Ashes and Dust

Sebastian
 
He awoke, half delirious, slumped over the potions table in the cellar. Sebastian didn’t know how long he had slept. He only knew that after apparating from Hastings castle, and after he had spent hours finding the right concentration of ashwinder eggs and dragon claw, he had succumbed to his exhaustion. 
 
He had read the ingredient combination in Secrets of the Darkest Arts. Its usefulness extended from a simple numbing property, to a similar effect as the imperius curse if the ratio was correct. So far, he had experimented with two dashes of powdered dragon claw to one ashwinder egg with little success. 
 
Potions had always been a favorite of his, and this wasn’t the first potion he had created from scratch, but nothing was written about the dissolution of a blood bond. It was the reason blood bonds were created, the impossibility of destruction. Such strong magic, dark magic, couldn’t be broken without the death of one or both parties. But Sebastian understood the fundamentals of magic— he had created his own spells in time past— and he knew that just because it hadn’t been done yet, didn’t mean it couldn’t be done at all. 
 
So he started from the beginning. Simple ingredients used in cursebreaking potions by aurors; Bloodroot to kill animal cells, Doxy eggs for restoration, and murtlap tentacle for luck. 
 
Coupled with the ashwinder eggs and dragon claw, it theoretically would kill the blood cells in Ash’s body, restore them slowly, while fostering growth through the imperius similarity— in which Sebastian would command she heal. All with the addition of luck, which was desperately needed. 
 
But he didn’t know if it would be enough. Sebastian worried that the blood bond would latch onto any regenerating cells and simply spread once more as she healed. Death was the only solution Sebastian had read about for the disruption of a blood bond. It was out of the question, obviously. Not even Merlin himself could come back from death. True death, anyway. 
 
But the books and scrolls had not specified that true death was the only answer. So he had begun adding powdered asphodel root— the main ingredient in Draught of the Living Death. He thought if perhaps she came to the edge of death, a near comatose state, while the other ingredients worked to both dissolve her old blood cells while regenerating new ones, that he could free her. 
 
Getting ahold of said potion ingredients had become increasingly difficult. Anything that was imported had been unable to enter the country due to the increased ward security at the borders. The ministry had become jumpy, and therefore banned the flow of commerce into and out of the country for the foreseeable future. 
 
It didn’t fully stop the trade of magical goods. It simply stopped those brought in legally and increased the price of commodities he could find in Knockturn Alley. And Sebastian had already spent nearly a third of his family vault acquiring the necessary supplies for the experimental potion. The black market had suddenly become Wizarding England’s only service for things as simple as Chomping Cabbage. Other things had begun showing up in the deepest corners of Knockturn. Muggle fingers for good luck, muggleborn jewelry to curse your enemies, the supposed Sword of Gideon itself was even propped up in a dingy oddities shop. Sebastian had half a mind to burn it all to the ground, but he had ingredients to buy. Still, every time he passed by a shop window in the dark alleyway and saw signs reading ‘golden locks of muggleborn hair, half off’ he was reminded at how bad things had gotten in such a short time. 
 
Even Diagon Alley he felt the ripples from across Europe. Shops were closed earlier, and any Wizarding person with 'muddy’ family lines were warned to stay off the streets once the sun dipped below the horizon. Unofficial muggleborn registries had begun in larger wizarding communities, in which purebloods had begun insisting their neighbors comply despite no mandate from the minister himself. 
 
Sebastian didn’t leave the house often anymore, because he knew he would do something drastic if he did. But he had to wait. Four days. Four days, and he could save Ash and end this. So he brewed, and when he wasn’t brewing, he was reviewing the components of The Master Bond. 
 
Sebastian stretched, and rubbed the soreness from the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. In fact, sleep was something he knew he would see little of for the next five days. He cast a quick tempus spell and swore. Four days now. He had slept well into the late morning. 
 
He pushed away from the potions table, flicking his wand over the cauldron with a stasis charm, before wandering over to the pile of trunks stacked in the corner of the cellar. 
 
His parents’ cellar. 
 
It had been nearly impossible to enter when he arrived yesterday morning, laden with his and Ash’s belongings. But he hadn’t been able to put his things in his old bedroom yet, nor was he able to bring himself to place Ash’s things in Anne’s bedroom. It had been torturous enough to pack her things away and take them from the Room. The Room who seemed to understand that even if he got her back, it would never feel her presence again. It had taken hours just to carefully pack her clothing, trinkets, and books away, and even longer once he had found the stack of letters he had written her fifth year at the bottom of one of her trunks. He didn’t know how long he had sat on the floor, gripping the pages as if he could go back to that year and change everything. The Room had brushed him with a soft wind as he had departed the chambers, and even as the candles flickered out behind him, a plate of warm vanilla macrons continued to wait for her. 
 
That pain had followed him to his childhood home; and he had brought everything to the cellar, which was almost worse. 
 
His parent’s books and personal journals still lined the bookshelves along the far left and right walls. Sebastian tried not to think of what happened the last time people were down in this cellar experimenting with something dangerous, or the orphans that resulted from it. Their potions table now served as his lab, bed, and eatery. He left only when he had to, usually only to venture to his belongings a few feet away. 
 
Sebastian flipped open the nearest trunk lid and rummaged around until he pulled a wide-eye potion from the bottom. He downed the foul blue liquid before stalking back to the potions table, snatching up his journal from the pile of texts by the table leg. 
 
He thumbed through the ink-blotted pages until he reached his most recent section. He stared into the cauldron, frowning at the lumpy consistency, before scratching out that particular ratio. He needed to try double the dragon claw this time. He clenched his jaw before waving his wand over the cauldron, vanishing the contents. 
 
Once he figured out the base of the potion, then he would need to add their blood— both Ash’s and her captor’s. It was another layer of complication, but necessary for the potion to bind correctly. 
 
The search for her captor, and subsequent pureblood ancestry research, had taken a backseat to his current focus. He had tried damn it, or Ominis had, to yank the man’s identity from Alexander’s mind. It hadn’t worked, and had nearly killed their informant in the process with the constraints of the Vow. 
 
If he and Alexander could free her in four days, then he wouldn’t need her captor’s identity. She could give the name to him, and then Sebastian would rip him limb from limb. His focus now was entirely on the potion and incantation. 
 
The incantation problem had been much easier to figure out than his potion. 
 
Sebastian had decided that a combination of an incantation, said repeatedly, and his potion would be the best course of action. Incantations at their core were similar to spells, with a slower but possibly more powerful effect. They were older than spells; first created when magic had been discovered, long before Merlin and Morgana. They are tied to a deeper magic, one born of wishes and hopes. Ancientmagic. 
 
But the fundamentals were the same. To create a counterspell, one had to break down the components of the original spell: verbiage, pronunciation, intention, and wand movement. A counterspell was not simply the reverse verbiage or pronunciation, as one would expect. Instead, it is the reverse of the intention and wand movement. The verbiage is more or less the same with the addition of Finite, or another termination term. 
 
Rituals and incantations were the same. To create a counter incantation, Sebastian needed to change the intention without changing all of the original words themselves. 
 
The original incantation of The Master Bond was written in Latin— 
 
 
Per sanguinem meum, ligatus es. 
Spiritus tuus et voluntas nunc mihi pertinent. 
Hoc vinculum rubrum tuam essentiam subigit. 
In servitutem aeternam ligatus. 
Mors domini mors servi.
Sanguis est potestas, sanguis est clavis. 
Tu es meus, et ego sum dominus tuus.
 
 
The rough translation’s intention was that through binding of blood, the creature’s spirit and will belonged to the master— upon whose death, the creature will perish as well. Bound in eternal servitude. Blood being power, blood being the key. 
 
Sebastian had made many counter-incantations and filled pages and pages with scribblings the last few days. He believed he had finally created one that alongside his potion, would reverse Ash’s condition.
 
Per sanguinem meum, liberatus es.
By my blood, you are freed. 
 
Spiritus tuus et voluntas nunc tibi pertinent.
Your spirit and will now belong to you. 
 
Hoc vinculum rubrum tuam essentiam solvit.
This red bond releases your essence. 
 
A servitute aeternam liberatus.
Freed from eternal servitude. 
 
Mors unius mors non est utriusque.
Death of one is not death for both. 
 
Sanguis est potestas, sanguis est clavis.
Blood is power, blood is key. 
 
Tu es tuus, et ego sum non dominus tuus
You are yours, and I am not your master.
 
 
Footsteps sounded on the cellar stairs as Sebastian began filling the cauldron with water. Squeaking filled the air as his guest hit the last stair. 
 
“Was this batch successful?” Ominis murmured, nearly drowned out by the high-pitched chitters. 
 
“No. Needs more dragon claw to counterbalance the Doxy eggs.” Sebastian slowly increased the flame until the water began to bubble. He would need to let it boil for ten and a half minutes before adding ten drops of liquid bloodroot, stirring counterclockwise. He glanced back at Ominis and the small cage under his right arm, “Were they hard to catch?”
 
Ominis’ nose wrinkled as he gingerly sat the cage of mice on the table nearby, “No, they were in the fields behind the house, as you said. Once I laid out a few morsels of food, they were easy to stun and capture.”
 
Nearly a dozen of the tiny creatures scuttled around the wire cage, gripping the metal twists in an attempt to escape. Sebastian sent a silencing spell over the top of the cage, and the fearful squeaking ceased.
 
“Thank you.” Sebastian sighed.
 
“You need to eat something.”
 
Sebastian watched the boiling water, eyes tracking the bubbles as they scrambled to the surface only to dissipate into the air. “After this batch.”
 
Ominis let out a puff of air through his nose, “The last batch took nearly six hours of brewing. You are no good to anyone starved and exhausted.” 
 
“I have a deadline.” Sebastian snapped, gripping the edge of the table. Sweat beaded at his temple as the steam rose above the cauldron, “I can’t afford a break. She can’t afford for me to take a break.”
 
Ominis sighed. This was an argument they had almost daily— one that started when Ash had first been taken, and had only increased in frequency as the days passed. Sebastian knew he looked haggard. He was still wearing a uniform from Hogwarts; one that had been scourgified so many times, that his trousers were beginning to fray at the seams from the abundance of magic. His hair was limp and dull, hanging to his chin when he didn’t have it tied back. And his skin was pallor, except for the purple patches underneath his eyes. He had lost at least a stone in weight. But none of that mattered if he could complete this potion. 
 
“I’ll bring down something for you to eat after I return from visiting Anne.”
 
Sebastian didn’t bother looking up as Ominis’ footsteps retreated back upstairs. 
 
Ominis had been given a choice when graduation came— return to his ancestral manor or face disownment and find a life of his own. He had picked the latter, to no one’s surprise. And while Sebastian knew Ominis dreamed of living far away from the country he grew up, he had chosen to stay with Sebastian for the time being. Not that he had much choice of external commutes, not with the rising instability and civil war raging in many countries beyond their borders. 
 
Even if that wasn’t the case, Sebastian knew his friend wouldn’t leave his side— not while Sebastian was dealing with so much. Ominis had always insisted on protecting Sebastian, on shouldering his burdens as much as he could. 
 
And Sebastian was grateful, especially since Ominis had stopped questioning his approaches. Ominis helped with the tasks that Sebastian no longer had time for, now that this potion was consuming every waking hour; gathering ingredients, reading over his notes for additional insight, and taking care of his sister. Sebastian hadn’t the time to visit Anne, and she understood of course, but it killed him all the same. 
 
Sebastian slowly lowered the heat of the flames before adding the bloodroot to the cauldron. He waved his wand over the bubbling mixture, stirring it slowly. He glanced at the now silent cage at his side. 
 
Beyond the other assistance, Ominis’s help was appreciated in gathering mice for experimentation. He needed to finish the base potion by tomorrow night so he could test it on the little creatures. 
 
And he had to hope Alex was completing his task as well. 
 
 
___•___
 
Alex
 
She looked dead. 
 
She wasn’t. He had checked repeatedly, every hour or so. 
 
Ash was laid out atop her bed, hair tangled in the braid she had worn the first night he had been forced to stun her. It was the only sign of wear to be seen, the rest of her untouched. She looked like the girl from the Brothers Grimm tale they had stolen from a library near the orphanage when he was ten— eyes shut, breathing slow and even, her hands on top of each other on her stomach. The main differences were that she was clad in all black leather, with a silver collar and cuffs burning her fragile skin without reprieve. 
 
Another difference was that the story was a fairytale. This was his life. 
 
Alex sat in the wingback chair he had drug to the side of her bed, elbows braced on his knees as he watched her. His back twinged in protest as he shifted position, his body aching after sitting at her side since he had returned from Hastings Castle last night. 
 
He had adjusted the spell on her, after a touch of research. Stunning spells could be dangerous if used repeatedly on someone, especially if that someone was not renerverated for hours at a time. When he had read that, Alex panicked. He taught himself a basic diagnostic charm to check her health, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found her organ systems and brain undamaged from the stasis. He ignored the red orbs that surrounded the memory sections of her brain, or those that indicated the scorches on her neck and wrists. 
 
Then Alex had found a spell healers used to induce a comatose state in patients that needed long term mending. He had immediately renerverated her from the stunning spell, only to put her under the sanitatem somno once she had begun screaming and clawing at her throat. 
 
Now, as the early afternoon sun shone through her window, he thought about Sebastian’s mission for him. Collecting Ash’s blood was no issue, in fact Alex had secured two vials from her once she had fallen unconscious. They sat heavy in his pocket as he watched her, though not as heavy as the lead in his stomach from the thought of his second task. 
 
Collecting Black’s blood was neither impossible nor probable. He had been tasked with handling vials of Phineas’s blood in the past, in order to re-endow his enthralled minister’s rings with the precious lifeblood. Black had worried that distance would decrease the efficacy of the blood bonds, and Alex had been granted the privilege of rectifying that worry. Handling his blood once more was not out of the realm of possibility. But there was a great difference between being forced by his master to carry out a mission, and volunteering to do so without cause. 
 
There had been no issues with the minister’s rings as of late. They followed the commands, strumming through their blood without hesitation. Asking to personally ensure their enslavement with Black’s blood was impudent at best, and suspicious at worst. 
 
But he had little other choice besides bleeding the man himself, which would most definitely result in a quick death before he could transport the vials back to Sebastian. 
 
It mattered little at the moment, however. Black was in a barrage of meetings; those with Minister Osric and the Wizengamot, with Hogwarts staff to prepare for the upcoming school year, and with his own cabal of Ashwinders and dark creatures waiting in the wings for the signal to wreak havoc once the ministry fell. 
 
He wasn’t in the manor, and Alex was on pet-sitting duty as usual. He was to ensure the asset was training, and looked after. Alex would have to wait, until the following day if he were lucky. Though luck was never on his side. 
 
Such a fucking joke. 
 
He had felt such pride when his uncle brought him into the wizarding world. He had felt special, magical. Like he finally belonged. It didn’t matter that his uncle had a cruel streak, that he ensured Alex was a soldier. A machine. He believed Victor loved him in his own way. And then he died. Ripped away from him by the hands of the only other family he had ever had.
 
And so he had let that anger fuel him. He had become a true soldier, a Rookwood for Black’s cause; as long as he was granted the chance at revenge and a seat at the table, he would’ve done anything. He had done anything. 
 
He had given everything to a cause he didn’t fucking believe in. Had betrayed the one person he promised to protect and stood by as she was tortured and turned into a machine colder than himself. 
 
And for fucking what? He had no seat at the table. He was not a king in the game, or a knight. He wasn’t even invited to the cabinet meetings, where even the underlings were called to join. And the thirst for revenge had burned out of him months ago; he wasn’t even sure when things had changed. When he had stopped looking at the scar across her cheek as a testimony to his uncle’s fury in death, and instead as a reminder of her strength against anyone in her path. Maybe around the time when he realized he was no more than a child playing pretend in a room filled with men who thought he was less than the scum beneath their boots. 
 
He was exactly as Sebastian had said. A fucking pawn. 
 
Alex gritted his teeth, and tried to bury the thoughts behind a wall as Sebastian’s twat friend had instructed him to try. The blond had said to picture a fortress, a battlement to protect his thoughts. Alex closed his eyes, tightening a fist around the anger and self loathing clawing up his throat. 
 
He tried to picture a stone castle, like the one in Sleeping Beauty, but instead his mind constructed a building of weathered grey stone. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the walls at regular intervals, their panes clouded with grime and age. A fence surrounded the property, jagged and iron, less about keeping intruders out and more about keeping children in. Tall, gnarled trees lined the perimeter of the cobblestone courtyard, their branches reaching towards the sky like skeletal fingers.
 
Alex flinched back at the looming orphanage his mind had created. He focused, tensing as he tried to dispel the image now taking up the space of his mind. A whip cracked in the distance. His heart raced, beating nearly out of his chest. 
 
This was not the fortress he wanted. But Alex never got what he wanted. 
 
He forced himself to stare at the mental space.  Forced himself to listen to the berating voice of the headmistress and the soft sounds of the piano underlying it all. 
 
It was not the fortress he wanted. But it would do. 
 
Alex stepped past the iron gate. He walked through the courtyard, where memories danced in his periphery. Fighting Jacob Hawsworth when he had put his grubby hands on his sister. Teaching Ash how to play marbles with the pebbles they found. Leaving her behind with promises to adopt her when he came of age. 
 
Each memory he passed, he imagined locking them away in the orphanage rooms above; and each one flickered before turning into wisps. He stepped through the front door and was hit with a barrage of sound and movement. 
 
Phantom children raced down the halls, some giggling, some sobbing. He watched as a younger version of himself tugged a small Ash sneakily out the front door past him, both clad in makeshift All Hallow’s Eve costumes. He tugged the memory back before they stepped through into the courtyard, and stored it away. 
 
He turned back to the halls— the headmistress's voice assaulted him from all angles—
 
“Alexander! You know what happens to naughty children.”
 
“If you so wish to be a bully for her, then you will prepare to receive her punishment as well.”
 
“I never thought I’d see the day you left these halls, boy. Take heed of my lessons, less you find yourself returned.”
 
 
He pushed thoughts of her away, until the strands of memories no longer flashed in front of his eyes. He imagined shoving the woman into her office and locking the door. Her voice cut off as soon as the imposing slab of wood slammed shut in his mind. 
 
Only the soft sounds of piano remained drifting through the halls, and Alex followed the melodies until his footfalls led him down the basement steps. His feet did not echo on the stone stairs, as if his subconscious couldn’t imagine disturbing the memory in front of him as he stepped into the basement proper. 
 
Their backs were to him as they sat on the piano bench, feet dangling as they kicked them back and forth. Discordant chords drifted in the air, floating around his head like snippets of a melody he could no longer recall. 
 
Ash giggled, and bumped his younger counterpart’s shoulder with her own, “B minor is not the key! You’re ruining—“
 
“Ruining?” he scoffed, nudging her back, “I’m improving. The major chords are boring and overused.”
 
“Overused—” she scoffed, rolling her eyes before slapping his hands playfully away from the keys, “They are popular because they are the best. They are happy and hopeful—“
 
“Boring,” he drawled, puffing his breath against her ear.
 
They dissolved into a fit of laughter, never loud enough to breech their sanctuary and draw unwanted attention. 
 
Alex watched from the steps, letting the memory slip into another one. And another one. 
 
Eventually he turned from the scene and headed back up the stairs, leaving these memories in their rightful place; unwilling to lock them away.
 
He opened his eyes, letting Ash’s chamber come into focus. A wave of exhaustion swept over him, the exertion of organizing even a few of his thoughts and memories leeching his energy away as if he’d run a marathon. He slumped down into his chair, eyes briefly flickering to the window where darkness now lay instead of sunlight. 
 
He must’ve been lost in his mind for hours. 
 
Alex ran a hand over his face and glanced back at the sleeping form on the bed beside him. Unchanged. And yet completely different than the girl he had left behind. His heart panged in his chest, a rattling ache that shook the walls of his occlumency. God, what had he done? 
 
“I’m sorry,” Alex croaked, “I’m so sorry.”
 
His throat tightened as a sob fought to break free, “I’m going to fix this—“ Alex hesitantly reached out and grabbed her ice cold hand with his own, “I’m going to get you out, I promise. I promise. I promise—“
 
He dropped his head to the mattress beside her arm and spent the night murmuring apologies into the sheets; he hoped for once that a muggle or magical god was listening, as he prayed to the stars to save her.