Ashes and Dust

After years of trying to figure it out, Ash finally found something that Sebastian was bad at.

“No, no that’s not— remember the black keys are flats and sharps.”

“I know that—“

“—this is an F natural—”

“—My pinky just slipped!”

Sebastian was a savant with languages, an incredible duelist, and one of the fastest readers she’d ever met. But piano? Not his forte.

During the week that followed their first of many unsuccessful reconnaissance missions, Ash spent an hour or two before they fell into bed teaching him how to play. Reading sheet music was as easy to him as runes, and if that was the only skill required he would have become the next Mozart.

No, it was the actual playing that was the issue.

“Try the F major chord again— no, that’s still F sharp!”

“Well maybe I’ll just play F sharp chord—“

“That’s not even—“

It was decidedly a painful but ultimately enjoyable process, one that always ended with him taking out his frustrations on her with his mouth and hands in ways that had her toes curling.

It was one of the few pleasurable moments they found that week. When they weren’t sharing a bed or piano bench, or sitting in classes that Ash had decided meant nothing to her with the threat of Harlow looming ever closer— they were scouring the coast line.

It was horrid work, one that each day began with optimism and ended with sore limbs and frustration. Three times that week they went out, and three times they came back with nothing to show for it except a new scratched off section of map.

She had taken the suppressant potion only once more. An unfortunate and unexpected side effect had hit her the morning after their first mission, in which she had stumbled into the main chamber, and unleashed a tidal wave of that repressed magic.

It seemed once the potion wore off, the magic reacted violently and in retribution. A cage was only powerful so long as it stayed locked. It had been vicious, and left scorch marks along the newly repainted walls. The Room didn’t allow her to wallow long, and wiped away evidence of the inferno before she’d peeled herself off the floor.

Sebastian had wanted to follow her that morning when she’d bolted from the bed, but when he saw the handprints burned into the sheets, he’d waited until the maelstrom had passed— at which he’d scooped her into his arms and conjured a bath to place her in.

After that she’d only taken the potion once more, more for a confirmation than anything else— and had the same reaction once the potion had left her system. That safety net being torn from her was like a gut punch, and she was back to fearing the magic and its inevitable destruction of everything around her.

Sebastian had begun waking early, to her chagrin, to adjust the potion. The experimentation required rare ingredients that neither had on hand, and despite her assurance that she didn’t need the potion, Sebastian begun recruiting Ominis into the matter as well. Ominis was no potions master, but according to Sebastian his Gringotts vault was practically begging to be used.

That meant Ominis spent his mornings with the pair as well as the few evenings they spent searching Clagmar Coast. And Ash hated it.

Ominis hadn’t said anything else to her. Nor did he comment to Sebastian on his appearances, or lack thereof, in their shared dorm room. No, Ominis was civil, and the banter between the two boys flowed like honey until she entered the room.

Which is why she hated it.

When she would inevitably dress and drag herself from her and Sebastian’s bed, Ominis would fall silent. Only speaking to ask which ingredients Sebastian needed him to purchase. Ash wasn’t sure if the silent treatment was simply a byproduct of his dislike, or if Sebastian had said something to him. Either way, she hated it.

What interested her the most about Ominis’ morning visits to the Room, she discovered when she would observe the boys from the stairwell. It wasn’t frequent, but knowing that her presence would snuff any discussion, she found herself once or twice that week eavesdropping.

Sebastian was the same as always, but for once it wasn’t her brunette she watched.

No, it was the way Ominis’ pinched features were fully relaxed. Or the way the corners of his mouth would quirk up at Sebastian’s teasing. But mostly—

Mostly it was his hands.

They had been friends for years, and touching was common, especially when passing each other bottles of Wittle flowers and powdered asphodel. And yet, after any touch, accidental or otherwise, Ominis left hand would drop to his side and he’d flex his fingers as if stretching a cramp.

It perplexed her that day of their first mission, as she had never noticed the tick before. Though, Ominis’ hands were never a point of concern before. But now, now she would watch for when Sebastian’s shoulder would bump Ominis’ and watch without fail as his left hand dropped and flexed.

She had assumed, the first few times she’d seen it—from the second stair— that it was a sign of annoyance. That being touched triggered a part of him still reeling for years of neglect. But there were no signs of any negative emotions spread across his face or body. And she was well versed in Ominis’ displeasure, enough to recognize the lack of pursed lips, clenched jaw, or pinched brows.

No it was something else. She just wasn’t sure what.

The morning of November seventh was different than their usual routine. Sebastian didn’t wake early to work on her potion, or with his mouth against her own. Instead, when she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she had found him across the room, pressing random keys of the piano in what sounded like an attempt at a minor chord.

Which is why, at half past seven, Ash found herself instructing him once again.

“The minor chords sound better.”

“Sure, if you like your music miserable and gloomy.” Ash retorted, positioning his fingers correctly on the keys. “You have to stretch your pinky more— yes! There you go.”

Ash knew why Sebastian had woken her to the sound of incorrect chords. They were visiting Anne today.

“I’d rather compose my own music,” Sebastian drawled, “because I wouldn’t have my hands stretched halfway across the keys.”

Ash rolled her eyes, “If I can do it, so can you. Besides E7 isn’t that bad.”

“My bloody fingers are going to cramp!”

Ash laughed, tossing her head back. She looked over at him, giggling at the frown on his face. His lips quirked up for only a moment, before a shadow passed over his eyes and his entire demeanor changed. Sebastian’s hands dropped from the keys, instead running over his navy pajama pants repeatedly.

She scooted closer to him on the bench, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

Ash offered no false sympathies, no overzealous statements of how everything would be perfectly fine. It wasn’t their way. Instead she laced her fingers through his, a promise to weather the storm with him.

His body was rigid against hers, though he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “No.”

She nodded, and gripped both of his hands before placing them back on the keys, “Try E7 again.”


___•___


As the sun reached its summit above them, Ash and Sebastian strode down the busy streets of Muggle London. Central London. Right by the banks of the Thames. It was hard to not crane her neck eastward, over the river, to where she knew nestled along cobble street roads— an orphanage lay.

It made her skin crawl, made the slumbering beast inside yawn and stretch like a napping cat.

They weaved through passerby’s, men striding off to work, children playing hoops in the street, and women in the latest fashion— no longer containing the protruding bustle that had been popular only a handful of years ago. No, the skirts had seemingly overnight become bell-shaped, gored to fit smoothly over the hips. Ash tugged on her coat sleeve, thankful that it hid what was apparently an ‘out-of-date’ dress beneath. She hadn’t been to muggle London in years, and it seemed life had passed her by.

Her other hand was occupied in Sebastian grip, deathly tight though she wouldn’t point it out. The wind whipped past them, sending the smell of coal and shit right into her nostrils. It made her stomach roll, not from the horrid smell itself— but the familiarity of it. Every part of her screamed to get as far away from these streets as possible, to escape before somehow she was dragged back to that hellhole. She wondered if Elizabeth was still there— if she was being protected. The thought had her sucking in another breath despite the putrid stench in the air. Fuck, she wanted to leave. But Sebastian needed her, and so she fought against the trembling working its way down her body, and steadied her breathing.

Sebastian hadn’t said a word since they apparated. But when her eyes lingered on two children no older than seven, a boy and girl, sitting blank faced in an alley, he squeezed her hand tighter. He stopped when she did, when her feet froze at the sight of the boy pulling a ragged coat tighter over the small girls body. Londoners grumbled as they pushed past the two bodies now stopped in the midst of midday traffic.

Ash didn’t care, she was too busy watching the boy huddle against the wall, searching for a warmth he wouldn’t find. She slipped her hand from Sebastian’s before she knew what she was doing.

A shrug of her arms had her winter coat coming free and she dropped to a crouch in front of the two. They stunk, like sewage. But Ash didn’t flinch, not when two pairs of wide brown eyes shot up to meet hers. She held out the coat to the boy, who watched her warily. She knew that look— that beaten dog staring at an outstretched hand.

She softened her face and leaned closer, “It’s got lots of inner pockets,” she whispered, a conspirators smile on her face, “There’s some sweets in the left inner side too.”

The girls’ face lit up, a near-toothless grin at the mention of food. When the boy didn’t reach for the coat, she laid it gingerly across his lap. She pointed then, towards the mouth of the alley and across the river, “I grew up at St. Mary’s. Heard of it?”

The boy gave a short dip of his chin, and she nearly smiled at the breakthrough. Food, warmth, shelter, and connection. The latter a staple that most usually forget.

She gave them another smile, “I made it out.” Ash tapped the coat along the right breast pocket and listened to the telltale jingle. At that sound, the boys eyes grew wide, “There’s enough for a few weeks of food, if you’re careful. Don’t keep it on you though, that coat will draw attention. You’ll need to put some mud on it, scuff it up to keep thieving hands away.” The advice started slow, but as she kneeled in the dirt beside children who were her mirror image, she continued, “Do you know how to throw a punch?”

The boy furrowed his brows, toughening his rounded face and gave another nod. She nodded back, “Good, good. Always aim for their back, under the ribs,” she turned sideways, and jabbed her thumb into her ribs to show the spot, “Even the big boys will drop from that.”

He nodded again, and she stared at them a moment longer before slowly standing. She had little advice left besides survive. The mud staining the skirts of her out-of-date dress didn’t matter. Neither did the biting wind. Not when she watched the boy fumble with the coat until it stretched across both his and the little girls’ bodies.

She’d take them if she could. She turned from the alley. She couldn’t take them— just as she couldn’t take Elizabeth with her when she left the orphanage. Just like Alex couldn’t take her.

Sebastian stood just where she left him, watching her raptly. As she reached him, he slid his own jacket off and over her shoulders. She took his hand, and as she stepped from the alleyway, a small voice called out—

“Thank you.”

The boys voice wasn’t meek. It was solid, hard for his age. And it sparked a sliver of hope— that those children would make it.

She was silent as her and Sebastian continued down the cobblestone street, somehow feeling lighter than before. It wasn’t until they turned onto Carnaby Street that he spoke, his voice a whisper near her ear.

“I casted a healing spell, when you were speaking to them. I thought about a warming charm but—“

“No, that was a good call. A warmth charm would wear off, and then the wind would feel even more brutal.”

Sebastian took her hand in his again, and this time she couldn’t tell who was comforting who.

___•___


The butcher shop had a ‘closed for renovations’ sign hanging over the boarded window. Sebastian had pulled her to a stop in front of the dilapidated building, one that was tucked away from public eye. She herself had never been to St. Mungo’s, so when Sebastian tugged her forward and walked straight through the brick wall— she gave a squeak of surprise.

The mirage fell away as soon as they reached the other side, and a hospital lobby greeted them.

The smell of industry was washed away by the overwhelming scent of potions and medicinal herbs. The air crackled with an energy that was both soothing and charged with anticipation. Ash took in the grandeur of the place, from the intricate floral patterns adorning the wallpaper to the ornate crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings.

There were only a few patients seated, and the atmosphere was quiet, with only hushed whispers from the reception desk. Down the hall to her left, Ash saw healers in crisp white uniforms move pointedly from room to room, some brandishing blankets and rags, others levitating trays of potions.

A wizard seated to their right had elephant ears protruding from his head. Across the room, a young mother held tightly to a little girl who was floating above her head. The girl waved at Ash, and Ash gave a short wave back before Sebastian stepped forward to the reception desk.

It was ornate, carved from rich mahogany and adorned with gleaming brass fixtures. Behind it, a witch who couldn’t have been older than thirty sat. She was reed thin, with umber brown skin. Her honey brown eyes met hers and then Sebastian’s, “How can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Anne Sallow.” Sebastian voice was tight, clipped and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The witch opened a large tome, that began rapidly flipping through pages on its own. It stopped and the witch looked up, “Ward 49, fourth floor.”

Sebastian gave a curt nod and headed for the stairs to their left. His hand was sweaty in hers, but she didn’t care. This was the first time in nearly two years that Sebastian would see Anne face to face. She would do what she could to be there for him.

The deep oak wood staircase seemed endless as they climbed, silent and near empty the entire way. Finally they crested the last landing and entered the fourth floor hall. Even more silence greeted them, a shocking difference to the second floor hall they had passed in which healers could be heard shouting and patients screaming.

No this floor was quiet, minus the sounds of their shoes clacking on the marble floors. They walked, Sebastian stone faced and staring at the ward numbers above each door, while Ash stared at him. Near the end of the hall, a large oak door with small opaque windows along the surface waited for them. The words ‘Janus Thickey Ward’ was plated in gold above the door frame. Terminal patients. End of life patients. She knew Sebastian was thinking the same as he stared at the gleaming words.

She gave his hand another squeeze, “Whenever you’re ready.” Her whisper seemed too loud for the hallway, echoing despite her attempts at quietness.

His jaw tensed, and he breathed in through his nose before grabbing the handle and turning it in one swoop—biting the metaphorical bullet.

The door opened slowly, no creaking of the hinges as if only silence was acceptable here.

Rows of hospital beds lined the walls, some empty, others occupied. Thick cream colored curtains hung between the beds, providing a measure of privacy and shielding the occupants from prying eyes.

Soft, diffused light filtered through the bay windows, casting a gentle glow over the room. The air was tinged with the faint scent of medicinal herbs, mingling with the soft murmur of whispered conversations.

The ward was large, stretching lengthwise to the size of the quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. One of the six bay windows was inhabited, its plush bench seat filled with a healer and an older man. The healer held a book in hand, and Ash could make out faint murmuring from the woman’s lips. The man, balding with only a light dusting of white hair, was clad in a dark navy gown. He stared at the woman reverently, enraptured in whatever tale she spun.

They passed him, and he didn’t spare the pair of them a single glance. They passed row after row of beds, until a soft voice called out from their right, “Sebastian.”

Sebastian went rigid for only a moment before spinning towards the origin of that scratchy sound. Ash turned too, and reigned in her shock at the state of Anne Sallow. She had been gaunt before— cheeks hollow, circles underneath her eyes, and a frailty that mocked the strength and resolve she possessed. But now—

Now she was a skeleton.

Sebastian hand dropped to his side and he crossed to his twin with nothing but agony on his face. The bedside chair squeaked against the floor as Sebastian dropped into it. Ash remained standing at the foot of the bed.

“Anne—“ Sebastian croaked, his hand tensing at his side as if he wanted to reach for her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Anne whispered.

It was hard then, for Ash to hold onto that sliver of anger for Sebastian’s sister— that anger at her for abandoning him when he had shredded his soul for her very sake. It had rooted deep, that anger, and Ash had been prepared to hold it forever. But the sight of Anne, a whisper of a girl, and the regret etched onto her face was enough to wipe it out.

Sebastian’s shoulders drooped at her words, as if he was expecting his sister to fight, or scream, or cut him deep once more. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his eyes tracking across her face as if associating this version of Anne with the sister he knew.

Anne gave a ghost of a smile before reaching across the bed and taking her brother’s hand. Ash felt like a voyeur. She shouldn’t be witnessing this intimate reunion, not when she had been a part of their shattering.

“Tell me about school. Is Professor Ronen still obsessed with leprechauns?”

Sebastian cracked a grin, one that was edged with pain, “Of course, he still showcases his pot of gold every semester.”

Anne chuckled, coughed, and clutched her belly as a wave of pain slammed into her. Sebastian reached for her, but Anne waved him off as she hunched over, “Fine— it’s f-fine.”

She caught her breath, though Sebastian still stood halfway out of his chair, his brown eyes filled with pain and anger and frustration. Ash ached to touch him, but this wasn’t about her.

“Sebastian could you grab me another book from that shelf over there? A good one.” Anne said, her voice hoarse.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate as he fully stood from his chair and headed for the bookshelf near one of the far windows. His stride took him across the ward in what felt like a few heartbeats.

Anne watched him for a moment, before turning to Ash. Despite the girl being bedridden, her assessing stare was enough to have Ash shifting on her feet.

“Sebastian cares for you very much.” Anne said, not a question but a statement of fact.
Ash didn’t speak, instead she gave a simple nod of her head. She couldn’t read this Sallow twin, not any better than she could read the one now sifting through books across the room. She couldn’t decipher the emotions in the girls’ umber eyes— couldn’t tell if it was animosity swirling or something softer.

Ash had never been close with Anne, and had only crossed paths with her when Sebastian needed Ash to convince his sister or uncle of his warpath. A warpath that Ash herself supported to whatever end.

Anne stared at Ash, soaking up every emotion passing across her face. Whatever she found must have satisfied, because Anne sifted her attention to her brother across the way.

“Is he still searching for a cure?” She whispered.

Ash shook her head, but Anne wasn’t watching her anymore so she cleared her throat, “No, not after the catacomb.”

Anne nodded, relief on her face, “Good.”

Silence fell over the two of them. Ash watched Sebastian’s back as he pulled another book from the shelf and flipped through the pages.

“I wasted too much time being angry with him,” Anne whispered, “when I should have been making my peace.”

Ash heard the resignation in the girls’ voice, a sound far too old for her age. Ash felt a pang of regret for both twins, and a sense of understanding when she thought of Alex.

“Everything he did, he did because he loves you.” Ash said, not taking her eyes from Sebastian.

“Yes, and everything he’ll do now, he’ll do for you.” Anne whispered. Ash turned then, facing Sebastian’s sister. She opened her mouth but Anne continued, clutching her stomach as another wave hit her, “I worry he loves too much. Too hard.” Anne paused, dragging her weary gaze back to Ash, “I worry that you don’t realize your clutch on him. If you gave the word, Sebastian would burn the world for you.”

The words were eerily similar to Ominis’ and yet they sounded less damning from Anne’s mouth.

Sebastian made his way back to them before Ash could respond, a small brown book in his hand. He looked between Ash and his twin, before dropping back into his seat, “Remember this one? Mum’s favorite.”

Sebastian cracked open the spine and began, “Letter 1 To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings,” Ash recognized the text right away. Her favorite. Without preamble she sunk onto the edge of Anne’s bed as both of them lost themselves in Sebastian’s voice, “I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.”

Ash barely noticed when a cold bony hand slid into hers.