Palacsintas
“You’re sloppy,” Ash tisked, swishing her wand through the air, unleashing a torrent of yellow crackling energy. The bolt hit the giant spider, flipping it upside down. Sebastian shot a slicing hex towards the screeching creature, severing thorax from abdomen in a clean swipe.
Acromantula husks lay around them, some still twitching.
Sebastian wiped his brow with the back of his arm, ”I’m still winning.” He huffed, shooting a confringo towards another skittering spider climbing along the far cavern wall. It burst into flames, legs flailing as it fell from its perch, smashing into the ground.
Ash twirled, slashing her wand downwards, bombarda falling from her wicked mouth. It hit the burning Acromantula, sending chunks of molten flesh careening across the chamber. She spun back to face him, chest heaving, face splattered with mud and guts. A tempest of her own making. She sent him a feral grin, “That makes us tied actually.”
Sebastian cataloged the slope of her lips, the left side higher than the right when she really smiled— not one of those half-smiles she gave him months ago, when they’d first become kindred spirits. No, this was a real one, one he only saw when she let herself go. It was sinful, the thoughts he had about that mouth.
He forced his gaze back to the smoldering pile of spider entrails, and relished in the lack of clicking and hissing noises— relished in the moments in which the fate of his sister wasn’t resting entirely on his shoulders. Only the sound of their breathing filled the cave. Sebastian watched Ash cross the chamber, shoving Acromantulas out of the way as she searched for any Ancient Magic runes along the walls. She was as desperate for answers, for meaning in the benign and salient as he was. He watched her for a moment, a heartbeat longer than he should’ve.
Sebastian tucked his wand in his waistband, and wiped his hands along his pants, “Then we should find another nest to settle the score, yeah?”
Ash grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with challenge, “Game on, Sallow.”
“You’ve barely touched your tea.”
Sebastian sucked in a breath through his nose, banishing the memories with a forced exhale. He drug his gaze from the corner of the end-table to his sister’s face.
Hallowed cheeks, near translucent skin stretched across bone. Blue veins were a prominent feature, scattering like lightning across her frail body. Only her eyes remained the same; brown, and narrowed on him as if picking apart every thought he refused to voice aloud.
Sebastian glanced at the tea gone cold at his side. He grabbed it, downing the contents in one swig, dregs and all.
“Delicious.” He said, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek, catching the bitter grounds left along the soft tissue.
Anne snorted, the sound brittle, “The tea is shit. I think they steep it in bog water.”
Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to smile. He tried damn it, tried to be present— tried to give his sister the attention she deserved. She was trying, after all. He’d craved nothing but her approval and the restoration of their relationship for years now. And yet when it finally mattered his mind was anywhere but the confines of her sterile hospital ward.
“Ominis owled me yesterday,” Anne said bridging the silence. She watched him carefully as if he was the one bound to break, “He said there was a vigil for her.”
His throat bobbed, muscles tensing almost involuntarily at the reminder. ”Did he tell you it was ostentatious and miserable and everything she would hate?” He replied, his voice as bitter as the tea grounds still lodged in his throat.
It had taken hours to rid himself of the booming sounds of fireworks, hours to remind himself that she wasn’t dead. His nightmares disagreed, painting vivid images of Ash’s body, mutilated and mummified like Adelaide’s.
“He said you left before it ended,” she said simply, but he saw the question in her eyes, “And that you didn’t return to the castle until curfew.”
“Just ask what you want to ask, Anne.” Sebastian pinned his twin with a look, a bone-deep exhaustion plaguing both of their features.
“You’re still looking for her.” It wasn’t a question, but a resolute statement, one that ended with a shuddering cough. Sebastian didn’t respond, just leaned over to Anne, rubbing her back as she fought through the tremors.
Anne clutched her stomach, bowing over her knees on the bed as she groaned through her teeth. She glanced up at him, pain tightening her features, “Y-you haven’t spoken about her once to m-me and you barely talk to Ominis,” she hissed, the tendons in her neck prominent as she fought through another wave. He held her to him, practically climbing onto the side of the bed; He opened his mouth to cut her off but she forged on, “But I know you. I know that you won’t g-give up until you find an-swers.”
Answers. A very different sentiment than finding Ash. Sebastian didn’t allow himself to ruminate on Anne’s choice of words.
She coughed again, wheezing and choking in a way that reminded Sebastian of Harlow. After a few minutes she caught her breath. Sweat soaked her brow, glistening in the sunlight streaming from the nearby window. She leaned sideways, resting her head against his shoulder. She was so light, that he barely felt her weight against him at all.
“Tell me what you’ve found so far.”
Sebastian frowned. That wasn’t happening— he was done dragging people into his fucking mess. It always ended in flames. He was done causing his sister suffering. He tightened his grip on her side, “Let me get a book for us to read, something new.” He made to stand from the bed, but his sister held steady to his arm, willing him back into place.
Sebastian knew she felt the tension radiating off him in waves, “I’m not going to try to stop you this time,” she murmured raggedly, her voice hoarse from the strain, “I’m not going to spend my days fighting you. Let me in Sebastian. Let Ominis in.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw, spitting the words out through gritted teeth, “Ominis won’t—“
“Let me handle Ominis.”
Anne spoke with a finality that brokered no argument. Sebastian stared at her, releasing a ragged breath that had his entire being crumbling, each carefully constructed wall torn to pieces. He dropped his forehead on top of her head, “I’ve missed you.”
___•___
Sebastian stared at the newspaper in his hands, willing the contents to shed light on Harlow’s words. Romanian was a simpler language to learn than Goblin or runes, and Sebastian had managed to pick up a few words over the last week of scouring Romanian headlines.
A man was pictured on the front page of the magical paper— The new Romanian Minister for Magic, Nicolae Ardelean. The man cut a striking figure in the looping picture. He was middle-aged; His hair, streaked with silver at the temples, was swept back from his forehead in a sleek, sophisticated style, framing a face that bore faint lines around the mouth and eyes. Lines that stretched as the photograph moved, showcasing a tightlipped smile at the camera.
His eyes flickered up and over the edges of the photograph, as if staring at what Sebastian assumed was a crowd. His gaze was heavy, hardened. The Romanian minister’s right hand lifted in a wave, and a silver ring on his right index finger gleamed in the light.
The pictured looped, and the man was staring back at the camera again, right through Sebastian.
Sebastian tore his gaze from the picture, and instead skimmed the text for familiar words and phrases.
‘Restoration’
‘Order’
Nothing that furthered his understanding of Harlow’s words—Easy target. He dropped the newspaper, running his hands over his face and hair. He was lost within the threads of a tapestry, tangled in cords that created pictures he was yet to see.
Ash would’ve been able to figure it out, he thought numbly, staring at the marble floor.
Sebastian flexed his fingers, straitening and curling the digits repeatedly. Tomorrow he would visit Harlow again, and he would go back to the original questions— Where was Ash, and who has her? Romania was a dead fucking end; or might as well be with the lack of insight on the situation.
He had spent hours at St. Mungo’s, telling Anne every scrap of information he had— the original experiments, Adelaide’s disappearance, Harlow’s involvement; though he left out that Harlow was currently rotting in a torture chamber of Sebastian’s own design.
Anne had listened, occasionally voicing questions, but never denying his ideas. By the end of the visit he vowed to bring copies of his notes, so she could look for anything he might’ve missed. It felt like fourth year, like the two of them working together to solve an Arithmancy problem, or to prank Ominis.
The thought turned to ashes in his mouth.
It wasn’t fourth year, and he was no longer a child. His sister was dying, his best friend was terrified of the person he’d become, and his love was taken. Sebastian stared at the piles of paper and books at his fingertips.
There was only one other loose thread on the tapestry he’d yet to pull. Sebastian reached forward and plucked the letter from the heap of documents cluttering the table. He scanned the letter’s contents again; though they were nearly memorized at this point. He had read it nearly a dozen times already since it arrived in the wee hours of the morning.
To Mr. Sallow,
I am sorry to say that we currently do not have any children at the home under the name Alexander. If you are intent on searching for your lost brother, you are welcome to come in person and look through our records. There is a fee of course.
May God be with you,
Andrea Beckett
Alexander. Alex. The name Ash had called right before she was taken. There had been shock etched on her face, carving away at the wrath that had gripped her tightly moments before. Shock, when a man apparated into the field of battle, and showed his face.
Alex. She had said.
“I wasn’t alone.”
“His name was Alex.”
“There was a boy, he was two years older than me.”
“It’s like we were drawn together by some force.”
“When I was thirteen, the week before my birthday, he was adopted.”
Sebastian had written to the orphanage over a month ago; when the memories, of Ash’s soft whispers and the man in black apparating her away, had woken him. He had begun to give up on a reply, instead focusing on other threads in the tapestry— Harlow, the tome, Romania—
Until a response had been waiting outside the Room.
Alexander was a thread in this picture, and Sebastian had a feeling that tugging on that thread would unravel the entire thing.
___•___
Alex
The night hung heavy over the city, the air thick with humidity that clung to his skin like a suffocating shroud. He trudged through the near-empty streets, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones as he made his way through the winding alleys. The moonlight cast everything in a ghostly glow, illuminating the ancient buildings with an eerie light.
Alex hated the heat, hated the way it wrapped around him like a vice, suffocating him with its oppressive weight. He longed for the cool embrace of autumn, for the solace and chill that had been his refuge in times of turmoil.
But tonight, there was no escape from the suffocating heat, no respite from the oppressive humidity that hung in the air like a heavy blanket. He trudged on, his mind consumed with a rage he could never seem to quell.
Footfall after footfall on the ancient street, and Alex couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment towards the city that had been his keeper for the past two weeks. Budapest was a city of contrasts, its streets lined with grand boulevards and crumbling tenements, its people a mix of wealth and poverty, hope and despair. So touching.
Tonight, as he made his way through the deserted streets— stepping over a puddle of piss, Alex felt none of the city's vibrant energy or bustling life. Instead, he was surrounded by silence, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the darkness. He preferred it this way, preferred the stillness.
He glanced up at the moon, its pale light casting long shadows across the cobblestones. In the stillness of the night, he could almost hear the city's heartbeat, a slow and steady rhythm that pulsed beneath the surface. Or maybe it was his own heartbeat, low and beating.
A shadow emerged from the darkness—an apparition draped in black; the figure fell into stride with him. Clad in black leathers that hugged their form like a second skin, the figure moved with the fluid grace of a predator stalking its prey. Crisscrossing straps adorned their torso and thighs, a wand holstered on the latter. A thick coarse cloak draped over the figure’s shoulders, its folds billowing like the wings of a raven in flight. Their boots were sturdy and practical; each step was a soft thud against the cobblestones, the sound lost in the night's embrace.
“Report.” Alex said, his gaze locked on the path ahead. He checked for late-night persona, for listening ears or watching eyes. Habit. Instinct.
The figure held out a slip of parchment between them with black gloved fingers. The movement caused the heavy cloak to ride up and a glint of silver wrapped around a wrist gleamed in the moonlight.
Alex took the parchment, eyes raking over the information methodically. He read it twice and then once more before incinerating it. The paper crinkled and warped, burning into tiny cinders that floated away in the humid air.
“Tomorrow then. When he’s having breakfast. The wife too.”
No response, though Alex didn’t expect one. “Black will want an update. We’ll Floo him tomorrow, after you return.”
He turned his attention to the wraith at his side. Red eyes gleamed up at him from underneath the dark hood. A black mask affixed to the lower half of their face concealed any features other than those eyes.
Not that Alex needed to see her face to know who she was.
“Dismissed.”
She stared at him for a moment longer, staring through him, before turning and apparating on the spot. Alex lingered in the crackling energy left in her wake, feeling the sharp prickling magic poking and prodding before dissipating back into the ether. He returned his gaze to the moon, listening to the quiet heartbeat of the city. It wasn’t his own, he was sure. He didn’t think he had one anymore.
___•___
Sunlight streamed through the windows lining the large ornate dining room. Servants bustled in and out, wands flicking as floating trays and platters made their way from the kitchen to the table.
Seated at the head of the table, Viktor quietly spread cream cheese along a piece of toast, dark eyes focused more so on the policy agenda spread before him. The cream cheese was lightly sweet, tangy on his tongue, as he tucked into his breakfast, free hand scrawling a practiced signature along the bottom of the parchment.
“Apa!”
Small arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and he coughed, laughing as he swallowed the bite of toast threatening to choke him. Tiny bouncing blonde curls came into view, as his daughter slid around the side of the chair. She climbed into his lap with an efficiency he assumed only spider monkeys would rival.
He plucked a ripe berry from the menagerie laid atop the table and held it out to her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as her small hands eagerly snatched it up.
She was supposed to be attending her lessons in the city, he thought. Piano this week. Or was it Latin? Her mother would be furious that she had weaseled away from the nannies again. Viktor adjusted her on his lap, passing her a second berry when she held out an open demanding hand. He’d be labeled as a co-conspirator by his wife. Not that he minded, his daughter was a politician in the making.
Heels clicked along the polished wood floor, growing louder. His daughter froze in his lap before attempting to squirm her way down. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her captive just as the warden crossed the threshold.
His wife gave him and their daughter an unamused look, placing a hand on her hip. “Modorkérem, Katalin.”
His daughter slumped against him, groaning in protest as she slid off his lap, moving to her own seat with a practiced lift to her chin. Emília clicked her tongue, tugging playfully on Katalin’s tight curl as she passed. His wife hid her own smile as she glanced at Viktor— A different co-conspirator, one he adored very much.
A clock chimed down the hall, and Viktor sighed glancing at the documents he should’ve already finished. He stood swiftly, flicking his black locust wand. The papers followed the movement, floating up before settling in a neat pile inside his leather bag. He flipped the latch closed, hoisting the heavy thing over his shoulder. A featherlight charm would be practical, he thought. But his wife enjoyed when he was on the muscular side, and Merlin knew this was the only exercise he attempted.
He crossed to his wife, placing a kiss on her forehead before ducking down to Katalin. She frowned as she looked up at him, never one for goodbyes. He placed a finger on the top of her nose, bopping it gently as the girl fought against toothy smile.
He’d stop at the confectionary after work. Pick up some Palacsintas for her.
He straightened, tucking his wand into his pocket. He opened his mouth, half a goodbye falling from his lips—
The room exploded.
A blast— the sound all around him, swallowing him as every thought eddied from his head.
A rupturing— a cacophony of chaos enveloped him. Flames danced like wild spirits, their heat licking at his skin with insistent tongues. Shards of debris pirouetted around him in a deadly ballet, their sharp edges slicing through the air with malicious intent.
Only the screams of Emília and Katalin followed him into the darkness.