The Space Between Us
Sebastian was exhausted.
He had spent the last hour assaulting two innocent enchanted mannequins in the Undercroft with every spell in his arsenal, yet the storm inside him had not abated. His heart was hammering in his chest, his shirt clinging to his back from exertion, but his frustrations remained.
He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his tousled brown hair, still breathing hard. Lately, it felt like he was constantly teetering on the edge of something volatile. A whirlwind of emotions, raw and relentless, constantly pulling him in opposite directions.
One moment, he was elated—so giddy it was almost embarrassing, lightheaded with the sheer force of happiness she made him feel. The next, he was seeing red, jaw clenched so tightly it ached, an unfamiliar kind of rage curling deep in his stomach like a living thing.
And Astoria Blackwood was always at the centre of it.
She made him feel things he didn't even know were possible—things he had never felt before even when he was searching for a cure for Anne. That had been a desperate mission, one built on logic and necessity, however misguided. But this? This was maddening, and it scared him.
His mind reeled, trying to make sense of it.
Sebastian tried to pinpoint when it all began.
That night in the Undercroft, perhaps? When she decided to stay—anchored him, when no one else would? Or had it been the moment she walked into the Great Hall at the start of the term, her golden-brown waves cascading over her shoulders, eyes gleaming with mischief and ambition? Maybe it had been long before that—back when they first met, and she knocked him flat in their very first duel.
Maybe he was a masochist after all.
Astoria was his greatest joy and his greatest vice, all wrapped up in one perfect, infuriatingly brilliant witch. She was important—and that horrified him. Because if she was important, then she was something he could lose.
Sebastian let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. He didn't like the way his thoughts were spiralling, the way they led him to dangerous places. Ominis' words from the other night echoed in his mind, uninvited. You're just angry Weasley asked her first. That's what happens when you sit around waiting.
Was he angry at her? At Garreth? Or at himself for not having the courage to do what Garreth had done?
Their dynamic had always been delicate, perfect in its own way. She was his partner in crime, a kindred spirit, his—dare he even think it?—soulmate? The thought of changing that, of ruining what they had by reaching too far, was almost as terrifying as the thought of never having her at all.
A sharp metallic clank echoed through the Undercroft, jolting him from his thoughts. The door latch had turned, and the spell-forged gears whirred as the entrance swung open.
Then she stumbled inside.
Astoria.
Her posture was unsteady, her steps faltering. Sweat glistened on her brow, her chest rising and falling as if she had been running for miles. Her gaze was unfocused, pupils dilated. The moment Sebastian registered that something was wrong, his wand clattered to the ground, the mannequin he had levitated forgotten.
"Astoria!" He was across the room in seconds, catching her just before she could collapse. She was burning up and yet trembling beneath his touch.
He didn't hesitate. He hoisted her up, securing an arm around her waist and guiding her to the worn couch in the corner of the room.
"Astoria, talk to me. What happened?" His voice was low, urgent, his fingers gripping her shoulders.
She didn't answer, still in a daze, but she instinctively curled into him, tucking herself into the crook of his neck. His scent—sandalwood, singed fabric and the faintest trace of old parchment—was oddly grounding.
Her heart pounded.
Sebastian tightened his hold on her, his palm pressing against the back of her head as he stroked her hair soothingly. His other hand traced gentle circles on her back.
For what felt like hours—but was likely only thirty minutes—they stayed like that. Astoria's ragged breaths evened out, her trembling subsided. She was pressed against him, his warmth enveloping her completely, and she felt... safe.
Sebastian cooed softly in a manner so unlike him. "It's alright. You're alright. Just breathe. I've got you."
Eventually, she stirred, her eyes clearing. When she realized the position they were in, she tensed, her cheeks turning a furious shade of red. She immediately tried to pull away, but Sebastian kept his arms securely wrapped around her waist, his grip firm, as if he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
"How did I get here?" she asked breathlessly.
"You stumbled in here completely out of it," Sebastian said. "You were pale, sweating—you've been hyperventilating for the past half hour." His grip tightened. "How are you feeling?" his voice softer than usual.
Astoria let out a slow breath, steadying herself. "Better. I think."
Sebastian reached for his satchel, one arm still draped over her waist as he rummaged through the pocket. He pulled out a small vial of Wiggenweld, the rich emerald liquid swirling within. Without a word, he uncorked it and pressed it into her palm, his fingers brushing against hers. "Drink," he instructed. "It'll help."
She took it gratefully, her hands still slightly unsteady, though she wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or something else entirely. As she tipped the vial to her lips, the warmth of his presence settled around her, grounding her in a way she didn't quite understand.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the Undercroft was the distant, rhythmic dripping of water from the stone ceiling.
Finally, Astoria broke the silence.
"I went to the Map Chamber," she admitted, her voice still slightly hoarse. "I needed answers."
Sebastian tensed slightly, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
Should she tell him everything?
She met his gaze, his dark brown eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He was listening. Really listening. For all of Sebastian's sarcasm, wit and endless quips—there was never a single moment where he didn't give her his undivided attention.
A flicker of warmth curled in her chest. And then—
It all came flooding back to her.
The catacombs.
The inferi.
Solomon.
The smell of fire and death.
Sebastian unravelling, losing himself in grief and desperation and—pushing her away. She remembered how everything slipped from her hands then, and she's afraid it would happen again. That she would lose him again.
Her fingers twitched.
It had taken months for him to return to himself after that. Months of walking on thin ice, of waiting, of hoping he wouldn't slip into that abyss again. She couldn't risk it.
She swallowed hard.
"...That's all they told me," She said finally. "Nothing else."
Sebastian studied her for a long moment, his thumb absentmindedly brushing small circles against her hip. His gaze flickered over her face as if searching for something. But he didn't press.
Instead, he exhaled and gave her a small, lopsided smile. "Well. That's certainly a lot."
She let out a weak chuckle. "Tell me about it."
Even though she had mostly recovered, neither of them moved.
They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity—her curled against him, his arms loose around her waist, his fingers grazing absent patterns over the fabric of her robes. Neither of them speaking. Neither willing to let go.
Minutes blurred together. The air felt thick, heavy, charged with something unspoken.
It was only when the cold stone walls began to feel even colder, and the distant chime of a clock tower tolled past midnight, that Sebastian finally shifted.
"You need proper rest," he murmured, voice rough.
"I'm fine."
Sebastian gave her a flat look. "You're not. And if I let you fall asleep down here, Ominis will have both our heads."
Astoria huffed, but she didn't protest when he lifted her off his lap, guiding her to her feet. His hands lingered on her arms to steady her, but even when she stood up, he didn't let go.
She noticed—but didn't say anything.
The excuse was flimsy at best—she wasn't dizzy anymore. But his grip on her hand was steady, fingers wrapped around hers like an anchor. And Merlin help her, she relished the feeling of it.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
Without another word, they walked back to the common room hand in hand. The castle was shrouded in silence, the night air was chilly with winter fast approaching but they were both burning with an unsatiable heat.