deserves the chance to decide, and with Sebastian as damaged as he is, you may not like the answer.”

The door to Silas Sallow’s office was closed but not locked. Eleazar Fig pushed the slab of wood open with a creak, softening at the domesticity in front of him. Silas was slumped in the striped armchair by his bed, arm carding through a small tuft of brown hair that could be seen poking out from under the covers. Sebastian was still curled up tighter than a Gordion knot underneath the doona, clutching a small, threadbare teddy as if his life depended on it.

Aesop knocked softly on the doorframe, not wanting to disturb Sebastian from what looked like a relatively peaceful sleep.

Silas looked up, blinking blearily at the intruders. “What is it now?”

Aesop didn’t bother with preamble. He limped forward, casting a cursory glance over Sebastian. He had fared better this time around in the diabolical prison than he had back in the summer, but not by much. Silas needed to know that Sebastian’s sacrifice had a purpose to it.

“We think we might know where Anne Thisbe’s clue leads.”

Silas snorted and rolled his eyes. Sebastian, in moments of distress, had opened up ever so slightly and revealed why he had coerced Aesop Sharp into taking him to Azkaban. But now that Sebastian was temporarily out of it – thanks to the potions Silas had convinced his son to drink – he didn’t want to become involved and drag his son back into the mess that was Amelia’s magic.

“Upper Hogsfield. An abandoned vault. Runes inscribed all over it. It might be key to Amelia’s magic – and unravelling this for good.”

Silas paused, breath catching in his chest. His eyes drifted down to Sebastian, chest rising and falling evenly as the boy slumbered on. His son; that was his priority, not some quest Eleazar and Aesop wanted to go on as if they were Boy Scouts.

“Silas. We need you. You can read the Runes. No one else can.”

Silas’ eyes snapped to Eleazar, expression inscrutable. “And if I say no?”

“Then we’ll go anyway and will most likely get ourselves killed,” Aesop stated bluntly, too emotionally exhausted and physically wrecked to sugar coat his words. “But if there’s a chance this can ensure the safety of Miss. Calloway, and by extension, your son, it’s worth pursuing.”

A pulse of silence.

“Silas,” Aesop continued. “I’m not asking as Sebastian’s probation officer, or a colleague. I’m asking as a friend. Please, help us.”

Silas’ jaw tightened, vein in his temple throbbing prominently. The choice was a knife’s edge; he could stay in his room and keep his son safe for now, or venture out into the unknown and possibly protect both children later.

He glanced down at his son. A slight five o’clock shadow graced his cheeks, veins on his hand prominent as long, slender fingers curled around Buttons, but as Silas stared, all he could see was Sebastian in his baby years. All he could think about was the heavy weight of his son when Sebastian jumped into his arms and Silas would teach him how to read in the summer haze of their Aranshire garden. He wondered when the little boy he could piggy back had grown into a man.

It was no choice at all.

Dark brown eyes lingered on Sebastian as Silas rose to his feet. He kissed his son’s forehead, traced constellations in the freckles splattered across his cheek and stretched out the kinks in his spine. He said nothing, merely nodding imperceptibly in Aesop and Eleazar’s direction.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The rocky outcrop Silas, Aesop and Eleazar were trudging through cast long, looming shadows over them. The sun shone, but it wasn’t bright enough to blind them to the dangers they were about to walk into. Foreboding and trepidation echoed around them with every step they took. Silas swallowed against the lump in his throat and thought of the son he had left in his office, distressed and devastated.

Guilt ratcheted up in his stomach.

So much for putting his family first.

He should have been curled up around his baby boy instead of moving further away from him with every step he took.

“This is for him, Silas. And Miss. Calloway,” Aesop murmured, falling into step with Silas. “He will understand.”

“Will Emerys, when she finds out I left him alone for this?”

It was a rhetorical question, but it was still one Aesop was pondering. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, head tilted in contemplation. Emerys was family oriented – there was nothing more important to her than her husband and the children she had made and was raising with him, that much was as plain as the nose on his face – but she was also cognizant of the rumblings that were trembling through their world and she knew that there was a bigger picture that had to be considered. It wouldn’t take the sting out of having to neglect family for the sake of family, though.

“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Emerys will realise that you are doing what’s best for the most people.”

Silas huffed again, not entirely sure if he agreed or not, and continued to make his way down the knoll that Eleazar was walking. The older man came to a sudden stop, wand swishing through the air as he cast spells around the area, detecting anything that seemed out of place. A few Dark Mongrels prowling around the scrub, but they were far enough away for him to not worry about it.

“This is it,” Fig called out, standing in front of a cavern that had been sealed off to the world with boulders piled on top of each other. In front of the opening to the cave were some stone pillars, towering over them with the weight of an important message. “There are some Runes here that I can’t read.”

Aesop Sharp raised his eyebrows at Silas and gestured for him to take centre stage. Silas squinted at the stone pillars, running his fingers against the etchings in the rock. He rubbed at his eyes, pulled out his reading glasses and stared at the scratches again. It wasn’t like any Rune he had seen before; not Cyrillic, Egyptian or Phoenician or Arabic in origin, but contained features of all of it. His fingers traced over the carvings, tingling with a faint magical hum that felt… off. Not exactly Dark, but not kosher either.

“This isn’t in any one language,” Silas murmured. His voice was rough, as if speaking in anything louder than a whisper would disturb whatever secrets were within “But the symmetry of the writing and diagrams… it’s almost like a hybrid of many Runes, as if someone has imbibed the magic of different cultures into this to maximise its protection. Whatever lies in this vault isn’t something to be disturbed without due consideration. This is a seal.”

Eleazar Fig crouched down beside Silas, eyebrows knitting together in a puzzled frown. “A seal against what, exactly?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the wind shifted and the smell of brine from the Black Lake wafted through the air. Silas’ shoulders tightened, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His fingers gripped his wand, instinctually, an unsettling feeling roiling in the pit of his stomach the same way it did the night The Siege of Feldcroft happened, an invisible string pulling him towards the inevitable.

“There’s no way for us to know what’s in there until we go in there,” Aesop assessed, scanning the perimeter with caution in his eye.

“Agreed,” Silas said. He was cataloguing the Runes in his mind, storing the information away in his eidetic memory so that he could access it later if he needed to. “Be on your guard; the vault has been sealed for a reason, and while I can’t translate what the Runes say with any certainty, I can tell you that it does not bode well.”

Eleazar and Aesop nodded grimly at Silas’ words, and with a resigned bob of their head at each other, they worked in tandem to break the seal on the vault. The boulders creaked and groaned as Aesop and Eleazar muttered, “wingardium leviosa” under their breaths to shift the rocks away. Stale air escaped through the gaps they were creating, little puffs of dust apparent as the rocks shifted and settled until there was a gap wide enough for all three of them to stoop through.

Darkness shrouded the trio as the path descended into the cave. The stench of mustiness, dank and despair assailed their nostrils, causing Aesop to gag. Eleazar choked too and with a casual arc of his wand arm, cast the Bubble Head Charm over himself and his struggling colleague. Silas, on the other hand, was raising a messy, teenaged boy who didn’t understand how to keep his room clean and tidy; he was well used to a musty smell and the cave smelt no different to Sebastian’s room at their Aranshire home.

The tunnel curved sharply and steeply, descending deeper into the cavern. The ambient temperature chilled by degrees, sending a shudder through Aesop as his knee stiffened in protest. The light from the tip of his wand wavered. Almost as if his body and his magic was warning him that whatever came next wouldn’t be pretty and it was in his best interest to turn around now and save himself.

He grasped at his knee, massaging the muscles around it to loosen up and move so he could keep up with Silas and Eleazar.

Jagged walls smoothed out when Eleazar, Silas and Aesop reached a hollow in the tunnel. The stones on the walls were smooth, as if time had weathered and eroded any character that had been in there. There were more carvings on pillars, more intricate and dubious than the drawings from outside. The air was heavier too, so viscous it clung to their clothing.

“More Runes,” Silas muttered, his wand vibrating in the palm of his hand as he traced the outline of the carvings. “More complex than the ones outside. This isn’t a warning; it’s a lock. A complicated one too; no alohomora can best it.”

Aesop Sharp’s eyes skittered around the place, cautious and wearing. His years of being an Auror had taught him that even the most innocent looking places had secrets to hide, and this was nowhere near innocent. Fear had an ice-like grip at the base of his spine, his nerves in overdrive at the sinister atmosphere of the cavern. It felt like they were bait dangling over the precipice of a pit, silently waiting for the next shoe to drop.

“This vault will not give up its secrets easily,” Eleazar stated, wand arm out at the ready. He pivoted slowly, his eyes narrowed as he took in his surroundings. Everything was quiet, but he was well aware that the peace would not last.

The words were barely out of Fig’s mouth when the air thickened and twisted. Shadows slunk across the walls, the sand beneath their feet shifted as dark ropes of smoke emerged from the ground and filled the room with a dark, ominous cloud. Aesop slashed the air with his wand, contorting himself around in an unnatural fashion, doing whatever it took to avoid the smoke touching him. Eleazar wasn’t faring much better; the tentacles of the smoke had latched itself onto Fig’s legs like a boa constrictor would wrap around its prey to strangle it to death.

“Silas!” Aesop called out. “Work fast! Eleazar and I are holding whatever this is off, but we can’t hold it for much longer!”

“I’m trying!” Silas gritted out, the mechanics of his brain spinning so fast figurative smoke could be seen rising from his ears. His mind circled as he paced the room, tracing the sequence, flipping through mental catalogues of ciphers and symbols in his mind, running through every complex algorithm he knew in his head that would crack the code of the symbols. The carvings weren’t just symbols; they were meant to be read in order, following a spiral pattern inward to the centre. He muttered under his breath, translations echoing around the chamber as pieces of a puzzle unravelled into place only to perplex him even more.

A blur of black caught his eye – Aesop rolling to get out of the way of a tentacle that had tried to claw its way into him through his mouth – and Silas forced himself to block it out. Sweat trickled down his brow as the heat of Eleazar’s confringo seared the air. The faster he solved the lock, the faster they would be able to return to the safety of Hogwarts’ hallowed halls.

The chamber lit up in a flurry of light as Eleazar and Aesop rapidly cast depulso, diffindo, glacius and bombarda around the room, fire, ice and seismic shocks creating a cacophony around the cave. One of the shadows shattered into ash as Aesop’s incendio flamed around the room, but two more lurched forward, claws swiping towards Silas as he paced the room, frantically muttering as he unfurled the symbols he was studying.

Blood spurted out from where Silas’ skin split, ruby red drops tainting the ground and Silas hissed in pain as his fingers traced over the slash in his cheek. His concentration snapped and with a swish of his wand through the air, he sent his Patronus through the air. The dark helixes in the room screeched in horror as Silas’ falcon soared around the room, wings shielding him, Aesop and Eleazar. Aesop stared on at Silas in wonderment and Eleazar had the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. The Patronus was a stroke of genius from Silas - he had noted the shadowed ropes detested light - and it gave him time to finish solving the riddle of the lock.

A muttered incantation and accioing of some of the pillars the Runes were inscribed on in a particular pattern opened the sealed door. Silas glanced at Aesop. Aesop glanced at Silas. The friends acknowledged each other, and with a quick sprint to the left, Silas darted through the door that opened and ducked around a corner.

Parchment, brittle and yellow with age, lay on a plinth. The inked lines looked impossibly old and as Silas touched the jagged edges, the page began to disintegrate between his fingers. Carefully, Silas slid the parchment into a small folio he summoned and headed back to where Aesop and Eleazar were, panting in the settling quiet of the chamber, eyes still scanning the environment for any threat.

“I have it. Let’s go.”

They left the cavern in a hurry, feet retracing the steps they had taken earlier until the faint glow of light filtered in from the entrance. But as they emerged from the cave, a translucent robed young man hovered in front of them.

“Who are you?” Aesop barked, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. The battle in the cavern had tested him and he wasn’t in any mental capacity to duel again.

The ghost’s lips twisted as he tilted his head. “A guardian. A witness. And possibly the only warning you’ll get before you meet your demise.”

Aesop’s jaw tightened, fists curling so that little moon crescents indented into his palms. Silas eyed the silvery spectre suspiciously, grasping his folio as if he would give his life to defend the pages he had recovered. Eleazar was just as perturbed, fingers drumming a beat against his thigh as his other hand raked through his grey locks.

“Richard Jackdaw, at your service,” the ghost said, bowing slightly in their direction.

“Start talking,” Aesop ground out, twitching in irritation. A howl of a Dark Mongrel could be heard in the background, pincers of spiders could be heard clicking in the distance. “But not here. Once we get back to Hogwarts.”

Jackdaw nodded, recognising the authority of Aesop Sharp and not being inclined to argue. He gestured for the corporeal bodies to lead the way, and as the three men stomped their way back to the castle, Jackdaw floated behind them.

Sebastian Sallow groaned as he rejoined the land of the living. His muscles were sore, and he still felt emotionally strung out and mentally exhausted. He sniffed at Buttons, hoping that the smell of cigars and charred chocolate and butterscotch could soothe his weary soul.

“Dad?”

The only noise Sebastian could hear were Jobberknolls squalling softly in the background. Ribbons of sunlight streamed through the window of his father’s office and Sebastian pushed himself up off the mattress, rubbing the sleep grit out of his eye. He glanced down at the foot of the bed – his dad must have pulled his uniform off him before tucking him into bed – and he shrugged his shirt over his pounding head. His mouth was dry and even though he had slept most of the day away, he was sill tired.

If this was how he was faring, he wondered how Mia was, especially since she had nearly succumbed to a Dementor’s Kiss.

He dressed slowly, every movement a reminder of Azkaban’s toll. Perhaps a hot bath would help, but before Sebastian tended to himself, he wanted to check on Mia. Feet stuffed into boots, he shuffled out of the office and headed to the Gryffindor Tower, grimacing with every step he took as his muscles and bones protested.

The Fat Lady chuckled in dark satisfaction as Sebastian approached, looking as bad as he felt. The boy glowered at the portrait, his glare intensifying when she snarked, “no password, no entrance!”

Sebastian huffed and started spouting off words and phrases that might have had a slim chance of being the phrase to allow him entrance into the room. Each phrase made the Fat Lady smug as she scoffed in derision and remained frustratingly closed.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just let me in!” Sebastian roared, gesticulating wildly at the portrait. “It’s important!”

“Important, you say? Well, that’s put me in my place! I’ll just open myself right up because an arrogant, Fifth Year Slytherin demands that his needs are important!” The Fat Lady let out a shrill, sarcastic laugh that sliced through Sebastian’s brain and made his pounding headache even worse.

“Seb? What are you yelling about?”

Sebastian had never been so glad to have Garreth Weasley’s voice cut through the air, and the ginger approached him with Natsai by his side, his hand clasped in hers. Sebastian registered the small change and he wondered when Garreth had finally managed to charm Natsai to his side. It had been a while since the two cousins had spent time with each other, and that was something Sebastian wanted to fix when life settled down.

“Garreth, is Mia in there? Can you bring her out, please?”

Garreth speared Natsai a guarded look, his green eyes unable to hide the panic. Natsai nodded back, squeezing Garreth’s hand.

“You haven’t heard, Seb? Ames is in the Hospital Wing.”

Sebastian’s brain glided into neutral. If he had been more lucid, he would have registered the fact that Garreth had given Mia a nickname. Giving Mia a name other than Amelia was something that felt special and unique between them. Knowing that Garreth had usurped that would have made Sebastian’s skin crawl.

But Sebastian didn’t challenge Garreth – if Mia was in the Hospital Wing, then she was in worse shape than he was. Soulful brown eyes turned to Natsai, begging the girl to understand what he was asking for without him having to say the words. “Please, Natty? For Mia?”

Natsai nodded and with a quiet murmur to The Fat Lady, scurried through the portrait hole and headed up the stairs to their dormitory. There was no need for Sebastian to tell her what she was looking for; Amelia had done that herself the first night they had returned to Hogwarts. Natsai and Amelia had stayed up trading stories of Yuletide with each other and Amelia had shown her the small, lilac bear she had been gifted on her birthday. The blush that graced Amelia’s cheeks when Natsai had teasingly asked her if Sebastian had given her the teddy bear was all the answer that Natsai needed.

Sebastian picked at his cuticles as he waited, a sign that he was agitated. Garreth stood by his cousin, arm around his shoulder, squeezing it slightly in silent support. He tapped his pocket so a metallic noise filled the air and mimed rolling a joint. Sebastian rolled his eyes and shook his head. There would be time to partake in smoking Alihosty and Mallowsweet to calm his bridled emotions later; he knew himself well enough to know that his anxiety would lessen once he saw Mia and assessed her wellbeing.

“Give her our best,” Garreth muttered as Natsai reappeared and thrust the small, purple bear at Sebastian. Sebastian nodded tightly, acknowledgement and gratitude all rolled into one before catapulting himself to the Hospital Wing. His heart thudded violently against his ribcage even though his steps slowed as he approached the ward. Apprehension lined the pit of his stomach; he braced himself but he wasn’t sure what to expect, and somehow that was worse. If he knew what he was going to encounter, he’d know how to manage the situation; the not knowing left him on edge.

Tentatively, he pushed the door to the Hospital Wing open. Nurse Blainey wasn’t anywhere in sight and he stealth his way forward through the ward. His fingers brushed he curtains around every bed, peeling them back so he could see who was behind them

There was a first year Hufflepuff, cradling a broken arm, sniffing piteously as Sebastian let the material fall from his fingers.

Empty.

A Ravenclaw third year, boils erupting like miniature volcanoes over her face.

His chest tightened with each wrong bed. Was Mia so gravely damaged from Azkaban that she had been transferred to St. Mungo’s Hospital? His breathing shallowed, as if it was trying to warn – or urge – him on. There was only one bed left with curtains drawn around it.

Mia had to be there.

There was a stillness behind the curtain, but not peaceful. Almost as though peace was suspended, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He pulled back the curtain.

There she was.

Mia.

She was perfectly still, delicate, tucked up under the blankets like a glass figurine. Her skin was parchment – dry, pale and translucent underneath the harsh hospital lighting, veins and arteries visible just underneath the surface of her skin. Her hair had worked its way loose out of its bun, falling over eyes that fluttered open and closed. She didn’t look dead or even injured, but the lack of her spark and vivacity made the silence around her feel like a scream.

Sebastian leaned over her bed, pulling back the covers so he could tuck the teddy bear up next to her and with a furtive glance to ensure the curtains were still closed around the bed, feathered a kiss against her forehead.

Amelia stirred at the movement, eyelids slowly blinking open. “Seb?” she croaked out, hoarsely. Her joints were stiff, almost arthritic, but that didn’t stop her from reaching out and grasping at his hand.

“Yes, Mia?”

“You’re here.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, even though he was still feeling hollow on the inside. “Where else would I be, Mia?”

He could have sworn he saw a small smile tug at Mia’s lips as she burrowed into the lilac teddy bear. She inhaled sharply; the fur of the bear seemed to be infused with smoked cedar wood, old leather and parchment, and star anise, all the scents she associated with Sebastian. It was comforting, a warm hug that enveloped her and held her safe.

“Just rest, Mia. You need it.”

“Only if you rest with me.” She winced as she shifted, her smile turning impish as she rolled onto her left side. She curled in on herself so Sebastian had room to lie on the bed with her. She heard him shuffle his boots off, felt the mattress sag under the weight of his body and exhaled when his arms encircled her waist. His warm hand slipped under the thin hospital gown she wore, scorching her skin as it moved over her stomach and along the curve of her waist.

Amelia gasped and stiffened as she felt his fingers slide over her sternum, resting over where her heart would be. The Sisters at the orphanage had denigrated any woman who had improper intimacy with a man before they were married, cursing theme for going against God’s will and ruining their prospects for the rest their life, and Amelia expected her to bat his hand away to keep herself on the right side of moral righteousness.

But she didn’t.

She was more than comfortable with his hands on her, the sensation of the callouses on his hands sparking against her skin. The closeness of him made her acutely aware of his presence.

“Mia, is this alright? Can I touch you there? It’s not for nefarious purposes, I promise,” Sebastian stammered out in a quiet whisper, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he was in Amelia’s bed. “I just… I need to feel your heartbeat after Azkaban. I need to know you’re still here with me.”

Amelia nodded as she interlocked her fingers with his as they rested over her heart. “I’m here with you. Always. Stay with me? You make it better.”

Sebastian said nothing more.

He didn’t have to.

He just lay there, curled like a shield around someone important to him, fingers spread gently across her chest where her heartbeat fluttered under his hand.

Slow.

Steady.

Proof of life.

Amelia’s breathing slowed and evened out. She shifted just enough so that the heat of her body seeped into Sebastian and he tightened his hold on her fractionally to let her know that she was safe in his arms. He didn’t want her to pull away from him, and since she didn’t squirm in his grip, he assumed she didn’t plan to move away from him either.

Outside the window, the sun dipped behind the castle tower, casting long shadows through the glass. The world continued to revolve – outside, students were laughing and studying by the shores of the lake, Nurse Blainey’s footsteps pottered around the cobbled floor of the hospital wing – but behind their curtain, time had slowed for Sebastian and Amelia.

Sebastian closed his eyes, forehead resting in the crook of Amelia as his eyelids drooped shut. He inhaled her scent – vanilla and cinnamon – and he let his thoughts go quiet.

No more curses.

No more running.

Just this.

Just him and her.

And for the first time in days, Sebastian’s breathing synchronised with Amelia’s.

Chapter Text

As soon as Silas, Aesop and Eleazar crossed the castle’s threshold, Silas beelined for the bust of Ignatia Wildsmith.

“How nice to see – ” the sentient statue snapped her jaw shut at the glare Silas sent her way as he threw some powder into the flames and muttered his destination. Moments later, he appeared outside the door to the Faculty Tower and he brushed soot and ash off his shoulder, running a tired hand through tired curls. Sebastian was at the forefront of his mind; his stomach twisting into knots and acid bubbling up his throat as he thought of his son, waking up alone after his Azkaban ordeal.

“Seb? It’s Dad. Are you awake, son?”

The room was suspiciously quiet. The bedsheets were balled up, kicked to the foot of the bed. Pillows had been thrown to the ground – not in a temper tantrum way – but in a way that indicated Sebastian had been restless and had slept like a tornado. The uniform that Silas had stripped his son off earlier in the day and folded neatly was as conspicuously missing as the owner of the uniform.

Silas exhaled forcefully, puffing out air through his nose. Buttons was missing too, and that indicated that wherever Sebastian had gone, he was still in need of comfort. There was only one person – other than himself, his mother and his sister – that Silas knew Sebastian would seek comfort from.

Amelia Calloway.

As far as Silas was aware, Miss. Calloway hadn’t been able to withstand Azkaban as well as Sebastian had, and Aesop had deposited her in the Hospital Wing when he had returned to Hogwarts with the two teens. It stood to reason that Sebastian had gone there, but how he had managed to sneak his way in without Nurse Blainey knowing he was there remained a mystery.

Hurried footsteps stampeded up the spiral staircase that led from the teacher’s quarters to the Hospital Wing. His heart hammering against his chest, his breathing coming heavy and fast, Silas thrust the doors open. Noreen Blainey looked up at him in surprise.

“Silas!”

“Amelia Calloway. Where is she?”

Noreen pointed to a bed down the end of the ward, near a window. Silas nodded and made his way down to a bed that had the screens drawn around it. Fingers tremoring, he pulled the curtain back, unsure of what he would find.

Not for the first time, Silas stilled at the sight in front of him. Even though he had seen Sebastian and Amelia sharing a bed together, he was taken aback by just how protective Sebastian was, with his arm curled around her waist and hand resting on her sternum, his leg looped over hers as though he was a dragon protecting treasure. His dark hair was tousled, mussed from moving in his sleep, his freckles contrasting prominently against skin that wasn’t as rich and vibrant and coloured as it usually was. She cried quietly, and at the noise, Sebastian instinctively pulled her tighter against him and nuzzled into her, his nose brushing against her cheek, a lilac teddy bear and Buttons sandwiched between them.

They were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly.

Silas swallowed hard as he looked down at his son and the girl he knew would be his future daughter-in-law, the knot in his throat tightening as he realised just how badly the teens depended on each other. Despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that his baby boy was growing up, foisted with adult responsibilities and worries before he had even come of age.

“Seb,” Silas whispered, booping his son on the nose lightly. He stifled a chuckle as Sebastian’s nose crinkled and his eyes fluttered open.

“Love you too, Dad.”

“You shouldn’t have left the office, son.”

“I know.” Sebastian looked up at his dad sleepily, biting little nibbles on his bottom lip. “I needed to see her. I didn’t want her to be alone. Wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway.”

Before Silas could reply, the curtain around the bed flung open. Aesop Sharp, Eleazar Fig and a translucent figure Sebastian had never seen before. Aesop stood there, arms crossed over his chest, resignation scrawled across his face; Eleazar was conflicted between contentment that his daughter finally had a peer that had her back no matter what, and torn because that scoundrel had been asleep with her. Nothing indecent – both of them were fully dressed, and Amelia was tucked under the covers Sebastian lay on top of – but still not a proper act to do.

The spectre floated above them, a smirk on his face, as he eyed the teenagers beadily.

Sebastian’s face flushed at the audience he now faced, especially since he and Amelia were in a more compromised position than would have been socially appropriate. The warning Aesop Sharp had given him after the interlude on his birthday pealed through his head and he jutted out his jaw defiantly, challenging Sharp to force him and Amelia to be betrothed to each other. That wouldn’t have been too much of an issue for him – Sebastian meant what he said when he told his mother that he would choose Amelia, every time – but he wondered how Amelia would feel about being tied to him for the rest of her life because of a decision he made.

Sharp stared back, face impassive.

Sebastian didn’t know whether to make heads or tails of it, so he busied himself with gently shaking Amelia awake, whispering something so quietly into her ear that no-one else could hear it. Amelia groaned as she woke, a shaking hand rubbing at bleary eyes. She blushed and squirmed as she took in the people standing in front of her while she was tucked up in bed with Sebastian, her cheeks burning as she thought of how ashamed they would be with her uncouth behaviour. Subconsciously, she shifted on the bed, trying to put some distance between her and Sebastian.

The ghost hovering above the bed glided towards the bed, the hem of his coat sliding through the rails of the bed. “Richard Jackdaw, I am your humble servant,” he said, reaching for her and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “How fortunate I am to stumble upon such a delicate visage.”

Amelia shivered – Jackdaw’s lips were ice-cold, a sharp contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s lips when he kissed her – and pulled her hand back, eyes subtly sliding over Sebastian. Sebastian looked like he was ready to combust. His body was taut and a primal growl emanated from the depths of his chest. Smoke was coming out of his ears and his fingers curled into fists, his face so hot and enflamed she could have cooked a Sunday roast on his cheeks. His breathing came in quick, harsh breaths, and if looks could kill and Jackdaw was still alive, he’d have been lying on the floor with a chalk outline around his body.

Jackdaw chuckled, knowingly, as if he expected it. “Such a contrast to your little viper here. I saw it; teeth bared and scaly display when I hovered over your compromised, little tableau! A scandal in the making! Makes me rather nostalgic for my own youth.”

Sebastian’s scowl deepened at the ghost’s smarmy, insinuating words. “We were asleep. Nothing more.”

“Quite.” Jackdaw drifted closer, peering down at Amelia with unnerving curiosity and addressed her with a low, conspiratory tone. “Ah, but you, young lady, you’re the one chasing my secrets. My pages. Dangerous business, but so intriguing. Tell me – was it your gallant protector that led you astray or did you embark on this on your own?”

Sebastian vibrating with outrage and disgust at Jackdaw’s words; the bed shook and he twisted the blanket between his fingers as if he was throttling the incorporeal form in front of them. If it was possible, Sebastian would have grabbed Jackdaw by his ruffled collar and thrown him against the wall. Amelia’s lips pressed into an unamused line, so thin they almost disappeared. She glanced at Fig, then Sebastian, eyes guarded and wary, as if she was asking for permission. The flicker of trust that burned between them stoked the dragon-like, protective nature in Sebastian and he pulled her closer to him, eyes never leaving Jackdaw.

“Anne Thisbe,” Aesop supplied, sitting down heavily on the vacant chair by the bedside. “Anne told us where it was, snippets of a lucid truth in a fractured mind.”

Jackdaw pivoted, his body passing through Sebastian as he turned to face Sharp. Sebastian shuddered – it was like having a bucket of ice thrown down his back – and pulled the blankets over his body. Amelia winced in sympathy at his discomfort and pressed herself closer to him, hoping her body heat – such as it was – could help lessen his turmoiled emotions. His lips brushed against her temple, eyes never leaving Jackdaw, as if Sebastian was reminding everyone in the room that Mia was his, and his alone.

“Fractured mind? Anne?”

Aesop Sharp nodded grimly. “A life sentence in Azkaban will do that to even the strongest of people. But she did, and we need the information about a map that you pilfered from Peeves.”

Jackdaw idled in the air. “Ah, yes, I know exactly where that is. The vault… the pages… such dangerous treasures. A pity really, but I did enjoy the drama of the night. Delightful place, really, if you like your head being severed off by armoured sentries that are mostly impervious to damage. Magnificent creatures, if one doesn’t mind being skewered by them.”

“Armoured sentries?” This time it was Eleazar’s voice that broke the silence. “Did they happen to have wisps of ice-blue around them?”

Jackdaw tilted his head, face screwed up in concentration. He shook his head, the ruffled cravat fluttering with the movement. It had been too long since his head separated from his body, and the last moments of his life were hazy.

“Tell you what, meet me in the Forbidden Forest at sundown and I can show you precisely where to find them. Be prepared to go somewhere you can’t come back from.”

He turned to go, smirking at Amelia in a silent challenge, his pale eyes never leaving hers as he stared her down before gliding out of sight through the stained glass window.

Amelia groaned once more as she tossed the covers off her and reached for her clothes. Her muscles were still tense and sore from Azkaban, her head thumped, but she had to push through to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“No!” Eleazar’s voice was as brittle and pointed as a shard of broken glass. His hand clamped down on her shoulder and he pushed her gently back into bed. “Absolutely not. You haven’t recovered from Azkaban yet.”

“Neither have you, Seb,” Silas grumbled, seeing the knowing glint that remained resolute in his son’s eye.

“I’m not letting Mia walk blindly into whatever this is. We tried that once and it didn’t end well for anyone,” Sebastian snorted out a sarcastic laugh and squeezed Amelia’s hand, silently conveying that he was going to be by her side every step of this journey.

Sharp’s sigh was long and tired, the sound of a wearied man watching the inevitable unfold, despite his better judgement. His eyes met Silas’ and he blinked. Half reluctant agreement, and half regret. “We go at the end of the week. I’ll get Healer Fray to see them every evening this week to expedite their recovery before we embark on this mystery.”

And on that note of finality, Aesop Sharp limped his way out of the Hospital Wing.

The bell echoed through the Transfiguration classroom, signalling the end of classes on a Friday afternoon. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as students chattered excitedly about their weekend plans. Professor Weasley cleared her throat and silenced the class with a glare.

“Settle down, Fifth Years. I haven’t finished my lesson yet.” Matilda Weasley waiting until the general hubbub of the classroom petered into silence. She tapped her wand against the side of the chalkboard so it rotated on its axis and revealed a mountain of work to complete before their next lesson. An outraged cry reverberated off the walls as the class eyed their assignment; three scrolls of parchment on the origins Vanishing Spells and the legal ramifications of using spells in an illicit way, as well as a practical task of transforming beetles into buttons as revision for their upcoming O.W.L.

“And be warned; anyone that doesn’t complete their tasks by the due date will have their Hogsmeade privileges revoked until such time that they demonstrate that they’ve caught up on all the work they’ve missed.”

From beside Amelia, Garreth suppressed a growl, uncharacteristic glare etched onto his face and shoulders so tense they were hunched up under his ears. Even though his aunt was his teacher, Transfiguration was not his forte, and he had already neglected to complete the past two tasks Matilda Weasley had given the class.

“Well, might as well make the most of my freedom while I can.” Garreth turned to face Amelia and Natsai, pulling Natsai towards him. He relented as Natsai didn’t push him away; instead she softened into his body. The move surprised Amelia – the last she had heard, Natsai was still focussed on passing her O.W.L.s with distinction, and had no time for romantic entanglements – but it seemed that while she was venturing off to Azkaban and gallivanting around with Fig, events had taken a turn for the better. She smiled at Garreth and Natsai together, and thought of Sebastian, thought of how much richer her life was now that she wasn’t hiding how strongly she felt for him.

“Go for some drinks tonight, Ames? One last night of debauchery and fun before I’m shackled to the walls of the castle for the foreseeable future?”

Amelia chewed on her lip as she gathered her books into her bag. Sebastian would be waiting outside the classroom door – Transfiguration and Beginners Flying were classes that she didn’t share with him; Sebastian’s electives ran at the same time as those classes – so they could spend a few moments together before he left for the weekend to work his community service off at The Three Broomsticks. While Sebastian worked under Sirona’s watchful eye, Amelia and Fig had plans to venture off into the Forbidden Forest to try and locate where Richard Jackdaw’s body was. It was imperative that they located the treasure that was on Jackdaw’s body. Sebastian, Silas and Aesop had expressed their want to help in this endeavour; Fig had decided that it was better if it was just him and Amelia undertaking that venture.

But that wasn’t until sundown, so there was time for her to kill, and if she spent it at The Three Broomsticks, she could capitalise on her time with Sebastian and interrogate Garreth and Natty on their burgeoning relationship, the same way Natty and Garreth had interrogated her after Sebastian kissed her for the first time.

“Sure.”

Garreth, Natsai and Amelia bounded out of the room, Amelia stopping quickly to tell Sebastian – who, as predicted, was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for her – that they were heading to Hogsmeade for the evening. Sebastian raised his eyebrows at her and Amelia rolled her own eyes back in response. A dry chuckle from him as he linked his fingers with hers and followed her to the Fat Lady’s Portrait.

The grimace on the portrait’s face mirrored the one on Sebastian’s as the two nemesis’ came closer to each other.

“You?! Again?!” she shrieked, clutching at her pearls with such force that they popped off her necklace and rolled like shiny marbles into other portraits around her. “Absolutely not! I will not allow such Slytherin filth to desecrate the hallowed halls of the Gryffindor Common Room.”

Sebastian quirked his eyebrow and smirked at the portrait, finding the words that would wind her up. “It’s not just the Common Room I’m planning on desecrating.”

“Impudent – blasphemous – how dare you!” The Fat Lady emitted an ear-splitting, outraged noise at his implication, so loud that bystanders in the hallway clamped their hands over their ears. Her wig slipped sideways and she gripped the frame of her portrait. “I should have you expelled from every Common Room in Hogwarts!”

“I’m counting on it,” Sebastian parried back, smoothly, amusement lingering in his tone. “I'm just here to have a cup of tea. Tell me, do you serve Earl Grey with a hint of malt or just righteous indignation?”

“Sebastian!” Amelia’s cheeks burned at his words and she whirled around, slapping her hand over his mouth so his childish behaviour couldn’t embarrass her more. “Can you at least try to get along with her?! All Garreth, Natty and I want to do is drop our bags off, freshen up a little and have a nice evening out! You don’t have to antagonise her for doing her job!”

Sebastian’s response was muffled under Amelia’s palm, but it sounded like he had grumbled his excuse of, “she started it.”

“You are utterly impossible!” Amelia groaned as Natsai and Garreth tugged her away from Sebastian and pulled her towards the portrait. Garreth mumbled the password and the Fat Lady eeked open, causing the trio to squeeze and sidle their way in. Sebastian scuttled forward, hoping to gain entry too, but the Fat Lady slammed herself closed and remained resolutely shut as he glowered at her.

“Lively!” Sebastian corrected at her retreating back. “It has a more positive spin to it.”

He sighed, settled onto the floor with his back resting against the wall and with a flick of his wrist, materialised one of his many study guides out of thin air. He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and his eyes blurred as they moved across the page, his brain absorbing every algorithm and cipher he was reading. It fascinated him, learning about how ancient cultures blended cryptography and numerology together into a magical practice, and since he was mathematically minded, it was something that came easily to him. If he passed his O.W.L in Arithmancy with an Outstanding, his dad had said that he could accelerate up to taking the N.E.W.T in his Sixth Year instead of his Seventh, which was something he was working towards. Aesop Sharp was encouraging that too; it would keep Sebastian busy and out of much mischief, and it would show the Wizengamot that he was taking his probationary status seriously and trying to make a better future for himself.

Garreth joined him on the floor, and after a fashion, Natsai and Amelia emerged from the Gryffindor Common Room. The warmth of Amelia’s hand settled into Sebastian’s as the group walked through the portcullis of Hogwarts and up the winding path to Hogsmeade. The streets of the village were bustling, the smell of cinnamon pastries and frothy, yeasty Butterbeer mingled in the air. Garreth and Natsai stepped ahead, nestled together and laughing at something shared between them.

“Seb, you’re awfully quiet,” Amelia murmured, glancing up at him. The sun cast a golden hue over his skin, softening the harsh nature of his side profile. Tinges of rust peppered his dark brown hair, and his usually caramel eyes glimmered with flecks of green and gold in them. It surprised Amelia; she had never noticed that about him before and it someone added layers of complexity to a man she thought she knew.

Sebastian’s lips twitched slightly at the observation but he didn’t respond. As much as he wanted to remain in the moment and enjoy the time he had with her, he couldn’t help his mind wander to the perilous adventure she was about to embark on. There was something slimy about Jackdaw, something that made his skin crawl. The way the phantom had turned something sweet and innocent into sordid and seedy set Sebastian’s teeth on edge, and it made him more determined to try and sneak out of his shift at The Three Broomsticks so he could be with Amelia while she located Jackdaw’s tomb, just like he had promised back in the Hospital Wing.

“Come on, Natty and Garreth are already heading into the pub,” Amelia said, tugging Sebastian’s hand to drag him to the table near the roaring fire where Garreth and Natsai were sitting. Sirona nodded at the couple, swishing her wand so that tankards of Butterbeer for Garreth and Amelia, and lemonade for Sebastian and Natsai floated through the air.

“Enjoy, Sallow,” Sirona called out as she polished glasses. “When the night picks up, I’ll need you behind the bar.”

The small band of friends settled into their seats, sipping from their steins, laughing and sharing stories with each other. Their giggles filled the air – for once, Sebastian and Amelia were just ordinary teenagers out with their friends on a Friday night – and it was a with a twinge of regret that Sebastian had to excuse himself and start work when Sirona bored holes into him as more patrons flooded into the bar. As he wiped down tables, cooked and served meals, cleaning rag draped over a shoulder, he kept one eye on Amelia and the other on the sun sinking behind the clouds that had rolled in over the sky. He watched her fake a yawn, eyelashes fluttering open and closed, and with a gentle smile, she pointed to the castle’s spire and indicated that she was heading back to the castle to get some rest. Garreth and Natsai insisted that they would go with her, and threw a desperate look at Sebastian to help her get out of her predicament. Sebastian distracted them by coercing them into trying Sirona’s new brew – Gillyweed infused with cucumber and mint – while Amelia sidled out the door. Sebastian quickly followed, grabbing at Amelia’s wrist and pulling her back to him as they leant against the Floo Flame.

“Be careful,” he cautioned, arms wrapping around her and holding her so tight she struggled to breathe.

“I always am.”

Sebastian huffed out a sarcastic snort at her words, and moments later, Amelia chuckled too.

“Besides, I’ll have Fig and Jackdaw there too.”

Amelia felt Sebastian stiffen at the mention of the ghost. Jackdaw’s presence felt more of a threat rather than help and his skin crawled as he remembered the way Jackdaw had interacted with Amelia in the Hospital Wing. Mine, he thought fiercely, pressing a heated kiss against her forehead. Not his. Mia. Mine.

“I’ll be fine,” Amelia smiled up at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, even though the warble in her voice betrayed her words.

Caramel eyes hardened to obsidian, his jaw taut. “I’ll know if you’re not.” His fingers encircled her wrist and his fingers pulsed against her, mimicking the way his heart was thumping in his chest. “And I’ll come after you. No arguments, no questions, no warning. I’ll find you, come hell or high water.”

Amelia’s lips twitched into a wry, sardonic smile. “You won’t have to; finish your community service and we’ll catch up tomorrow.” She reached up for the collar of his shirt and, with a furtive glance around to make sure no one was in the vicinity, nudged his head down so her lips could brush against his, a promise and a plea all rolled into one.

Floo powder trickled through Amelia’s fingers, like sand slipping through an hourglass. As she stepped into the emerald green flames, she twirled so she could capture one last look at Sebastian before the portal transported her to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Chapter Text

The emerald flames spat Amelia out of the grate, and even though she had used Floo Flames many times, she still stumbled and fell to the ground. Floo Flames always left her feeling a little off-kilter and dizzy, so Amelia lay on the ground, breathed in sharply, held her breath for ten slow counts and exhaled softly. There was some small comfort in it for her; if Sebastian wasn’t able to be with her in proximity, at least she could employ his breathing technique to make it seem like he was there in spirit.

As she picked herself up and dusted herself off the ground, her eyes scanned the Forbidden Forest guardedly. It wasn’t her first foray into the scrub, but the trees with gnarled roots and knotted branches loomed intimidatingly over her, shadows highlighting just how dark and dangerous the place could be. In the distance, she heard pincers clicking away menacingly.

Her hand reached into her robes and she pulled out her wand. “Lumos,” she muttered, and the tip of her wand lit up the path ahead with a soft, white glow. The twigs snapped underneath her feet as she walked slowly into the forest. The damp and humidity of the air clung to her clothes, chilling her to the bone and she shivered, skin tinging blue. Her heart thudded in her ears, growing louder and louder with every step she took.

“Amelia! Over here!”

Her head snapped towards the sound of her name. Eleazar Fig emerged from the shadows, Richard Jackdaw floating behind him, a curious grin on his face, as if he and Amelia were out for a stroll in a garden with Fig as their chaperone instead of traipsing through a treacherous forest this side of Hadrian’s Wall.

“You kept us waiting,” Jackdaw drawled, running a hand though his hair. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost. That would have been a terrible shame for you, but a delight for me; we could spend the rest of eternity haunting each other.”

Amelia scowled and ignored the taunt. “Thank God you’re here!”

“No need to thank him; I was the one that guided your guardian here!”

“Stay close,” Fig advised, as if Jackdaw hadn’t spoken. “As much as Jackdaw enjoys his theatrics, there is nothing amusing about what lays ahead of us.” He pulled Amelia closer to him, one hand on her shoulder as he steered her deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Her boots caught on raised roots she didn’t see, but Fig’s hand steadied her as they moved swiftly to their goal.

Jackdaw floated behind them, occasionally making comments directed towards protecting Amelia that both she and Fig ignored. It underscored just how badly Amelia wished Sebastian, Professor Sallow and Professor Sharp were with them instead of a seedy boy who had been murdered before he had even lived, and was trying to make up for lost time by living vicariously through her life instead.

Jackdaw froze at a fork in the road. “Well, this has changed since I was last here.”

Thin, silvery ropes cocooned off the pathway to the left. They shimmered under the moonlight, a unsettling contrast to the clicking and hissing that came from within. A rotted wood placard warned of spiders on the trail, but it seemed that there was no option but for them to brave the beasts. Jackdaw’s resolute expression indicated as much.

“Wand at the ready, Amelia.” Fig pointed at the threads and with a quiet mutter, incinerated the silk barrier between them and Jackdaw’s tomb. His footsteps echoed through the cutting as he pushed and twisted his way through sticky, silk webs. Apprehension and dread settled into the marrow of her bones, but Amelia followed, blind trust in Fig being her only motivator to keep moving.

The scrape of legs on stone followed them, the smell of necrotic flesh burning acrid in the foggy air.

The hairs on the nape of Amelia’s neck stood to attention. Goosebumps lined her arms and she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

She screamed, piercingly, as furry spindles grasped at her waist.

“Amelia!” Fig cried, and with an arc of his wand, he flung the spider that had grabbed her against a wall. The act seemed to spur Amelia into action. She shuddered as she gripped her wand and cast the Blasting Curse at a spider she caught creeping towards her out of the corner of her eye.

Fig was no less busy, casting protego after protego when venomous darts were spat their way. He dragged Amelia close to him so she was protected by his purple orb. Fig, Amelia observed, favoured a defensive approach in his fighting style. It was somewhat jarring; she was so used to being on the front-foot with Sebastian’s offensive attacks, so seamless in the way they complemented each other, and Amelia found herself hesitating as she tried to predict Fig’s next move.

A spider clicked its pincers as it dangled down from above; Amelia instinctively arced her hand and used her Ancient Magic to throw a boulder at it. The spider squealed and screeched as blood and goop splattered onto the projectile.

“Nicely done!” Jackdaw praised as he floated above the devastation. “Although you’ve missed a spot.” He pointed a translucent finger further into the cutting, where magenta coloured arachnids with flames on their back were inching closer towards them.

Jets of red and yellow light flashed through the spiders’ lair and Amelia pivoted out of the Shield Charm Fig had cast over them, blasting one spider back into the nest it had crawled out of and slicing another one in two with the Severing Charm. Fig twirled on the spot, his blue overcoat billowing out as he moved and incinerated the egg sacs glued to the wall and stomped on the hatchlings that emerged from the gooey bubbles above them. For a moment that stretched into eternity, all Amelia heard was the squelches and screams of dying creatures.

Fig exhaled quietly, wiping the sweat off his brow and raking back strands of hair that had worked its way loose from the pomade he had brushed into it earlier in the day. Amelia’s chest heaved from exertion and she stared, glassy eyed, at their adversaries.

“I hate spiders.”

“Yes, yes, dreadful things,” Jackdaw agreed cheerily. “But you have excellent form – remind me to haunt you more often.”

Amelia glared at the insinuation, reaching for her wand so she could fire a cast off at the spectre, but Fig laid a steadying hand between her shoulder blades and shook his head at her. “We should move. The rest of the clan might be getting restive.”

“Yes, I think we saw that side to them,” Amelia snarked, but she picked up the pace so she was practically sprinting. Hands clawed at the silken spun threads that caught against her face and clothes as she brushed through webs, and she grimaced at the sticky feel the residue left behind. She would need a very long, very hot shower before she felt clean again.

Footsteps crunched on the decaying and deceased shells of spiders and the mist that shrouded them started to clear. Amelia’s breathing slowed as she emerged from the spider’s lair, Fig a few steps behind her. A lake lay off to the side, the moonlight reflecting off the water and casting a cool glow on the trees around them. A flash of silver darted past them; Amelia could make out a horn and a swish of a tail as the creature whinnied by them.

She had read about them, but she had never seen a unicorn before. There was something calming in knowing that the Forbidden Forest wasn’t just filled with murderous, cantankerous animals that wanted nothing more than to devour anyone that crossed their path.

The pair paused, letting the reprieve and relief wash over them. Fig flicked his wand over Amelia, sweeping the dust and grime of battle off her torn and tattered robes. Amelia’s eyes followed the wand, tracing just how much damage had been done to her one and only uniform, and she wondered how she’d find the funds to replace them. Reparo could mend minor holes and stitch up unravelling hems, but it seemed like her clothes were beyond repair.

Before she could voice her woes, a cry of "crucio" and a shrill, high pitched scream shattered through the air.

Amelia broke into a run, slipping on the muddy banks of the lake as she careered around the corner. She recognised the scream.

Poppy Sweeting.

Under the moonlight filtering through the branches of trees, two masked Poachers pinned Poppy to the ground. Vines the colour of a fresh bruise wrapped around her hands and legs, twining its way up her throat. The taller Poacher cackled, lunging forward as he caused the vines around her throat to tighten. Poppy gasped and flailed, her dark eyes bulging out of their sockets, her breath coming in short, strangled rattles, her body writhing as she scrambled for purchase, anything to give her an advantage over her assailants.

“Enough!” Fig decreed. His voice cracked like thunder and his wand snapped through the air like a whip. Amelia raced forward and brushed the hair away from a whimpering Poppy, shushing her quietly and trying to drag her up to her feet. The Poachers stormed forward and Fig flicked his wand dismissively in their direction, the magic knocking them back against the wall. Ropes shot out of the end of his wand, binding the hands and legs of the hunters.

“Shhh, it’s alright, Poppy, you’re safe now.” Amelia wound an arm around the Hufflepuff and led her to a boulder, sitting her down and wrapping the shreds of her robe around Poppy, hoping it would give her some warmth. Poppy’s tear-filled eyes met Amelia’s, grateful yet shattered, a vision Amelia was familiar with since she had seen it in herself after Sebastian had cast the Cruciatus Curse on her in the Scriptorium.

Fig kneeled by them, wand trained on the Poachers as he catalogued Poppy’s injuries. What the girl was doing out in the Forbidden Forest at this time of night, especially without an escort, was beyond him, but he also knew that it wasn’t the time to interrogate her. Poppy needed to be assessed by Nurse Blainey, urgently, and he glanced at Amelia. Amelia nodded; their adventure could stall until Poppy was safe.

“Stay here with Jackdaw,” Fig instructed, firing off red sparks into the air as he bundled Poppy into his arms. “I’ll be back soon.”

With a twirl on the spot, Fig Apparated away, leaving Amelia scowling at Jackdaw as he smarmed down at her.

“Ah, finally, a moment for just the two of us. A moonlit night, a damsel in distress and a ghost devoted to her and her cause. Romantic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Amelia’s scowl deepened, eyes hardened and glacial as she squared off at him, expression deadpan. Jackdaw’s creepy flirtation with her meant that she had never missed Sebastian more in her life.

“Between you and the spiders? I would rather spend eternity with them.”

Silas Sallow and Aesop Sharp stalked the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, Sebastian trailing behind them. The pair had just collected the boy from The Three Broomsticks at closing time and they were muttering quietly to each other, voices so hushed and gravely serious that Sebastian couldn’t make out what they were discussing, and their eyes trailed the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, scurrying over them to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

“Keep up, Sebastian,” his dad had barked at him. “The sooner we get back to the castle and get you in your dorm for the night, the better it will be.”

The teenager wasn’t stupid; he knew that his father wanted him under Ominis’ watchful eye (so to speak) so that he and Professor Sharp could go back to patrolling the outskirts of the forest, waiting to see if Fig and Amelia needed their assistance. On one hand, Sebastian was glad that his probation officer and his father were looking out for the girl he was enamoured with, but on the other hand, Sebastian felt like he was being shunted into a corner, as if he was a small child that couldn’t comprehend and couldn’t contribute to keeping Mia safe, even though that was all he had done since they met.

A red firework display lit up the sky. Silas and Aesop shared a glance at each other, faces soured and concerned. Sebastian shared their feeling, but he was also impulsive enough to break his sulk, push past his dad and Aesop Sharp and sprint into the forest.

“Sebastian! No!” Aesop shouted after him, limping as his knee twinged and ached.

“Sebastian Silas Sallow! Come back here at once!” Silas bellowed, his roar so loud and so anguished that Jobberknolls in nearby trees fluttered out of the branches, squawking indignantly at being disrupted out of their home for the night. “It is far too dangerous for you to venture into the forest without your wand!”

But Sebastian was too caught up in his own world to hear the cries of the adults warning him against the peril he was placing himself in. His heart thundered against his ribcage, his feet churned like pistons as he powered his way down the darkened path.

Wet swiped at him as a Dugbob’s tongue grazed his torso; Sebastian grimaced and darted to the right as the Dugbob charged at him. Thunderous stomps chased him, and with a dismissive flick of his wrist, Sebastian pushed the Dugbob away into the creek on his left with a splash. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled over tree roots, catching himself against the bark of tree trunks so he remained upright. Sebastian could hear steps following him in the distance, sense his father chasing him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when Mia was in potential danger.

Sebastian skidded to a stop when he came to a fork in the road, running a frazzled hand through his hair. Which way was the right way to go?

“Sebastian!” Silas panted as he caught up with his son. The older man rested his hands on his knees as he gathered his breath. “Why didn’t you stop?! This is far too risky for you; you’re my son and I don’t want to see you hurt!”

“Mia’s here, Dad,” Sebastian said, scratching at the back of his neck, as if that was an answer in itself. “I just… I don’t know which way to go to get to her and I can’t afford to get it wrong.”

Silas looked at his son.

Really looked at him.

The boy towered over him – Sebastian had inherited his mother’s height – but he had never been more unsure. Teeth gnawed on his lips, his fingers picked at his cuticles and dark eye darted at the diverging pathways; all tell-tale signs of Sebastian’s anxiety getting the better of him, and Silas wondered if the bond that existed between Amelia and Sebastian worked in reverse. He wondered if Sebastian’s spiralling emotions triggered an outburst of Amelia’s Ancient Magic power. As curious as he was, he was adamant that tonight wasn’t the night for him to find out the answer to that question.

“Revelio.”

A slight glow, ethereal blue, shimmered to the left of them. Sebastian thought it was a trace of Ancient Magic, but Silas shook his head as Aesop Sharp hobbled into view.

“No, Seb, it’s a Magical Signature. Every witch and wizard’s magic is tied to nature’s four elements. Wind, air, water and fire; they all leave traces every time someone uses magic. Each Trace contains cryptographs that are unique to the person that cast it; Arithmancers have studied this for centuries and we haven’t scratched the surface of understanding it. It looks like Fig and Amelia Calloway both have water signatures – that’s the blue you’re seeing.”

“And since you think my magic is underpinned by fire, my Signature would be red?”

“Exactly like your mother, you are. Now, we could spend time discussing the mathematics behind Magical Signatures, or we could continue on.” Silas cocked his head down the illuminated pathway and strode down the cavern that was littered with the carcasses of spiders.

“I hate insects almost as much as I hate rats.” Sebastian shuddered as he stared down the path, a cursory glance flicked at Sharp. Sharp’s facial muscles twitched, almost as though the older man was trying to suppress a smirk, and nodded.

“Well, at least these arachnids have already been dispatched,” Sharp commented as he slipped Sebastian’s wand into his pant pocket. With a hand placed between his probationer’s shoulder blades, Sharp led him through the musty cutting.

Everything reeked of death, of stale urine and coppery blood, decomposing into game.

Sebastian’s steps faltered as he forced himself to push through the crevice in the rocky outcrop, with his dad squeezing his hand to try and assuage his fear of the creepy-crawlies. The shadows of the trees, with their rotted roots and gnarled branches pulled away at him, as if they were puppeteers tugging on his unseen strings, manipulating him into venturing into a place he normally would have run away from. Mist curled like Devil’s Snare around his ankles, slowing down his steps, tripping him up as his feel caught on limbs of Thornback Scurriors and Matriarchs. Silas instinctively reached out to steady his son, making sure his boy was not about to faceplant into some of his worst nightmares.

Even though Sebastian had Aesop Sharp and his dad flanking him as he moved deeper into the Forbidden Forest, he still couldn’t chase away the prickling feeling that something – or someone – was waiting, just beyond the veil of the fog.

Sebastian swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat as he pushed past the last line of knotted roots and low hanging branches. The mist dissipated off the forest floor, mud and dew squelching underneath his heavy footfalls as he moved forwards. Shimmering light reflected off the ripples in the lake, a sense of respite after images that would haunt him.

Through the haze, he spotted them across the water: Amelia, her wand drawn, and Jackdaw, floating behind her with that insufferable smirk plastered across his translucent face.

“Mia,” Sebastian whispered, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he found himself wading through waist-deep water to get to her.

Jackdaw raised his eyebrows at the sound of water splashing, his smirk becoming even more insufferable as he took in Sebastian’s dishevelled state. “Well, well, the cavalry has arrived. Or is it just a smitten boy with a hero complex?”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened so much it was paralysed. All he could do was emit a low, primal growl to express his discomfort and displeasure at the ghost.

“Perfectly acceptable for a Pureblood wizard – nothing to be ashamed of,” Jackdaw smarmed, twirling around Sebastian as he appraised him pulling Amelia into his arms and checking her for injuries.

“Half-blood, actually,” Sebastian sniffed, eyes narrowed at the insinuation and jaw jutting out defiantly. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

Amelia’s eyes peered at Sebastian, questioning. He shook his head; it wasn’t the time or place to discuss bloodline politics, and Sebastian had never held much stock in it anyway. It was one of the fundamental beliefs that he and Ominis shared, and it was what helped build their friendship when they first met.

“Fiery, aren’t you?”

“Keep talking and we’ll find out if ghosts can be murdered again, exorcised and sent to the nether plane.”

Amelia scowled, her skin crawling at Jackdaw’s words; there was something unnerving in the way Jackdaw had delivered his spiel and attempted to denigrate Sebastian that unsettled her more than she could ever describe. “Enough, Jackdaw. Sometimes silence is golden.”

“Oh, but then I wouldn’t be able to tell Miss. Calloway what a lovely time I’ve had so far in our adventure! Evading death, dodging spiders… all quite intimate!” Jackdaw swooped back down so he was next to Amelia, his ice-like, ghostly breath tickling across her cheek and making her squirm further into Sebastian’s warm embrace. Sebastian’s eyes burned with something darker than fear. He glowered so hard if Jackdaw wasn’t already dead, he’d be lying on the ground, still and unmoving.

Before Amelia could defuse the rising tension between her courter and the phantom, voices cut through the tree.

“Miss. Calloway!”

Aesop Sharp emerged from the shadows of the tree, his limp leg dragging behind him. Silas Sallow followed, his dark eyes grazing over Sebastian’s sodden bottom half. Silas dried his boy off with a Hot Air Charm and a stern glare.

“What, in Merlin’s name, were you thinking?! You never go diving head first into water like that, especially in the Forbidden Forest! Anything could have been lurking in there, ready to harm you!”

Sebastian opened his mouth but Sharp’s quelling presence made him falter. “Not the time to argue, Silas and Sebastian. We need to get to Jackdaw’s tomb. Now.”

Jackdaw floated backwards, bowing with a theatrical flourish. “At last! Someone who understands urgency! But be warned; my tomb is not for the faint-hearted.”

The four, corporeal forms followed Jackdaw as he glided ahead of them. At Silas’ peppering of questions, Amelia revealed exactly what had transpired in her journey into the forest, explaining that Fig had left her to take Poppy Sweeting back to the castle for medical attention. Silas harrumphed and silently questioned Fig’s decision. Had it been Anne in the Forbidden Forest, there was no way he would have left her behind; he would have insisted Anne followed him back to the castle while he looked after Poppy.

But then again, if Anne had been well enough to venture anywhere, he wouldn’t be trailing through the forest with his posse. Sebastian would never have absconded from Aranshire the previous summer, never have met Amelia and engaged in all the choices he had made from that moment. Life would be far less complex, but as Silas looked over at his son, he realised that life would be incredibly unfulfilled for Sebastian. Silas recognised the look on his son’s face; it was the same look Silas had every time he glanced at Emerys when he thought she wasn’t watching him watching her. It seemed like trying to rail against them was fighting the inevitable.

Jackdaw stopped. His shoulders hunched in a way that seemed impossible for an incorporeal form. His swagger disappeared, leaving nothing but the thin veneer of a timid boy behind. “This is as far as I go.”

“What do you mean?”

Jackdaw turned haunted eyes on the crowd, voice completely devoid of any humour. “Beyond this point lies the memory of my death. Forgive me, but I choose not to relive it.”

“Hoisted by your own petard?” Sebastian snarked quietly, but not quietly enough as Amelia shot him a pointed scowl. Silas cuffed his son upside the head and glared at him. The comment was underhanded and petty, and while he knew that it was fuelled by his son’s envious streak when it came to Amelia – not the best characteristic he had inherited from his mother – Silas was still cognizant of the fact that Jackdaw still hadn’t revealed where they were venturing to. They needed him onside for that before they could cut him loose.

Jackdaw swept down to Amelia’s side, lips ghosting next to her ear; Sebastian’s grip on her waist tightened minutely. “Turn right at the fork in the path, just past the weeping willow up ahead. There will be a birdbath in the clearing. Whisper intra muros into its waters. That will open up the way.”

With a short, cursory bow, Jackdaw vanished into the mist.

The four of them trudged on, silence thick like the mud they stomped through. The trees thinned; the clearing became more apparent. Moonlight pooled like quicksilver in the marble plinth.

Amelia stepped forward, tucked whisps of hair back behind her ears and leant forward. “Intra muros.”

The surface of the water rippled as her breath washed over it, light flaring so bright it forced the quartet to shield their eyes and squint. A circle sank into a sandstone boulder opposite them, swirls of orbs guiding her forward to the opening of a cave.

But before she could even move towards the opening, the sharp crack of twigs and metallic thunk of armour echoed through the air.

Figures burst from the tree line – goblins, armoured and snarling, coupled with poachers in billowing robes and hooked masks. Wands and blades glinted sinisterly. A promise and a threat all in one.

“Stay behind me!” Silas shoved the two teens behind him, arms out as if he was their knight in shining armour and acted as their shield. Aesop Sharp was already moving towards them, his limp forgotten as he geared up for the heat of battle, wand slicing through the air in precise arcs. A Shield Charm snapped over them, absorbing the volley of spells that had been sent their way.

“Go!” Aesop roared, deflecting a diffindo into a tree. The branch cleaved in two and dropped on some goblins with enough force to daze them. “We’ll hold them off and join you later.”

Sebastian pierced his father with his dark gaze, worry and determination hidden in the depths of his irises. Silas met his son’s stare, and his voice came rough but steady.

“Go, son. We’ve come this far; let’s not it have been in vain. Protect her. Protect yourself. Protect each other. That’s all that matters.”

The words hit Sebastian harder than any hex or curse ever could. He grasped blindly for Amelia’s hand and tugged at her impatiently as he darted and zig-zagged his way through the clearing, ducking, weaving and body rolling the pair of them to avoid spells and arrows that had been flung their way. He held her tight, and with one last, helpless look at his dad and his probation officer fighting in their defence, Sebastian plunged both of their bodies into the light.

Chapter Text

A cyclone of light swirled around Sebastian and Amelia as they flailed through the portal. Wind whooshed past their ears, whipping their hair into their eyes. The lights flickered and faded as the world they tumbled into came into view.

Sebastian slammed into the ground, spine groaning under the weight of him. He had barely managed to sit up straight when Amelia was flushed out of the portal and thrown onto him with so much force she pushed him back to the ground. She lay on him, eyes tracing his face to register if he was hurt from her using him as a human pillow. He grimaced, ever so slightly, as her knee dug into a rather sensitive part of his anatomy, and he rolled her off him, subtly groaning from the pain as he adjusted himself. There went his dreams of ever having children.

“Are you alright, Mia?” he asked, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to her so he could pull her upright. Amelia nodded, taking his hand and gingerly testing out her range of motion. The fall made her muscles twinge from the shock of it, a few mottled bruises blooming on her skin, but she had no injury so heinous that it would stop her from recovering her prize from Jackdaw’s body.

Amelia brushed the dust and rubble off her skirt, blinking against the light of the cave. Around them stretched a landscape that was a stark contrast to the one they had just left. The air was stale, decrepit in her mouth. Cracked stone shimmered faintly, as if heat was rising from it even though it was cool to the touch. The sand was soft and shifted beneath her feet. A slow trickle of water dripped down onto her head where she was standing and she looked up; thousands of stalactites hung from the ceiling, finger like projections pointing her the way she needed to go. The horizon bent, distorted by the haze of heat, curling upwards in a way that made her stomach twist.

Sebastian pivoted beside her, eyes as wide as saucers, as he took the place in. His jaw was set, muscles taut, face frozen between awestruck and wary. There was something about the place that was serene and eerie at the same time and it set his teeth on edge.

“Where are we?” she asked. Her voice was small, but it rumbled through the stillness like a freight train rattling across the railroads.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Not anywhere I’ve ever been or read about,” he muttered, reaching inside his pocket for the wand Aesop had slipped him earlier in the evening. The edict his father had thrown at him raced through his mind.

Protect her. Protect yourself. Protect each other.

“Wand out and at the ready, Mia. This place is dangerous.”

Amelia’s lips tightened into a thin line. Every adventure – and she was starting to use that term loosely – with Sebastian resulted in peril and imminent death, and she was starting to tire of it. All she wanted was one week of normalcy – talk of exams, stupid crushes, costuming for the Graduation Ball that was several months away.

Not this.

“So what else is new?”

Sebastian shot her a look – half-amused, half-exasperated – because she could still make light of a situation that could crush them both. He grasped her hand in his, fingers squeezing her so tight his fingernails went white. Amelia squeezed back, swallowing her doubts and reservations. If Sebastian was with her, she knew that he wouldn’t deliberately put her in harm’s way.

A grinding roar split through the cavern. Amelia and Sebastian’s head craned upwards. The interface of the portal dwindled away as sandstone enveloped the entrance, effectively blocking them in. Dust settled on their shoulders. The only way to go back was to go forward. It was like the Scriptorium all over again, except this time, Ominis wasn’t there to help. Sebastian paled as he remembered the night and he hoped to whatever deity was out there that he wouldn’t have to subject Amelia to the heinous spells that he had used on her in the past.

“Come on, the less time we spend here, the happier I’ll be,” Sebastian muttered, gently tugging Amelia behind him as he led them deeper into the cave system.

Coppery piss and decimated muscle lay splattered on the Forbidden Forest’s floor. Silas Sallow wiped the bead of perspiration that rolled down his temple, the sharpness of the salt from his sweat melting onto his tongue. The gash on his cheek still wept blood and friction burns scorched his weenus from the numerous times he had rolled or skidded on the ground to avoid attacks that rained down on them. The man patted the pockets of his robe for the vial of Wiggenweld he usually carried with him. Silas winced; Emerys would have his guts for garters knowing that he had rushed off into battle without taking any safety precautions. He imagined that his verbal tongue lashing would be lessened once she realised he had followed their wayward son into the Forbidden Forest, and had engaged in battle to keep Sebastian safe instead.

Aesop Sharp grimaced as he cursed, lowering himself onto the jagged edge of a rock, grasping at the knee that had seized up. The joint had swollen to two times its normal size and had locked into place; the exertion of the fight had taken its toll. His hair had fallen loose from the pomade he had brushed through his locks in the morning.

The army of goblins that had attacked them lay, still and unmoving, on the ground, their glassy eyes staring into a future they would never see. The Dark Witches and Wizards that hadn’t Apparated out when the duo had started to gain the upper hand lay on the ground, moaning and groaning as their injuries pained them. Aesop had magically shackled their wrists and ankles together and cast an Anti-Apparition Charm around the clearing while they waited for Aurors to come and escort them for processing; it was imperative that he stayed with them until back-up arrived.

A screeching noise that sounded like train wheels scraping along a railway track pierced through the night. Silas and Aesop rotated their head towards it. The portal that Sebastian and Amelia had disappeared through ten minutes before swirled, shrinking before their eyes.

“No!” Silas growled, hobbling forward to follow the children before the portal sealed itself off completely. He threw himself into the blue orbs swirling against the rock, expecting the light to swallow him whole. Instead, the portal flung him back with so much velocity there was a Silas Sallow shaped imprint in the tree trunk his body landed in. Silas’ skin tingled as electricity surged through him, righteous indignation making him bristle as he was barred access from where his son was.

“It’s too late, Silas,” Aesop grumbled. “Sebastian and Amelia will have to go on without us. The portal has been activated once; it will need time to recharge before it opens up again.”

Silas’ bushy eyebrows furrowed together, eyes narrowed and jaw set tightly at Aesop’s words. He staggered to draw himself up to his full height – still head and shoulders shorter than Aesop – and breathed in deep and breathed out slowly to try and steady himself, despite his fists clenching by his side.

“I’m not leaving him here, Aesop! My son is in there – I will not go home without him! I promised Emerys I would bring him home.” His voice cracked, half-fury, half-despair, as the shimmering glow of the orbs dissolved into nothing. He lurched back towards the rocks, fists hammering on the sandstone, as if the intensity of his rage would crack the portal open and allow him passage.

Aesop limped after him, his leg dragging behind him like a dead weight and locking with every step he took. His voice was curt and cold, laced with precision and logic as he spoke. “You are thinking like a father, Silas, and letting your emotion cloud your judgement. Start thinking like the Ravenclaw you are. The portal is sealed; charging at it like a Hippogriff in a rut won’t change that indisputable fact.”

Silas turned, as sharp as a whip. His chest was heaving, spittle flying out of his mouth as he raged and rallied at Aesop. Aesop raised an eyebrow imperceptibly; after a quarter of a century in love with Emerys, Silas had finally adopted some of her characteristics as his own. When they were growing up, Emerys had always been the one who was quick to temper when she had to process information she didn’t like hearing, and Silas had always been the calm, measured, soothing balm to her rage. In her absence, it seemed that Silas was filling the void, and Aesop would have to placate the ire rising within the normally level-headed man in front of him.

“Are you seriously suggesting that we leave two teenagers here, on their own?! When Sebastian and Amelia are Merlin-knows-where, with God-knows-what waiting to gut or execute them?!”

“Precisely,” Aesop clipped, tongue clicking against his teeth. “We don’t know, which means we have to be smart about this. Expending energy in this venture is futile; we have to come up with another way to help them.” He gestured to one of the bound Ashwinders that lay immobile on the ground. “This was not an attack by chance; this was premeditated. Someone has been watching, someone has been waiting for Amelia Calloway to come along. They, perhaps, weren’t expecting an entire contingent to contend against – especially fighting against a seasoned Auror – but they were expecting her.”

Silas’ lips curled upwards as he gestured for Aesop to continue.

Aesop’s eyes narrowed. A crooked finger, encrusted in dirt, blood and grime, beckoned Silas closer to him. “The girl. Sweeting. What do you know of her?”

“Poppy?” Silas couldn’t quite hide the note of incredulity in his tone. His mind flashed back to the first time he had met the diminutive girl. It had been at the behest of Ethel Sweeting – Poppy’s grandmother – that Silas and Emerys had taken Anne and Sebastian to their place for a playdate with Poppy before the children started at Hogwarts. Ethel had hoped that meeting some of her classmates before they started school would help bring Poppy out of her shell, and while the kids were struggling to connect to each other, Ethel had asked Silas and Emerys to look out for the girl and make sure that she wasn’t bullied due to her shy nature and her misfortune of having outlaws and poachers for parents. From then on, Silas and Emerys encouraged Anne and Sebastian to include Poppy in their plans during school holidays.

“She claimed that she was tracking Ashwinders and Poachers, that it was a coincidence she was in the vicinity.”

Silas’ breath hitched. He’d always liked Poppy’s quiet loyalty – the quintessential trait of a Hufflepuff – but now he was questioning who she was actually loyal to. His protective instinct was at war with reason, and it showed in the way the muscles around his jaw pulsed and twitched.

“We can’t brute force our way into wherever Sebastian and Amelia have gone,” Aesop pressed, voice dropping an octave in concern. “But Sweeting might have seen – or heard – something that can tell us what our enemies are after. She’s our only lead in this.”

For a long time, Silas looked torn between slamming his fist against the stone and burying his head in his hands and collapsing from the strain of the evening. Finally, he rasped, “As much as I don’t want this to happen, but what if she’s lying?”

Aesop reached into one of the cavernous pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a small vial, filled with a colourless liquid. “Then we’ll know.”

The fight bled out of Silas’ shoulders. He gave Aesop a short, sharp nod, eyes boring holes into the other man, resolute but resigned. “Hogwarts. But Poppy Sweeting answers to us first.”

The sand shifted underneath their feet, the ambient temperature dropped, degree by degree, as Sebastian and Amelia trundled further into Jackdaw’s tomb. Amelia shivered, her lips tinted blue as her breath fogged up with every exhale that she made. Her torn and tattered uniform wasn’t doing much to keep her warm. Instinctively, Sebastian pulled off his robe and Slytherin V-neck jumper and handed it to her.

“Put it on, Mia. I’m not going to have you quake your way through this.”

There was something commanding and authoritative in Sebastian’s tone, and Amelia simply didn’t have it in her to argue and fret over his losing body heat so she could retain hers. She pulled the thick, woollen material over her head, breathing in deep and allowing Sebastian’s signature scent to wash over her. Star anise, smoked ceder wood, and a musky smell that was uniquely Sebastian enveloped her, and in an alien landscape, the familiarity was a small comfort to her.

Sebastian, meanwhile, had found a fork in the pathway and he darted up the left hand side. It was a dead end, but glints of gold glimmered and caught his eye. He knelt down and used his wand to uncover his prize.

“Seb?”

“Up here.”

Amelia followed the sound of his voice, footsteps racing towards him as she rolled up the sleeves of his robe so it fit her better. Sebastian was on his knees, hands frantically swiping away at the ground as he pocketed his find.

“Sebastian! You can’t rob this place! Put whatever you’re taking back!” Her tone was scandalised; she wasn’t even trying to hide her disapproval. Desecrating a grave was punishable by death in the Muggle world – Amelia had read enough newspapers to know that there was no honour amongst thieves – and having been to Azkaban, she didn’t want Sebastian subjected to a fate that was infinitely worse than death.

“It’s not like the dead will be using it,” Sebastian argued, jaw jutting out as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And it’s not really larceny; more like borrowing indefinitely.”

There was something in it, cool, bitter, twisted logic that made an unpalatable practice more palatable, and Amelia couldn’t deny that Sebastian made a point. She looked at the gold coins on the ground, eyes skimming over the rips and snags in her uniform, and realised that she could use the coin to purchase a new skirt, shirt and robe for herself.

Thou shalt not steal.

The peal roared through Amelia’s head and she rubbed at her knuckles unconsciously. When she resided at St. Calloway’s Orphanage, the Sisters would rap her sharply across her hands when her nemesis would falsely accuse her of taking more bread than was warranted. For repeated accusations and infractions, the Sisters would rap her backside instead and remove privileges from her. The fear of what the Sisters would do to her was ingrained in her psyche; as much as Sebastian made a logical point, she also knew that his moral compass didn’t point exactly north. It would get both of them in trouble one day; Amelia hoped that today was not that day.

She watched him count the Sickles and Galleons that he had commandeered before slipping the money into his pants pocket. Her eyes drilled holes into him, wondering what he was planning on doing with it. The unspoken question hung in the air, almost as damning as a condemnation.

“Put it back, Sebastian.” Her eyes were hardened and glacial, her lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. Arms crossed over her chest, fingers drumming a beat against her skin.

Sebastian stared back, just as impassive and unrelenting as she was. “No. It’s not for me, it’s for Annie and my parents. Every time St. Mungo’s think they’ve found a cure, Ma and Dad pour all their savings into it, only for it to be futile. We then go months skirting the line of poverty because their financial safety net is gone. Ma starves herself so Anne and I can eat while Dad runs himself to the point of exhaustion as he works day in, day out to continue to earn coin; Hogwarts just doesn’t pay enough now Ma’s not working. Why would I let them subject themselves to that when there’s money here, literally doing nothing? Not even earning interest at Gringotts.”

His jaw snapped shut as he thought of how his actions over the summer had also nearly cost his parents their sanity while they worked to save up money to try and bail him out while looking after his terminal sister. He could spend the rest of his life trying to pay back their sacrifice for him, and he’d still barely make a dent in the repayment.

Amelia wasn’t impressed, but he would weather her disapproval if it meant a better life for Anne and his parents.

Sebastian eased himself off the ground and furrowed his eyebrow at her minutely. Amelia rolled her eyes at him and sighed heavily, but allowed him to pull her along the pathway that delved further down into the cave. She acquiesced, but she wasn’t impressed; her disapproval radiated off her just as visibly as the steam rising off the stone walls.

“Left or right?” she murmured as they hit another fork in the road.

“Right,” he said, with more decisiveness than he felt. He flicked his wand and wordlessly cast revelio, just like he had seen his dad do earlier in the night. A shimmer of faded forest green twinkled in his eye, and with a glance at Amelia to see how she was faring, Sebastian nodded to confirm his thinking. Amelia chewed her lip, rubbed at weary eyes but nodded back. She grabbed the tails of Sebastian’s tie, and in a role-reversal, she pulled him gently down the path. Her fingers tingled, her bones were rheumatic as Ancient Magic pooled underneath her nails. She flexed, trying to ease the ache; Sebastian seemed to sense her discomfort and grasped her hand in his, massaging the skin against the joints in her hands, hoping that the heat from him would bleed into her and release some of the tension in her muscles.

Salt and sweet fragranced the air; Amelia sniffed, somehow appreciating the change in olfactory sensory stimulation. The heat haze dissipated, leaving a crystal clear vision ahead of her. The splutter of a waterfall echoed in the distance. Water rippled and lapped at the sandy banks in gentle waves. As eerie as the cave was, there was something hauntingly romantic about the setting. If it wasn’t for the fact that a man had died and they were in a catacomb, Amelia could imagine that Sebastian would have ignored curfew and found a way to have a midnight picnic with her here. Wild lavender, flowers that looked like orchids, sunflowers and dandelions grew in sprigs near the edge of the path, along with Knotweed Grass, FLuxweed Stems and Mallowsweet.

Sebastian watched as Amelia’s fingers caressed the velvet of the petals on the orchid, the tension in her body seeping away as she sniffed at the fragrance. Orchids were her favourite, she had told him over Christmas, since they were elegant and complex all at the same time, and even though she had never seen an orchid in real life, she had read enough about them to be transfixed by it. He had harassed Professor Garlick into trying to let him grow some in a spare potting table in Greenhouse Four, but he had not succeeded; the failure – especially since he was normally so adept at everything he tried – rankled.

His soft smile morphed into a cocky smirk as he watched Amelia harvest the Mallowsweet, Fluxweed Stems and Knotweed Grass. Hypocrite, he thought, but there was no malice behind it. After all, he was the one that had started this trend.

Amelia winced as she saw the expression on Sebastian’s face, her eyes hardening as she scowled at him and growled, “don’t start. This is very different to what you were doing.”

“Is it?” Sebastian challenged, raising one bushy eyebrow at her, amusement lilted in his tone. “Flowers are often left at a gravesite; aren’t you desecrating it just as much as I am?”

“These are wild flowers; it’s completely different! Besides, you were the one that taught me to harvest ingredients I’d need for Potions so I don’t have to spend money I don’t have on it.”

Their walk to Hogsmeade so Amelia could purchase her wand seemed so long ago. The memory of the way she twisted and vined to catch the Lacewing Flies in a jar and mesmerised Sebastian flitted between them; his smirk softened once more into his crooked, genuine smile. “Touche.”

Electric shocks jolted back through Amelia’s fingers, wisps of blue flaring out from her and she hissed. Her fingers flexed to try and relieve the sensation, but all it did was draw her to a gate, as if she was a magnet being attracted to something magnetic. A faint shimmer of cobalt snaked around her, vines snaking around her extremities as her fingers trailed the gate’s railing.

“Mia?” Sebastian held his breath; he had never seen her Ancient Magic consume her. She was ethereal, beautiful and powerful, almost wraith like, and it enthralled and frightened him all at the same time.

It was as if Amelia was caught up in her own world; she simply didn’t hear Sebastian calling out to her. Her eyes traced the intricate filigree pattern engraved on the gate. It was identical to the one she had seen on the armoire in her room at Fig’s townhouse, and she wondered how Jackdaw had made it past here if Ancient Magic was needed to unlock the barrier. The cobalt slipped away from her arms as she touched the gate, the cool metal rapidly heating under her touch. The metal turned molten, liquid the colour of rust pouring through her fingers, but it didn’t burn.

“Mia?”

Amelia swallowed, fished her wand out of her pocket and whispered, “lumos”. She peered ahead, wand aloft as she took tentative little steps forward. The shuffling behind her told her that wherever she was going, Sebastian was following her too.

The path came to an abrupt stop. Below them was a chasm, swallowed by darkness. Amelia leaned over the edge, wondering just how far down the fall would take her if she tumbled. Sebastian seemed to be following her train of thought; he reached into his pocket, cast a wistful eye over the Sickle he held in his hand, and flicked it over the edge. They waited, bated breath, for the telltale clink of the coin hitting the ground, but after a few moments, it was clear that they stood on the edge of a bottomless pit.

“Now what?” Amelia asked, hand running through her hair. Half of it had unravelled from the bun she had tied in the morning, the ribbon holding everything in place was limp and loose. Her fingers fussed at the knot in the ribbon to occupy herself as she tried to slow down her mind so she could think.

Sebastian’s eyes skittered over their surroundings. The quartz in the sandstone glittered menacingly, as if the cave was mocking them for the predicament they found themselves in. They couldn’t go back since the portal they had fallen through had sealed shut, but there seemed to be no way forward too. Just rock, sand and a metal emblem encased behind ice.

“What’s that?”

Amelia’s hands stilled as she focussed where Sebastian was pointing. She grinned; she had seen this before on her excursion with Fig. A flash of light jolted out of her wand, perfectly timed and cast so the ice shattered and the medallion glowed blue.

Stone trembled.

Air vibrated around them, making the hair on Sebastian’s arms stand up on end.

The ground shifted underneath their feet.

The world tilted on its axis.

A roar of invisible energy ripped through Amelia, strong enough to make her teeth rattle.

Before them, a bridge materialised. Thick slabs of rock fused together, suspended in midair as if they were being held by unseen hands. The structure shimmied, impossibly old and yet new underneath Amelia’s wand work.

She shuddered and sagged under the strain of it; Sebastian moved quickly to steady her, his arms looping around her.

“Mia, that was bloody brilliant!”

She swallowed as she clung to him, letting his excitement and energy reinvigorate her as he swept her up into his arms and carried them across the bridge. The sand creaked and crumbled beneath him; disintegrating behind him as he broke into a sprint to get them safely over to the other side.

Amelia lowered herself from Sebastian’s arms into the ground. She blinked up at him and he frowned at her.

“I’m fine, Seb,” she insisted. “Just needed a little recuperation time, that’s all.”

Sebastian harrumphed but didn’t press the point. The time for an I-told-you-so would come later when she inevitably overused her special brand of magic and collapsed from the strain of it.

They paused, ears pricking at an unsettling noise.

The scrape of spindles on stone.

Amelia gagged as a musty smell, so similar to the stench of the spider’s den in the Forbidden Forest, lingered in the air. She swallowed her revulsion and speared a look at her companion. Sebastian was just as green around the gills as she was, his eyes so wide open it was as if someone had propped matchsticks against them. Above them were bodies hanging, cocooned in silk.

Menacing clicks as arachnids squeezed themselves out from the crevices in the rock.

“That’s not good.”

It was the understatement of the century.

Amelia grimaced. “I hate spiders.”

“Not the most attractive of insects, I’ll give you that.”

“Spiders aren’t insects, Seb.”

Sebastian rounded on her, stare deadpan. “Really?! We might be about to die a horrible death and you pick now to argue the semantics of the English language?!”

There was a beat of silence. Sebastian stepped, his back pressing into Amelia’s front as he attempted to shield her from all the insects that were surrounding them, fangs dripping venom and pincers clicking.

“Offence or defence, Seb?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched at her words and he snorted at the familiar interplay that was tradition between them. “You have to ask?”

Amelia’s lips twitched too, and with a flick of her wand and a muttered, “confringo”, their skirmish against the spiders commenced.

Chapter Text

The stench of ammonia, Wiggenweld and Pepper-up Potion wafted through the ward of the Hospital Wing. The room was hushed, but the silence was oppressive, pressing heavily on Poppy Sweeting like a stone weighing on her heart. She tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled at a loose thread on the blanket Nurse Blainey had wrapped her up in. She looked – and felt – small on the crisp, white sheets underneath her, with Silas Sallow and Aesop Sharp towering over her.

“You spend more time in the Forbidden Forest than any other student. More time than anyone with scruples,” Aesop muttered, a dark undercurrent evident in his voice. His eyes were dark, so dark it was hard to see where his pupils ended and his irises began. His muscles were taut, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he cast a suspicious eye over the girl in front of him. She seemed innocent, but Aesop’s years of experience working as an Auror had taught him that appearances were deceptive.

Poppy glared back, correctly interpreting the thinly veiled insinuation. “I am nothing like the monsters that spend their life in the Forbidden Forest. I don’t kill for sport! I don’t kill!”

“No, you don’t,” Aesop agreed, foot tapping against the floor impatiently. “But you hunt and you maim, just like they do.”

Poppy jutted her lip out mulishly and she bowed her head. Sharp’s mere presence was intimidating, and if it was just him, she would wither up and retreat into her shell, but Silas standing seemed to cut Sharp’s demeanour slightly.

“Poppy, can you understand why Professor Sharp and I are questioning you? You were caught out of bounds, and in the company of Dark Witches and Wizards.” Silas held up a hand to forestall any arguments from Poppy. “I’m not saying that you’re in cahoots with them, but I am thinking that you may have overheard information that may be pertinent to us at this current juncture.”

“Dark Wizards,” Poppy swallowed, her throat catching with every syllable she said. “More than usual. They were gathered around the lake. They were there, watching and waiting.”

“For what?!” Silas’ tone was sharp and brittle all at the same time.

“Unicorns, I thought.”

Aesop’s eyes narrowed at what he had deduced was a lie. Or a misdirect, at the very least. His fingers tapped against the metal railing of the hospital bed, a hollow, empty sound ringing around the Hospital Wing. “Curious, then, that not a single unicorn is missing their horn. Men do not linger in the mud for months to catch nothing. So… what were they truly after?”

Poppy’s mouth twisted, her face screwed up into something unreadable. Her head dipped until her chin was resting on her collarbone and strands of hair shielded her face from view, as if it could act as a blockade from Sharp’s scrutiny.

“Speak, girl, you must have heard something.”

Her head snapped up so fast Silas could have sworn he heard the tendons in her neck twang. She mumbled something under her breath, so quiet Silas had to strain his ears to catch it. The ruins and rocks near the water. Ranrok and Rookwood had demanded that their henchmen keep a close watch on it. Why, Poppy didn’t know; she never followed them to uncover that mystery. It wasn’t safe, and despite her Hufflepuff nature – or in spite of it - Poppy was surprisingly good at self-preservation.

“Wasn’t safe, or didn’t suit your purpose?” Sharp’s gaze was flinty, a mixture of shade and sorrow.

Poppy swallowed, her fingers picking away at the blanket just as frenetically as Sharp and Sallow were unravelling her story. Her silence was answer enough.

“Well, then, Miss. Sweeting, until you find the courage to reveal what you know, you’ll remain bound to the castle’s four walls. That means no trips to Hogsmeade and no late night excursions into the Forbidden Forest.” Sharp turned on his heel and swept away, his overcoat trailing behind him.

“But –” Poppy protested, only to fall silent at Silas’ glower.

“No, Miss. Sweeting. This is for your own safety. Until we can ascertain why there are so many rogues and knaves surrounding Hogwarts, we cannot allow you to abscond, especially since we now know you do this on a regular basis.”

The blanket trembled in Poppy’s fists, but she said nothing more.

Ichor snaked its way across the sandy banks of the cave system; Amelia had never realised spider blood was blue, unlike the rich red life force pumping through her veins. She exhaled heavily, skirting around the edge of the cave as a Venomous Matriarch reared up over her.

But Amelia had made a tactical error.

She managed to work her way into a crevice of the cave where the rock pressed against her from all sides, and her fingers ached from the strain of casting spell after spell. Perhaps Sebastian was right; she needed a wand grip to prevent fatigue. Her wand slipped from her lax fingers and rolled across the ground, away from her.
Venom splashed down from the spider’s fangs onto the ground in front of Amelia. The ground sizzled, bubbles dissolving the sand into a small, bottomless hole. Amelia winced, her hands instinctively going to cover her face and she emitted a little squeak of terror.

Hated wasn’t the right word to describe her distaste for the arachnids. She loathed them, despised them, abhorred them, and this experience wasn’t changing her opinion.

Sebastian’s head snapped towards the high pitched noise, his heart leaping into his mouth as he took in the scene playing out in front of him. It was just like the night of The Siege of Feldcroft; his mother lying on the ground, a spider’s fang protruding from her back like a dagger as she writhed around on the floor, the acrid poison burning through her skin, his father kneeling by her side, oblivious to all the danger around him because his wife was in agony and all he could do was stroke her hair and whisper useless platitudes to comfort her. St. Mungo’s had treated his mother with various antivenoms – none of which seemed to work – before the Healers conceded that Emerys’ body would just have to process the toxins at its own rate. Emerys had been bedridden for two weeks after the attack, Anne was in hospital after being cursed, and Silas and Sebastian ran themselves ragged trying to look after both of them.

No, he thought fiercely, grinding his jaw. Not again. Not like this. Not to Mia.

He moved without thinking, his feet thundering on the floor as he barrelled his way to her. His shoulder caught hers, his hands pushed her down to the ground just as the spider lunged forward. The Matriarch’s fangs skewered through his forearm, venom fusing with muscle and sinew with a wet, crackling sound. Sebastian swore, loudly, at the immense pain radiating out from the puncture wound, but it still didn’t stop him from appraising Amelia, grinning inwardly as he realised he had managed to get to her just in time and she was unscathed.

“Seb!” Her voice ricocheted off the walls of the cave, raw and panicked, as she pulled her hands away from her face to see her paramour grasping at his hand, blood staining his once-white shirt crimson. Her fingers thrummed, power surging through her. She pointed at the Matriarch and channelled the rage and fear coursing through her into the eight legged creature that was advancing on Sebastian.

A flash of light, a snap of thunder, and the menacing monster exploded, blue goo and bone splattering against the cave.

“Sebastian! You’re hurt!”

Sebastian merely rolled his eyes in a sarcastic manner. As if he didn’t know; he could feel the poison spread through him with every move he made. If it was anything like the injury his mother had sustained, he knew that Wiggenweld would have no effect in speeding up his recovery. He gripped Amelia’s wrist with his uninjured hand. “Run, Mia, we have to move now!”

The cave twisted like a labyrinth maze, the sand like cement underneath their feet, the rock slick with condensation and spider silk. Sebastian’s pulse thudded harder than their feet against the floor, the bite searing underneath his skin. The flesh near the puncture wound was already swollen, red and angry. He could feel the poison inch its way towards his heart; if that happened, he was a goner.

Amelia wound her arm around his waist, steadying him as she huffed her way into another clearing. The sand gave way to a pebbled shoreline. A lake, filled with crystal clear water, glittered enticingly under the light of Amelia and Sebastian’s wand. Runes shimmered across the surface. She moved closer to examine them, blue eyes narrowed as she tugged Sebastian along behind her. He squinted, vision blurred, as he tried to decipher the swirls in the water. They looked like simple Runes, symbols that his dad had taught him to decipher and deconstruct in his elective of Ancient Runes. Amelia peered up at him, concerned, and he shook his head.

“Forgot my glasses,” he muttered. “It’s not the poison affecting my eyesight. At least, not yet anyway. It will if I don’t deal with it swiftly.” His fingers reached out to trace the patterns he saw against the wall and as he mentally translated the code, he smiled ever so slightly.

“What does it say?”

Sebastian didn’t answer; instead he tugged at the knot on his tie and began to peel the shirt he was wearing off his torso. Amelia flushed and let out a scandalised squeak at the sight of Sebastian shirtless in front of her. As much as she knew she shouldn’t be peering at him, she couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. Freckles dotted his shoulders and arms like constellations, the body hair that coated his forearms thinned as her eyes trailed up towards his shoulders and chest. He wasn’t overly muscled, but she could definitely see the beginnings of an athletic figure showing. The puncture wound on his arm had progressed from being red and puffy to looking necrotic, black and decayed. The poison sprouted up his arm underneath his skin, dark bands running up and coiling around his bicep. He flinched when he saw it and hurriedly started working on undoing the fastenings of his belt buckle.

“Sebastian! What on earth are you doing?! I’m still here!” she cried, her flush becoming more pronounced at his uncivilised actions. She tried to offer him what little privacy she could by averting her eyes and staring at the ceiling as she wondered why he was so comfortable with his state of undress around her.

“The Runes claimed that the water has been imbibed with a healing charm.” He glanced down at his arm and imagined it shrivelled up and ruined. Not something he wanted to happen; if he was permanently disabled, his days of being a Beater in Quidditch would be over, as would his long-term goal of enrolling in the Auror Academy after he graduated Hogwarts. “It may be true, it may not be, but I’ll take the gamble.”

Dressed in his underwear to ease Amelia’s discomfort - he had no qualms about being almost naked in front of her; years of being on the Quidditch team and dressing and undressing in close quarters with his teammates had desensitised him to any embarrassment around his body– he waded into the water, once more thinking about Amelia and her comfort by seeking refuge behind a protruding rock.

The instant his bitten arm submerged into the water, the lake ignited with a soft, silver glow. Threads of magic unwound itself from the water, folding and weaving over each other to wrap the wound in a lattice. Sebastian groaned as the burning and stinging ebbed to a dull ache, the black veins receding down from his neck like ink being drawn into a quill.

“The magic… it’s pulling the venom out,” Sebastian explained with a grunt when Amelia asked him what was happening. “Might take a while though; the venom’s putting up a fight.” He hissed once more at the vicious tug in his body and swore again at the pain.

Amelia winced in sympathy, wishing she could take his pain away from him, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t keen on stripping down to enter the water with him – it would bring her already questionable reputation into disrepute if word got out that Sebastian and her were engaging in such behaviour, and she also couldn’t swim – but she had to find a way to distract him.

Jackdaw and Sebastian’s brief interlude earlier in the night was playing on her mind. The spectre seemed to have touched on a nerve when had called Sebastian a ‘Pureblood.’ Amelia didn’t know why that was so insulting, and Sebastian had promised to explain it to her at a more opportune moment.

She figured that there was no time like the present, and she stepped closer to the waterline, kneeling on the damp pebbles, wand aloft so the light was haloing around her face. Her voice was soft as she broke the silence between them.

“Seb? What’s a Pureblood? And a Half-blood?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, and it wasn’t just from the sensation of the toxins being extracted from his body. “It’s nonsense some Wizards use to rank each other, create an arbitrary hierarchy to determine one’s worth. Pureblood means every ancestor was Magical. Half-blood means there’s some Muggle in the family tree. It’s supposed to be about so-called purity, but it’s not. It’s prejudice wrapped up in a misplaced sense of pride.”

A heavy sigh reverberated around the cavern. Water rippled out towards Amelia; she imagined Sebastian had moved or shifted to disrupt the calm.

“Look at Ominis’ family; the Gaunts are proud of their Pureblood status, but it doesn’t guarantee anything. Ominis is blind, his brother isn’t quite right in the head and his sister is a little slow. His parents have their own myriad of problems too, because they’re cousins. Bloodline politics are for people who have nothing else going on in their life so it’s the only thing they can boast about.”

Amelia hummed quietly, lost in thought. “You said you’re a Half-blood.”

“Ma’s the first witch in her side of the family. Everyone else – my grandparents, my cousins, my aunts and uncles – is non-magical, which isn’t as bad as it seems. Makes you not take magic for granted, makes you realise just how innovative Muggles can be when they need to be.”

Amelia chewed on her lip, digesting his words. Sebastian’s outlook on the world was surprisingly liberal; even though he had told her that the Wizarding World prided themselves on being less stuffy and uptight compared to their non-magical counterparts, she had come to realise there was an unspoken code of morality and idealism which the Magical Community abided by. Sebastian’s ideals seemed far too loose and progressive, even by those standards, and yet it was refreshing for Amelia to hear. It answered so many questions she had about him, questions that she had pondered ever since they met but had never plucked up the courage to ask.

“If I had children, and you had children, hypothetically, of course, would they be Half-bloods too?” she began, hesitating after each word. Amelia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, her skin glowing as bright as a lighthouse guiding a ship into port at her words. She enjoyed his company, revelled in the way her feel seen and wanted, but asking such a monumental question felt like she was toeing the line of some unspoken boundary between them.

Brown eyes appeared from the top of the rocky outcrop, dark, protective and unwavering. Even though Amelia couldn’t see it, a shadow of a smile played around his lips as he deliberately misinterpreted the phrasing of her question. She was viewing parenthood as independent entities of each other, while he knew that she was the only woman he’d ever consider fathering children with. “Magical or not, I would love the children more than they’ll ever know, because they’d be ours. That’s all that matters to me.”

The butterflies in Amelia’s stomach fluttered at his words and her heart felt warm and glowed at his earnest and almost reverent statement. The certainty and conviction lacing his tone made her hypothetical question seem inevitable. In the past, the thought of being trapped into motherhood by a man that she barely knew terrified her, but parenthood with Sebastian by her side was far more appealing and charmingly domestic. She tampered down on her unladylike thoughts – parenthood was only supposed to be shared between a betrothed man and his intended – and she pretended to read the Runes she didn’t understand while the lake hummed to distract herself from the thought of Sebastian as the father of her future children.

The last of the black veins receded, snakes being drawn out of the wound and evaporating as soon as it made contact with the healing charm in the water. Sebastian flexed his fingers and curled his arm as he waded his way ashore. Gentle waves of water licked the hem of Amelia’s dress as she sat on the pebbles; the cold startled her and her eyes flicked upwards.

Rivulets of water tracked down Sebastian’s torso, the sheen of the water on his body made his olive skin and golden undertones seem even more vibrant than usual.
Amelia’s gaze lingered a fraction of a second too long as she bit her lip uncertainly.

Sebastian smirked, cocky, as he casually leant against the rock he had been hiding behind. “Do you like what you see, sweetheart?”

The honest answer was yes, but Amelia would have preferred to expire on the spot than reveal just how deep her physical attraction to him ran. She breathed in deep, counted to ten and breathed out slowly to buy herself some time to formulate her response, her forehead coming to rest against his.

“You’re an idiot.”

The smirk on Sebastian’s face deepened as he reached for his wand to siphon off excess water on him. “I’m your idiot.”

“Just get dressed. Jackdaw’s body isn’t going to find itself.”

Sebastian’s breath fogged up in front of him as Amelia led the way through the underground tunnels. Her digits were like icicles encircling his wrist and he shivered as the cold settled into the fabric of his being. Amelia wasn’t faring any better; even though she was draped in Sebastian’s thick, Slytherin robe, it wasn’t enough to stop the chatter of her teeth as she shuddered involuntarily.

Sebastian had raided many hidden treasure troves dotted along their way, pocketing the Sickles and Galleons he had unearthed but ignoring the bottles of Wiggenweld Potion he found. Amelia scowled at him, both at his grave robbing tendencies and him not stocking up on the healing potion they would most likely need as they pursued Jackdaw’s body and she subtly pocketed the vials Sebastian was leaving on the ground. Sebastian growled back at her moral fortitude; pragmatism at being in a position to help his family overruling any desire to conform to societal mores and expectations.

Amelia’s anger and dismay at his questionable actions had to subside when they came across a floating podium. Sebastian had leapt onto the platform, wobbling as it shook underneath his weight, before holding out his arms and steadying her as she jumped down to where he was. Amelia had gestured at some brass staples on the wall, and Sebastian had noted that the staples were angled in such a way that they had to use them to travel over the dense fog that lingered on the cave floor. Together, they managed to accio their way from one end of the cave to the other.

“Mia, are you alright?” he asked as the hem of the robe Amelia caught underneath her boots and ripped, causing her to lose her balance. She clenched her fists as she tried to regain her balance and nodded.

“Just tired. It’s been a long night.”

Sebastian couldn’t disagree. The sooner they found what Mia was looking for, and the sooner he could escort her back to Hogwarts, the less stressed and happier he would be. He empathised with his father, finally understanding how trying to reign in his mother when they were courting was like trying to rope the wind.

The sound of footsteps stilled as Amelia came to a sudden stop. Sebastian hovered behind her, peering over her shoulder. The cavern had given way to an ornate hallway. Ice-blue sheaths lined the walls and floors, and filigree patterns were engraved in the walls, painted in gold. Even though the room they were in was decorated in a lavish fashion, the atmosphere was still as cold and unwelcoming as the spider-infested cave.

A decapitated body that had withered away to bone and dust lay before them. The clothes swam on the skeleton, parchment that had yellowed with age peeking out from the shirt pocket.

“It’s Jackdaw,” Sebastian confirmed as Amelia reached down to extract their prize. He halted her before she removed the pages, his eyes trained on stone and metal effigies along the side of the room. There was no doubt in his mind that touching the pages would animate the statues to life. He drew his wand out, moved in front of Amelia and adopted the Teapot Pose, face set in grim determination.

Amelia frowned at his sudden change in posture, sagging as she saw what he saw. Her eyes dulled, resigned to the fact that nothing in her life could ever be simple and bit back the frustrated growl that threatened to escape from her lips.

“Offence or defence, Seb?”

“You have to ask?”

The statues groaned into life, the sound of rusted iron squeaking into gear echoing menacingly around the hall. A flash of red shot out from Amelia’s wand as Sebastian threw up a Shield Charm around them. Air rushed across Amelia’s face and she spun on the spot, ducking as a sword swung wildly towards her neck.

Now she understood how Jackdaw had lost his head.

He had been so focussed on battling the two sentries in front of him, he had completely missed the attacker that had prowled silently behind him.

“Mia!” Sebastian yelled, arms moving with deliberate arcs through the air, casting confringo, incendio and arresto momentum in rapid succession. “Mia, you need to use it! I know you’re exhausted – I am too – but you need to unleash your power! It’s the quickest way to end this!”

Burnt ash and gunpowder cloyed the air. Metal tingled on the tip of Amelia’s tongue; so intent in battle she was, she had bit clean through her lip. Something smashed against her cheek with so much force that she thought her teeth had loosened from their gums. Her fingers throbbed with pain and power, but she was still unsure of how to release the build-up of magic within her; every use of it so far had been emotive rather than practiced.

“Mia, you can do this! Just focus! It’s like casting any other spell!”

Sebastian’s unwavering faith in her was flattering but misplaced; Amelia wished she had just a smidge of the confidence Sebastian had in her own abilities. Amelia was acutely aware that she was a novice when it cam to wielding magic, let alone the magic she had come to think of as a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, because she had saved herself, Sebastian and Poppy from imminent death with it, but a curse because it physically and emotionally wrecked her every time she did.

The crash of metal colliding with bone refocused Amelia; one of the sentries loomed over Sebastian, axe arcing downwards, catching his trapezius. Crimson blossomed out and Sebastian let out a pained cry, grasping at his injury. His vision blurred, dots dancing in his eyes as his knees gave way underneath him.

“Mia, now!”

Amelia opened up her palm, ethereal blue wisps coating her hands and she raised it against the monument bearing down on Sebastian. Snaps of thunder rumbled through the hall as the statues shrunk and shattered. Pebbles rolled around like marbles, scattering to the far-flung corners of the room. Amelia crashed to the floor beside Sebastian, gasping and grimacing as the skin scraped from her knees and she fished around in the pockets of the robe she was wearing for some of the Wiggenweld vials she had collected.

Despite the fact that blood was saturating his shirt, his skin was rapidly losing its colour, Sebastian screwed up his face so tight his freckles merged together when Amelia thrust a vial into his hand. He opened his mouth to refuse – the potions had been gathering dust for an eon, and he knew that potions tended to lose potency and degrade into poison over time – but at Amelia’s steely, unamused glare, he reconsidered.

He was definitely going to die by blood loss, or potentially die by poisoning.

Potential death seemed like the better option of the two, so Sebastian popped the cork and downed the contents of the vial in two swallows. He suppressed a groan as he felt muscle, sinew and skin stitch itself together, the liquid scorching his oesophagus as it passed through him. It definitely wasn’t as effective as a freshly brewed potion, but it was enough to do the job.

“Mia?” Sebastian’s fingers found her cheek, swiping away the sweat, grime and dust that coated her, frowning as he saw the swelling and the bruising on her face. “You should have had the Wiggenweld; you’re hurt!”

Amelia huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes, stretching as she rose to her feet. Trust Sebastian to downplay his own, more severe, injury because of a tiny contusion on her cheek. She held out her hand to pull Sebastian upright and hug him tight. She had nearly gotten him killed; the weight of that settled deep within her chest and she needed to reassure herself that Sebastian was still alive, his heart was still beating steadily.

Hand in hand, the pair walked slowly into the hall. Atoms had fused together and materialised into an archway with the same filigree pattern that lined the walls. Sebastian raised bushy eyebrows at Amelia, squeezing her hand lightly; Amelia nodded and led him through the archway. Seismic shocks shifted the ground underneath them, the solid floor liquifying into pools of liquid that burned hot and cold at the same time. The water level rose, soaking through their boots and socks.

“I can’t swim!” Amelia panicked, her breath hitching as the water rose quickly and steadily from her ankles. Sebastian stared at her, surprise and incredulousness mingled with shock; having spent summers on the Feldcroft coast with his grandfather, swimming was as natural as breathing to him. She stared back, deadpan. She grew up in the drabbest, dullest, poorest part of London. The Sisters never had coin to spare to spend on something as frivolous as swimming, and no-one in their right mind would voluntarily take a dip in the polluted River Thames.

But she need not have worried; as the water rose, an air bubble surrounded her, a blue shimmer reflecting off the water. She tugged Sebastian closer to her, his arms encircling her as the bubble rolled down through the water. He raked his hands through his curls, his heart beating erratically as he waited for whatever came next. Amelia’s blue eyes darkened as she took her companion’s body language in; tense, poised, a viper waiting to strike, and her stomach twisted. If Sebastian was anxious, she was too.

The bubble popped and Sebastian flailed past her, cartwheeling through the air until he collided with the ground severely. Amelia fared no better; she collapsed onto him with so much force she pummelled the air out of his lungs. He squeaked as her hip bones dug into his manhood, eyes bulging out of their sockets, wheezing as he tried to gulp air into him.

“Forget those children I mentioned earlier; I think the Sallow family name stops with me.”

Amelia glanced down, her face glowing with embarrassment as she realised how close and improper their position was. She hurriedly moved herself off him, fussing with her hair and robes to distract herself from the fact that she had been lying on top of him as though he was a mattress just mere moments ago.

“What is this place? We must be miles underground.”

Sebastian’s lumos stretched outwards and glittered with constellations on the marble swirls of the wall. Each star pulsed as if it could feel the tension in the air. Columns spiralled out of the ground like petrified whirlpools. At the centre was an obscured orb, fog curling around in concentric circles underneath the thickened glass. Four empty portrait frames loomed over them. Even though they were empty, their presence demanded attention, and Amelia’s blood hummed in her ears as she looked at them.

She couldn’t help it, she was drawn to the wooden frame. As she stepped across the glass, ripples of water radiated out from her footfalls. Her fingers traced the mitre joint of the frame, sparks flying from her fingernails. The canvas flamed into life, with a wizened, elderly man stepping into frame.

“I’ve been waiting for you to find our Map Chamber.” He glanced over her shoulder, his mouth falling open. “Ah… I did not foresee this.”

Amelia’s eyebrows furrowed; the man in the portrait seemed familiar. The stature, the long beard, the almost sanctimonious, mocking yet amused tone in his voice caused her brain to grind into action.

“You’re the man from the Pensieve. Professor Rackham. The one who stopped the drought in the memory I saw.”

“Yes. I’m surprised to see someone so young in front of me, though. And having found your Tether too.”

Amelia’s gaze danced between Rackham and Sebastian. Sebastian squared his shoulders and stepped forward, bristling with an emotion Amelia couldn’t quite name.

“What does that mean? Am I the Tether?”

Rackham’s gaze pierced through Sebastian, as if he was seeing the brunet in his entity and looking through him as though the boy was made of glass. “That’s not for me to say, yet. You will discover what that means in due course.” His head swivelled back to Amelia. “Now, a map found in a certain book would have led you here. Place the book on the pedestal and we shall begin.”

“She doesn’t have the book, and we most certainly aren’t going to do that until we know what will happen.” Sebastian’s growl echoed assertively through the hall. Rackham pursed his lips and glowered at the impudence the teen boy was showing. Never before had he dealt with such insolence from someone so young and so common when it came to their magical abilities. The girl was the one he had Seen in his visions as a Seer, the girl was the one he could mould and shape to his will.
The safety and security of the Wizarding World hinged on the girl and her competencies; the boy, in all relative terms, was expendable.

“Well, then, I’m afraid we can’t continue until the book has been returned to its rightful location.” With a swish of his robes, Rackham glided out of the frame. Amelia groaned theatrically, her body sagging in disappointment. She sighed and shook her head.

“Well, that was a waste of time.” Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest, glare so heavy and pronounced frown lines had permanently etched themselves across his forehead.

“Perhaps not.” Amelia pointed to an inconspicuous set of doors, and grabbing Sebastian by the end of his tie, she led them both out of the Map Chamber.

Chapter Text

The scent of parchment, boiled herbs and parental worry clung to Silas Sallow’s robes as Aesop Sharp pushed the doors to the Hospital Wing open and stood vigil over Poppy Sweeting. She lay where they left her, eyes closed, but both men knew she wasn’t asleep. Her long fingers twitched at the blanket like a bird testing the air.

Silas stood by the window ledge with a frown that was deep enough to chisel stone. His jaw worked as if he was chewing on his tongue, ruminating over what scant information Poppy had divulged.

“Still nothing. She was closed-lipped until she decided to feign sleep.”

“Either she truly doesn’t know more than she’s said or she’s very good at hiding and dealing in deceit.” Aesop’s fingers closed around the tightly sealed bottle of Veritaserum that he kept in his pocket at all times. Words his probationer had said flitted through his mind; as much of a moral quandary it represented, he could take a leaf out of Sebastian’s book and dose Poppy with the truth telling serum as a means of extracting information out of her. Nothing she said would be admissible to the Wizengamot, but that was the least of their worries; Rookwood and Ranrok posed a more immediate threat.

Silas folded his arms tight across his chest. “She’s a child, Aesop. Frightened and cornered. You’d retreat and hide too if two grown men loomed over you and kept you in the dark.”

Aesop’s eyes were flinty and hardened as he appraised Silas slowly. The years had not been kind to either of them, age and stress and worry making both of them seem more rough and rugged, eyes tired and weary as if they had seen too much before their time. The more Aesop thought about it, the more he realised that Silas had only aged since the start of the calendar year; Eleazar’s confession of Sebastian being Amelia’s Tether had affected him more than the Auror had realised.

“You’re thinking like a father, Silas, and that will your greatest armour and your greatest weakness. You will continue to miss wood for trees,” Aesop murmured, groaning in relief as he settled into a chair beside the Hufflepuff. He extended his knee, elevating it on the bedside table and casting a heating charm over the joint that had stiffened with the chill of the room. “Children don’t wander through the Forbidden Forest at midnight unless they believe the risk is worth it. And she believed in the risk enough to potentially keep up the farce with us.”

Silas exhaled noisily through his nose, glancing out of the window that overlooked the portcullis of the castle. He wanted to defend Poppy, the memory of the shy, reserved girl seared behind his eyelids, but Sebastian and Amelia still hadn’t emerged from the Forest and entered the safety of the castle. Each minute that passed underscored the peril Sebastian was in and each moment without knowing where Sebastian was increased the fear that he had lost his son forever. Poppy’s chewed words during Sharp’s interrogation, chin to chest, gnawed away at him like a doxy chewing on wood.

“Do you think she’s in league with them?” Silas asked finally, tearing his eyes away from the window so he could assess Aesop’s response.

Aesop paused. A measured break as he stilled his turbulent thoughts. “I think she’s standing too close to an inferno she doesn’t truly understand. If we don’t find all those Dark Wizards that were tasked with surveilling the lake and the cave, we may all burn for it.”

Poppy shifted under the covers, a soft rustle and a snore that pulled both men’s attention back onto her. Her eyelashes fluttered open, dark brown eyes staring into the abyss, seeing but unseeing, before sliding closed again. Silas still wasn’t sure if she was feigning sleep or lost in dreams, but either way, Aesop’s pronouncement pressed heavier than the silence of the night.

“I don’t believe it! We’re back at Hogwarts!”

Amelia pushed the iron-wrought gates open, heaving a sigh of relief as she stepped back onto familiar ground. Sconces lined the wall, bathing the storage cellar in a warm, amber glow. Sebastian followed, unusually subdued and silent. Amelia furrowed her thin eyebrows at Sebastian, wondering what had triggered the change in his demeanour.

“Seb? Are you alright?” She fussed at his collar, trying to sneak a peek at the badly healed welt on his shoulder. Sebastian shifted, pulling just out of her reach as he fixed his collar and tie. Amelia was already privy to the scar on his neck and the carvings he had scratched into his right forearm while he was awaiting his trial the previous summer; he didn’t want her to see the disfiguring, raised, angry weal and blame herself for choices he had made to keep her alive. Sebastian threaded his fingers through hers, his thumb lightly caressing the ridges of her knuckles to distract her as he led her up to the Hospital Wing.

“Sebastian?”

“Just thinking about what the portrait said.” Sebastian seemed tense, shoulders so hunched they touched his ear lobes. His eyes were dark and stormy, as if his thoughts were turbulent and tumultuous. The sanctimonious, ominous tone when Professor Rackham had called him a ‘tether’ and then refused to elaborate on it grated on Sebastian’s nerves. He scoured his memory, but he could not recall reading anything about magical connections between two individual entities, and that irked him. It was disconcerting for him to be ignorant on any topic that tickled his fancy, and since meeting Amelia and bearing witness to her gift, Ancient Magic most certainly piqued his interest, and not just because it may have been a cure for Annie.

Amelia hummed, non-committal, but didn’t argue the point. There was more on his mind – he always went quiet when his thoughts rattled through his brain like a freight train – but she also knew that the more she tried to wheedle information out of him, the tighter he would purse his lips and remain an enigma.

The doors to the Hospital Wing squeaked on its hinges as Sebastian opened it slowly. The gas lamps flickered at the movement, drawing their attention to the diminutive figure lying on the bed. From the window, Aesop Sharp and Silas Sallow turned to face the intrusion.

“Poppy!” Amelia breathed out, pushing past Sebastian so she could check on the girl. She sat on the foot of the bed, the mattress sagging underneath her weight. Poppy stirred at the movement, eyes cracking open into slits. “Poppy, are you alright?!”

Poppy blinked and nodded slowly, chewing on her lip so she didn’t say anything with Aesop Sharp and Silas Sallow present. The last time they had spoken had been acrimonious, and Poppy wasn’t in the right frame of mind to fight off unfounded accusations and insinuations.

“Miss. Calloway, restrain yourself,” Sharp’s voice sliced through the air, cool and abrasive. “Miss. Sweeting is currently under Auror interrogation; I urge you not to interact with her regarding matters of my investigation.”

If it had been anyone else in the bed, Amelia would have shied away from the confrontation, but knowing Poppy had been tortured, and still having adrenaline surging through her system after all she and Sebastian had endured in the cave, the girl rounded on the Auror, fire burning in her eyes.

“And what investigation is that?! The girl was forced to undergo the Torture Curse at the hands of people that should have known better! If Professor Fig and I hadn’t been there when we were…” she broke off, unable to continue.

Sharp said nothing, merely tilting his head as he appraised the girl in front of him. His eyes swivelled slowly between her and Silas. The other man was busy coddling his son, pulling Sebastian down onto a vacant bed, and using his hands to map out any new injuries his boy had sustained. Sebastian’s hair was coated in rubble and dust, the bloodstained shirt he wore was a clear indicator that the brunet had taken major hits in whatever fight he and Amelia had faced. Sebastian grimaced as Silas evanescoed his soiled shirt off him, traced the outline of the silver scar of the puncture wound from his spider bite, and pressed down on the bubbled and puckered skin near his shoulder.

“Ouch, Dad, that hurts!” Sebastian jerked himself away from Silas’ iron grip, hissing in pain.

There were a million questions burning on the tip of Silas’ tongue, but the most important thing he had to do was make sure his son really was as right as he could be. He called out for Noreen Blainey to come and assess Sebastian, wincing as the matron of the ward screwed up her face when she saw the injury Sebastian was sporting.

“No potion or charm can heal this, Silas.” Noreen rummaged around in the small trolley she kept stocked by each bed. “The only thing I can recommend is applying this ointment to lessen the scarring.”

Silas nodded, and in a strange show of tactility – when the children were younger, Emerys was always the one that tended to their ailments – he dabbed and massaged the calamine and lavender lotion into Sebastian’s shoulder. The scent was reminiscent of his wife, something that wasn’t missed by Sebastian. The boy looked pleadingly at him, soulful brown eyes boring holes into him.

“You know I can’t keep this from your mother, Sebastian. A man has no secrets from his wife, especially when his wife is as feisty and as fiery as your mother is.”

“A man shouldn’t have secrets from his wife,” Sebastian agreed. “But a son should be able to keep some indiscretions from his mother.”

Silas snorted laughter before he could stop himself, the first cheerful noise he had made all night. “And how has that stance worked out for you, son?”

Sebastian knew he had been rumbled and he simply rolled his eyes. His dad had a point; he had never been able to keep anything from his mother. She always found out, sooner or later; Sebastian just hoped that it would be later.

“What happened when you were with Amelia, son?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked between his father and his probation officer. He wondered how much he should reveal, whether they could help him, or whether he would have to unravel this mystery on his own, the same way he was relentlessly trying to decode the book he had recovered from Slytherin’s Scriptorium to see if there was a way to cure Annie.

Silas understood. Tonight was not the night for that inquisition, so he simply pressed his finger lightly against Sebastian’s nose, smiled as it crinkled, and tucked his son up under the blanket on the hospital bed.

“Love you too, Dad.”

“Stay here tonight, Seb. Get some sleep – Nurse Blainey can give you a draught for that – and I’ll be back to check in with you tomorrow morning.”

Amelia was resolutely planted at the foot of Poppy’s bed, the Hufflepuff girl curling into the Gryffindor’s warmth, as though she was a cat leaning into the heat of a hearth, glaring in defiance at Sharp’s harsh demeanour as he swept from the room, expression inscrutable. With a swish of his wand to draw the curtains around Sebastian’s bed for the night, and a wave of his hand, extinguished the gas lamps and plunged the room into relative darkness.

Eleazar Fig was an early riser, up as the sun peeked over the horizon. Morning dew clung to grass blades, mist skimmed the surface of the Black Lake. He flung the window to his room open, the melody of birds chirruping in the background soothing to his ears as he sipped from his cup of tea. Amelia had spent the night in the Hospital Wing, Silas had informed him, along with Poppy and Sebastian. Not because she was hurt – Silas was quick to reassure him of that – but because she was refusing to leave Poppy, and Noreen was going to discharge them all in the morning before breakfast.

Fortuitous, because he, Aesop Sharp, and Silas Sallow would need to uncover what Sebastian and Amelia had encountered last night. A quick flick through both of the students’ schedules had them in double Divination as their first two classes of the day. Eleazar chuckled; Amelia had disclosed that Divination was something she struggled with – she was too pragmatic and rational to see non-existent shapes in tea leaves – and since Sebastian was constantly late to the class - and held no remorse because he continued his tardiness in perpetuality - Eleazar could surmise that the boy held little value in the subject too.

He swilled his teacup and swallowed the last of the hibiscus and apple tea blend, and splashed his face with water to wake himself up just that little bit more. In a swish of periwinkle blue robes, he ventured down to the Hospital Wing.

His daughter was just like him, most awake at the crack of dawn, and Eleazar smiled warmly at Amelia as she unfurled herself from the croissant shape she had slept in. Poppy stirred at the movement, but her shallow, even breathing indicated that she had not woken from her sleep. One bed over, Sebastian’s eyes cracked open at the intrusion, bleary with sleep. He groaned against the light, flopped himself so he was lying on his stomach, shoved his head under the pillow and pulled the bedsheets so tight around him he was in a cotton cocoon. Eleazar had to bite back a chuckle; it seemed like his prospective son-in-law was a grump in the morning, just like Miriam had been.

“Professor Fig!”

Eleazar patted Amelia’s hair clumsily and shushed her, pointing to her sleeping compatriots. The scent of hibiscus and apple perfumed the air and Amelia’s stomach grumbled. She flushed at the growl and Eleazar snapped his fingers. A small bowl of berries and fresh cream materialised on the table between them, along with a cup of steaming tea. She glanced around; Nurse Blainey was still ensconced in her office, and Poppy was fast asleep. It had taken months of adjusting, but she was finally becoming accustomed to having enough food to fill her belly, and starting to get used to eating her fill in front of others and not being judged for it.

“We need to debrief about your adventure last night, dear girl.”

Amelia swallowed the mouthful of fruit she had just put in her mouth and washed it down with spiced chai. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and she had had the night to process the events, she was realising just how precarious a situation Fig had left her in. If Sebastian, Professor Sharp and Professor Sallow hadn’t been fighting alongside her when the goblins and Ashwinders had Apparated in at the entrance to the cave, she was positive Jackdaw’s threat of haunting each other for eternity would have come true. On one hand, she wasn’t surprised that Fig had abandoned her in favour of saving Poppy Sweeting – and after sixteen years of being subjected to that, she was used to it – but she was confounded by the stirrings of resentment that bubbled up within her at that realisation. The walls that Fig had carefully deconstructed inched back up again; Amelia wasn’t sure how much she could divulge to her mentor and father figure.

“After breakfast,” she said, stalling to buy herself some time so Sebastian could wake up and she could get his opinion on how to proceed from there. For some reason, trusting Sebastian implicitly was natural to her – she never questioned whether or not she should – but trusting others was much more challenging. Perhaps it had something to do with the ‘Tether’ Professor Rackham had mentioned.

Eleazar swallowed; the tension in the room had ratcheted up ever so minutely, but the frost that Amelia had tried to mask in her tone was as icy as the dew on the grass outside. He wondered what had happened to elicit such a cold response to him, especially after he had made tremendous headway with the girl. The signing of the adoption papers was testament to that. The sting in his pleural cavity ached and he rubbed his sternum to try and alleviate it.

“Alright, Amelia, after breakfast.”