Ashes and Dust

Sebastian's eyes snapped open in the dimness of the cave, the faintest hint of dawn's light filtering through the narrow crack in the ceiling. He lay still, the chill of the stone beneath him seeping into his bones. Exhaustion clung to his muscles, every part of his body aching.

He waved his wand, casting a quick tempus charm. Four in the morning. He had managed, after the potion was complete and the plan finalized, to get three hours of sleep. He didn't dream—no, his body pulled him into unconsciousness out of sheer necessity. But waking meant his mind was his once more, and he immediately gritted his teeth. 

Time was slipping through his fingers, and every second felt like a heartbeat closer to the moment of truth.

He would need to leave soon, to gain entry into the ministry. 

With a groan, he pushed himself up, the cold air of the cave biting into his skin. The space was cramped and dark, lit only by the faint glow of a single enchanted lantern.

He barely spared a glance at Harlow's body, though he had moved it from the center of the room to a far corner to reduce his proximity to the smell. 

Sebastian made his way to the potions table, to the two vials of Bloodbreaker lying on a cloth on top. It had finished brewing around midnight last night, and now sat ready to go. He pocketed them, after casting a series of cushioning charms on the glass vials. Beside the cauldron lay a parchment covered in runic diagrams and incantations and a pinky sized ampoule with crimson liquid inside. He had spent hours memorizing what Harlow had told him, he only hoped it was enough. He shoved the parchment into his other pocket, along with the tiny glass bottle, slinging his haversack bag over his shoulder. Two coins clinked together in his trouser pocket, another cause of his restless night. 

He made his way to his trunk, open with its contents spread along the ground in organized piles: potions, extra brewing ingredients, Ash's letters to him— fifth year and before she was taken— and a pile of miscellaneous items. Sebastian crouched down, ignoring the protest of his sore legs and back. He grabbed the last three Wiggenwelds, the polyjuice bottles, and a pepper-up. He began shoving them into his bag, his fingers twitching over the pepper-up. He craved the buzz from the potion, wanted it now, but he needed to wait. He slipped it into the bag without another glance. 

His fingers gingerly sifted through the pile of letters. Her handwriting was messy, a rapid scrawl as if she could never get the words out fast enough. He ran his fingers over the lettering—

Seb, 

I've been corralled into going dress shopping for a ball I'm not attending. Yes the irony is not lost on me. I'll be back before dinner so we shouldn't lose too much time translating. Try not to solve it without me, or do actually that would be grand. 

Yours, 

Ash

Yours. He remembered seeing that simple word at the bottom of that letter. He had nearly sprinted to Gladrags under the excuse of picking up an order of his own. And she had been there, entranced by that forest green gown, and he could do nothing but buy it for her. 

The gown had burned in his house along with the rest of their possessions. 

He pocketed the letter, sticking it close to his heart. 

He moved on to the other pile, sliding a hand mirror out from the stack. He stood up straight, giving himself a once-over in the shadowed cave. He almost didn't recognize the figure staring back. The face in the glass was grimy, streaked with dirt and dried blood, and his once-grey shirt was torn and stained. The fabric clung to his body in tatters, revealing patches of pale, bruised skin beneath.

His eyes, were hollow and shadowed, deep purple circles marring the skin beneath them. The weight of countless sleepless nights had etched lines into his face, aging him. He leaned closer, squinting at his reflection, and ran a hand through his dirty hair, which now hung limply to his collar, tangled and matted. There were few freckles on his cheeks, from hours spent inside instead of under the sun. 

He reached up to touch his reflection, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the glass. He looked like he'd been in Azkaban for the past eight months— it had felt that way as well. But he couldn't look like this, not today. She deserved to see him as she knew him, not this mess of a man. 

Sebastian dropped his hand from the reflection and palmed his wand, dragging it across his body. 

"Scourgify." He murmured, watching the dirt and blood disappear from his clothes and skin. He still felt dirty, felt a layer of filth clinging to his body, but at least he couldn't see it. He wasn't a deft hand at transfiguration, but he waved his wand over the holes and tatters in his clothing, stitching them together as best as possible. 

Once his clothing was somewhat mended, he brought the wand to his hair. He let go of the mirror, letting it hover at face height, and grabbed his hair in a ponytail. 

He flicked the wand, slicing clean through it. Brown hair floated down, falling to the cave floor in scattered piles. He sliced at a few more strands, attempting to look less like a man living in a cave, and more like who he'd been before. 

His hair rested just below his ears, still messy, but it would do. 

He looked at himself once more. He could glamor the purple circles under his eyes. Could hide the pallor skin. 

He let the mirror fall back into its pile. He would fix his hair and his clothes, but he wouldn't erase what these months had been for him. He wouldn't pretend, wouldn't glamor away the ache living under his skin. 

He summoned the ministry map from the potions table, now shrunken, and slipped it into his satchel before stalking to the cave entrance. 

He turned, facing the cave and its bedraggled contents. Even if he survived today, he wouldn't return. Not that he wanted to. Harlow's body would be left for eternity, turning to bones and dust before any unlucky wizard stumbled upon this cursed place. 

He sniffed, letting out a harsh breath through his nose before stepping out into the dawn light. 

___•___

Sebastian stepped into the ministry atrium, satchel at his side, as he wiped the floo dust from his suit jacket. He swept the flaxen locks back into place from where they'd fallen over his forehead. The sandy mustache itched his nostrils, but he refrained from touching it. 

It had taken two and a half hours to find and subdue a suitable candidate outside of the ministry— and another half hour to swap his clothes, steal his badge, and make his way into the atrium at precisely eight ante meridiem. 

Charles Larch was a reed of a man, with a nose that looked twice broken. Unremarkable. One who passed through the atrium without sparing a glance. His badge indicated he worked on basement level four, beast division. Unfortunately for Larch, he wouldn't be making it to his desk today. No. Charles would be at the Wizengamot hearing at two p.m. 

And everywhere else before that. 

Sebastian passed through the atrium, his boots clicking on the polished dark wood floor. The heavy wards around the building pressed against his skin like an invisible coat— anti-apparation, muggle repellants, and a malady of protection wards. It was like walking into a cage that he did not have the key for. 

 The vast hall stretched before him, lined with gilded fireplaces along the left wall, where wizards and witches appeared and disappeared in bursts of green flame. The ceiling arched high above, enchanted to look like the sky outside, though tonight it was a deep, tranquil blue speckled with stars.

The centerpiece of the atrium was the magnificent fountain, its golden statues gleaming under the enchanted light. A noble wizard stood with his wand raised, flanked by a graceful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, all depicted in various poses of allegiance. Water cascaded around them, splashing into the crystal-clear pool at their feet, where countless coins glittered below the surface.

Columns of deep green marble lined the hall, each one supporting the lofty ceiling. Between them, dark mahogany benches offered a place for visitors to rest, though at this hour, most were empty.

Sebastian moved forward, his eyes sweeping the grand space. It was busy, with witches and wizards bustling around, though there were fewer than he imagined. He had pictured the place packed to the brim, imagined himself shouldering through bodies to get across the floor. Instead, there were likely a hundred around the vast room, leaving the place near silent with hushed conversation and the sounds of the floo behind him. 

His now blue eyes flickered around, taking in the guards stationed every ten meters or so. Aurors, he realized from the dark uniforms. Their dark eyes peered out, jumping from person to person, wands held tightly at their sides. Security was tight, as Ominis had said. That was double-edged; both good and bad. Good because hopefully fewer bystanders would be slaughtered with their help. Bad, because if they got in his way, or tried to hurt Ash, he would slaughter them in turn. He looked away from the aurors, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

The reflections of the enchanted lights in the pool's water danced across his face, casting fleeting, ghostly patterns over his grimy, exhausted features.

As he approached the central fountain, he couldn't help but feel a pang of irony. The statues stood as symbols of unity and peace within the magical community, yet the world outside had become a chaotic struggle against darkness. The 'opulence and order' of the Ministry seemed worlds apart from the turmoil that had consumed his existence. A sheet thrown over the ugly and disrepair. He knew a hearing was supposed to take place today, one to impose regulations on English citizens— on muggleborns— due to the fear that had infected every corner of the continent. And yet the gleaming statue was supposed to represent oneness. Fucking bullshit. 

He stepped towards the edge of the shallow pool, glancing down at the water for only a moment before pulling out a coin and flicking it into the water. 

Sebastian passed the fountain, hoping that if anything was destroyed today, it was that false symbol. 

Behind the fountain, a line was formed. 

Sebastian joined it, fixing a neutral expression on his— on Charles' face. The line ebbed forward, step by step, until he caught sight of the security desk, where a grey haired Auror stood watch. The Auror's eyes were sharp, scanning every face that passed with a suspicion borne of years on the front lines. His stance was tense, alert, his hand never straying far from the wand holstered at his side. He had scars across his face, crisscrossing over his nose, reminiscent of Professor Sharp. 

As Sebastian approached, the Auror's gaze locked onto him, piercing and unyielding.

"Wand, please," the Auror said, his voice gruff. Sebastian handed over the wand, watching as it was placed into the brass instrument that checked for any dark magic traces. The Auror's eyes never left Sebastian's face, scrutinizing every detail as if searching for any hint of deceit.

A green light blinked in approval, and the wand was returned to him without ceremony. "You're clear," the Auror said, eyes immediately moving above Sebastian's head to the next person. Sebastian nodded, taking his wand back and tucking it into his right sleeve. Thankfully Charles' beech wood wand had no unforgivables on it, like his own tucked in his left sleeve. 

Sebastian passed the desk, a coldness settling into his bones. He reached the lift, pressed the lowest number his badge allowed access to, and settled back against the wall smiling gentility at an older witch at his side. 

___•___

Two hours later, Charles Larch strolled onto level one, a stack of paperwork in his hands. His crooked nose was buried in the stack, reading furiously as he walked across the thick purple carpet. 

He bumped into a short and stout witch just outside of the minister's office, his papers flying to the floor along with a bottle of blood. He cried out, diving for it as the witch stumbled back. He hit his knees, cushioned by the plush purple under him. He began mumbling furiously as he cleaned up, glancing up only once apologetically to the witch for nearly knocking her over. He bunched the papers in his fist, wiping at the blood, "So hard to come by— Diricrawl blood—" 

Few paid attention to the eccentric beast tamer from level four as he rubbed his fingers through the sticky scarlet substance, the witch above him shaking her head as she moved on wondering why in Merlin's name the blasted man didn't just use his wand. 

When Charles stood, no one was watching close enough to see him use an invisibility spell  instead of a cleansing one. He stepped away from the minister's door, ducking his head as the two guards on this level made their way closer. 

He was gone before they spared him a glance. 

___•___

Sebastian laid his head back against the cold stone wall, resting for a heartbeat or two inside the supply closet. He had finished the first step, and still had one more dose of polyjuice to spare. 

He tapped his fingers against the wall by his thigh, staring up into the darkness of the tiny space. Only an hour until the hearing. Would she come bursting through the wall of the atrium, wand blazing? Would she be alone? Would Black be with her?

How many were going to die today? 

Sebastian had thought about warning the minister, about alerting the aurors to the threat today. But he knew enough of the justice system to know he would be detained for questioning, and the only protocol that would've been enacted was heightened security and a pushback on the trial. It wouldn't stop the attack, it would've only stopped Sebastian from being able to intervene. From being able to save her. 

He ran his hand down to his trouser pocket, feeling the warm potion vial under his fingertips. He slid his hand into the other pocket, feeling the tiny vial. Nearly empty now, though a drop or two remained. Just in case.

 He would see her again, and he would not fail her this time.

He hoped Ominis had gotten to Morroco with Anne, hoped his sister hadn't put up too much of a fight to stay. Sebastian had little hope left to spare, but he sent a little their way in faith that they were safe. 

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose, and slipped out of the closet. 

___•___

Courtroom three was packed. No citizens were allowed in the building, and yet every seat was filled. The octagonal room was vast, with high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of magical creatures, all painted in rich, dark colors that contrasted with the gleaming white and blue checkered marble floors. 

Large chandeliers hung from above, their numerous candles casting a warm, flickering light that illuminated every corner of the chamber.

At the back of the room, rows upon rows of polished wooden benches filled the space, their seats packed with officials, workers, and various members of the wizarding community, all eager to hear the judgment on the contentious muggleborn laws. 

The air was thick with anticipation and the low murmur of hushed conversations, punctuated occasionally by the sound of shuffling feet or the rustle of parchment.

At the front of the room, a grand dais dominated the scene, elevated above the rest of the chamber to give a clear view to all present. Behind the dais, a large, ornately framed portrait of the current Minister for Magic hung on the wall. The Chief Warlock's bench, made of dark mahogany, stood tall and imposing, with intricate gold inlays that shimmered under the light.

Surrounding both sides of the dais were members of the Wizengamot, clad in deep burgundy robes. Black's sister would be in those robes. Sebastian had never seen a portrait of her; wouldn't even know how to identify her among the sea of red. Did she know what her brother had planned? What he had already done? 

Sebastian, wearing the face of Larch, sat in the bottommost row at the back, closest to the floor and entrance. Ten minutes till. 

Two aurors stood at the entrance, wands drawn and held at their side. They both looked seasoned, nicked, and scarred in enough places to suggest they had seen battle.

The Minister of Magic, Basil Osric, stepped into the chamber flanked by the Chief Warlock Edgar Ravenscroft. The minister, a mousy looking man,  was clad in a deep midnight blue robe, adorned with subtle, shimmering hexagonal patterns. Draped over his shoulders was a heavy cloak of rich emerald green dragonhide, fastened with a brooch shaped like a phoenix. 

Ravenscroft took his position at the dais, the minister beside him. The chief warlock had nearly a foot in height on the minister, and a beard nearly down to his navel. He wore a robe similar to that of the rest of the Wizengamot, deep crimson, though it was lined with gold embroidery along the edges. A flowing cape of black velvet hung from his shoulders, fastened with a clasp shaped like a pair of balance scales, Atop his head was a tall, conical hat made of dark leather, adorned with a single, large feather from a hippogriff. 

"We thank you for your attendance today," Ravenscroft began, his voice deep but scratchy with age, "We ask that those watching the hearing remain respectful and silent during the proceedings. The fate of our country hangs in the balance, and our decision today will, Merlin blessed, protect our people from the fates seen outside of our warded borders." 

A murmuring in the crowd. The wizard next to him shifted in his seat, clutching tightly to his thighs. The proposed regulations would restrict muggleborns' access to magic— possibly removing their attainment of a wand and their attendance at magical institutions. It would require a registry, their names listed for all to find, to make detainment and subsequently their imprisonment easier. All because of Black and his 'Sword of Gideon' propaganda. Sebastian clenched his fists in his lap. How many muggleborns sat in the ministry seats, about to lose their rights to magic? 

"We do not take these decisions lightly." Minister Osric piped up, his voice soft and eyes flickering wearily over the crowd, "We only hope to do what is best for the majority of citizens." He turned his head towards Ravenscroft, who sat perched higher than even the minister himself. "With that, I open the chamber to deliberation."

The doors shut, an intricate pattern of glowing wards overlapping at the entrance. He recognized the symbols. Protection. Containment. Sanctuary. 

The Chief Warlock cleared his throat, lifting his hand towards members of the Wizengamot. "We shall begin with testimony from—"

A thrum went through the air, as if someone had taken the magic of the world, the strands of warding interlacing throughout the building, and snapped it. It was visceral. 

Patrons gasped, eyes going wide as they felt the heavy warding that had coated their bodies like a second skin, break. Silence filled the air, everyone straining to listen—

Sebastian's slipped his wand into hand, his breathing heavy as he prepared himself. 

A boom sounded far above them. 

A crack splintered the muraled ceiling, it's jagged running line cracking through the painting of a wizard riding a hippogriff, splitting through the wizard's throat. 

"They're here!" A wizard screamed from the back row, his voice filled with panic as he began shoving through the crowd. Other cries of terror joined in, until the room was echoing a symphony of fear. 

"Please do not panic!" Ravencroft boomed, rising rapidly from his chair and lifting his hands up to the festering crowd. "The ministry is the most secure—"

Another boom— louder this time—

Sebastian's blood warmed, his skin buzzing as he checked the tip of his wand. It glowed bright orange. One of his traps had been crossed over, but not by her, it would be red if it was her—

"We're going to die!" A witch in Wizengamot red screamed, fleeing from the benches to the still-warded door. Others joined her, until the floor was a writhing mass of bodies attempting to escape. The guards attempted to hold people back, restraining those they could, but shooting off spells was nearly impossible with the amount of people now pushing against them. 

Sebastian stood atop his bench seat, shoving against bodies who attempted to knock him off in their fleeing, He kept his eyes above the crowd—

He watched the mousy minister, pale faced and shaking, as he pulled a rusty spoon wrapped in cloth from his pocket. He grabbed the metal tightly, squeezing his eyes— he opened them in terror, turning to the Chief Warlock, "The portkeys— they won't activate— I can't get to Spain!"

"I'm here under the guise of checking the wards around the country. Which I did. Already. My master wants them impenetrable from both sides at a moment's notice, for his grand finale."

Alexander's words rang in his ears. Impenetrable from any party, not just muggleborns. A cage, locking them all in. Had Ominis and Anne even made it? Had they been caught and tortured? Had Ash been forced to—

People began banging on the courtroom door, spells zinging against the warded surface, "Let us out!" Someone cried, turning their wand towards the minister. 

One of the aurors immediately fired off a hex at the offender, sending him to the ground underneath the stampede of feet. 

Osric trembled in his seat, sinking further into the plush as he stared out blankly at the room. Ravencroft practically growled at the useless worm before turning to the mass of people stomping over each other to escape. "We are safer here than above! This court has been warded against—"

Another boom. People began screaming. 

Sebastian's wand tip glowed bright orange again, and he swore. Another trap on another level, blasted apart by someone else. That answered his question on whether she was sent alone. 

Sebastian watched as multiple wizards and witches turned to the minister, and began rushing towards him. They scrambled over the benches, and Osric cowered, attempting to flee from the hoard—

The aurors stood no chance now at stopping the crowd from reaching either destination; the door or the minister himself. They had been pulled into the mass of bodies, shoved and scratched as people fought to get to safety. 

The five that had pushed through the crowd to Osric reached him, screaming as they tugged at his clothes, begging him to open the doors. Ravencroft fled the dais, before he could be grabbed by the mob. 

"Please—" Osric cried out as he got pulled down, down, down, the benches and into the horde. Sebastian could only see his thrashing arms as people tore him to pieces in their terror. 

The wards dropped on the door.

The throng of people shoved and trampled each other as they pushed into the halls, out of the courtroom. 

The first ten people in Wizengamot crimson who stepped into the hallway turned to bloody mist. 

A different sort of screaming began then. 

Witches and wizards began fleeing back into the courtroom. Others tried their luck in the halls— any wearing Wizengamot robes were shredded the moment they passed the doorframe. 

It was calamity. Bedlam. 

He couldn't see who was beyond the doors, but he knew in his heart. 

Spells began zinging through the crowd from the hall, tearing through people indiscriminately. Most were bolts of green, dropping those running in terror before they could complete another step. Of the three hundred that had entered the space for a hearing, at least forty were already dead. 

Those left in the room began sprinting up the benches, out of sight of the door and out of the crowd, still stuck shoving and pushing. Sebastian grappled a wizard who nearly tumbled back into the pit of bodies, pushing him behind a bench with a hiss, "Stay down."

Sebastian didn't waste time seeing if the man followed instruction. Instead, he shielded himself and forced himself through the now crowded benches and seat towards where Ravenscroft was ducked across the room. Unlike the minister, Ravenscroft seemed determined to go down with a fight— shooting spells of his own; jets of red towards the halls beyond, and yellow paralytics to any citizens attempting to get to him in their fear. 

Once the crowd at the door was cleared, though now piled with fallen bodies, Ashwinders flooded into the room. Their animalistic masks gleamed under the chandeliers, their mouths pulled into triumphant grins as they began tearing into people with hexes and curses. 

Sebastian slammed himself to the ground behind a bench, flattening against the marble as spells whizzed his way. They didn't recognize him— no, he was still wearing Larch's skin— there was just nothing but death and chaos in their minds. Sebastian snarled, turning his arm outwards under the bench, "Diffindo—"

The Ashwinder's arm sliced off, stopping him mid-spell. He howled, clutching the limb as he sank to his knees in the midst of the room. Sending an Avada might draw attention his way, so Sebastian would make do. He continued his crawl towards Ravenscroft, sending spells blasting towards the enemy when he could. 

It was hardly enough, there were nearly twenty Ashwinders and innocent bodies were hitting the marble every second. He could hear nothing over the screams, guttural and pained, fear-filled— and the laughter, hissing and cruel, as havoc was wreaked. 

Sebastian was nearly to Ravenscroft, who had  downed an Ashwinder of his own with a sizzling electric spell, when an older wizard tumbled down the benches above him, landing right on top of Sebastian's back. 

Sebastian grunted at the impact, and quickly rolled to his side, yanking the frail man down beside him as best he could. The man was shaking, blood running from his temple from the fall. The man pulled from Sebastian, crawling onto his knees in attempt to continue his path towards the main floor. His leg was twisted wrong, and Sebastian reached for him, grabbing his shoulders. "Hide here," Sebastian hissed, "Don't try to—"

A green light hit the wizard in the side of the face, and the old man slumped against Sebastian's chest. Sebastian let out a harsh breath through his nose before laying the wizard down, and crawling over his body towards his target. He ignored the smell of burning flesh, the screams of the dying, sending spells at Ashwinders only when he could. 

Ravenscroft spotted his approach only when Sebastian had grappled him, throwing him down under him as they fought for the Chief Warlock's wand. Sebastian slammed his elbow down into the man's diaphragm, wrenching his wand away before the man sent a paralytic spell at his head. 

Ravenscroft snarled, gasping as he fought for control, "What are you—" 

"Immobulus." Sebastian grunted, his wand pressed against the wizard's neck. The older man froze under him, his body rigid and eyes wide. Sebastian yanked him up against him, casting a shield charm around them to repel any attacks sent their way. He growled, his shoulder injury from yesterday twinging at the man's weight. He dug into his pocket, looking for the matching coin—

The chandeliers above the room guttered, a frigid wind snapping through the blown open doors. For a heartbeat nothing moved; even the Ashwinder's seemed to pause, their bodies tense. 

A swirl of black and a loud bang as a figure cut through the anti-apparation wards like butter—

And then she was there, in the center of the paused mayhem. The wraith, a vision of death incarnate. The Sword of Gideon herself. She was clad in black, swirls of her apparation still lingering in the air around her. Her eyes were blood red, and veins of crimson magic leeched from her pupils out onto her face. The silver at her throat and wrists glinted in the candlelight, bloodstained. 

But it was the crown that Sebastian stared at, It rested on her brow like a cruel mockery of royalty—no gems adorned this crown, only twisted, jagged thorns of silver. The sharp metal dug into her skin, small rivulets of blood mingling with the silver, making it seem as if the crown itself drank from her essence. An entrapped queen.

Magic seeped from her, like a palpable buzz in the air. It was frigid magic, like something old that had been awakened from the long frozen parts of the earth. It crackled at her fingertips, alive and writhing, stronger than it had ever been before. 

The stillness only lasted a heartbeat, long enough for Sebastian to feel his soul tear at the sight of her, and then she raised her hands—

And death fell where she willed it. 

Those nearest her in red cloaks liquified, too fast for them even to scream. She squeezed her fists, yanking her arms towards her chest and red writhing magic poured from their bodies as they pooled to the ground. She tipped her head back, inhaling it—taking their energy, their pain and emotion. 

She snapped her head back down, and the veins flowing from the sides of her eyes seemed to grow in number, now spiderwebbing down her cheeks to her throat. 

She stepped forward, relishing in the screams of the fearful, in the cackling of the men surrounding her; another crush of her fingers into a fist, and a witch in red sprinting towards the door crumpled. 

Sebastian's fingers brushed the coin and he yanked it from his pocket, eyes locked on the maelstrom of a girl—

Her eyes snapped to his, to Larch, and then past him to the Chief Warlock in his grip. She cocked her head, like a predator, before raising her hand outward towards them. Sebastian gripped the paralyzed man tighter and bellowed, "Ministry Atrium."

Sebastian felt a tug at his navel, holding tightly to Alexander's repurposed coin as he was transported to the twin he had spent hours creating. Her crimson eyes were locked on his as he swirled away, and she threw out a hand, yanking it towards her—

Sebastian let out a hoarse scream as they moved from the courtroom to the in between space— the flesh on the arm gripping Ravenscroft tearing as the portkey pulled them from her magic's grasp—

The two landed in the atrium fountain, and Sebastian gritted his teeth as the water stung his injured arm. He glanced down, letting out a harsh breath through his nose at the sight. His left arm, the one wrapped around Ravenscroft, had three long strips of skin missing. Muscle and fat showed under the patches, blood sliding in rivulets down into the pool of water. He didn't have time to heal it. 

He looked up, blanching at the state of the atrium. Bodies laid strewn across the floor, all those workers unfortunate enough to be on this level when Black's army arrived. He didn't know what the other levels looked like, those she and the Ashwinders had gone through first. 

Some had to survive, Sebastian told himself. Some would've hid or found their way to a working floo. She hadn't killed everyone, Sebastian noticed. Only the Wizengamot members, only those in red robes. The Ashwinders had been indiscriminate in their killing, slashing down anyone in their path with a gleeful smile. But she hadn't. Her orders would've been direct. Take out the minister, the Chief Warlock, and the Wizengamot. There was no bloodlust in her, no writhing demon that took pleasure in killing all in her path. 

She was in there. She was still in there. 

And she would be coming for Ravenscroft soon. 

Sebastian hissed, adjusting his arms and cast a featherlight charm on Ravenscroft before yanking the man from the fountain. Sebastian slid his wand between his teeth, dragging the wizard's immobilized body with his good arm. His face bubbled as he went, the polyjuice finally wearing off. 

He stepped past bodies, some in tact, others in pieces. Sebastian found a nearly empty area in the middle of the grand room, and dropped Ravenscroft to the marble. Sebastian panted as he pulled his wand from his teeth, using his magic to push any bodies away that were too close to the area he needed. 

He cleaned the marble with a quick Tergeo, wiping the floor clean of spilled blood. The space needed to be perfect for Sanguis Viniculum. Sebastian needed to be perfect. He had practiced, had hid these traps all across the ministry throughout the day, but never one this large. 

He grimaced, looking down at his bleeding arm. That would do. 

He clenched his fist, clamping his jaw shut through the pain, and let the blood drip freely down onto the white marble. He only wasted a few seconds, knowing she would be coming soon, before dropping to his knees and running his fingers through the blood. 

A large circle, dripping more blood as he went. A willing sacrifice of blood by the creator of the circle, that was Harlow's instruction. 

He moved to the inside, quickly sketching the runes—

Berkano for rebirth. Ansuz for wisdom. Naudhiz for need and urgency. Algiz for protection. Wunjo for happiness and future joy. 

And Injuz for love. 

Sebastian pulled the tiny vial from his pocket with his good arm, popping off the top before using his wand to siphon the remaining drops of blood into the air. It was the last remnants he had saved of her blood. The binding agent, that which turned the circle of runes into a trap only for her. He spread the blood thin into the air, murmuring the incantation softly under his breath before letting it fall into the runes at the center. 

For the earlier much smaller traps, he had pre-mixed his and her blood together. But he didn't have the time for that. This— this would have to work. It had to. 

A thrum went through the air, a waver in the magic, like the moment before a taut string was plucked—

Sebastian slashed his wand through the air, casting the invisibility spell over the blood circle, before yanking Ravenscroft's frozen body right to the far edge. Sebastian cast a disillusionment over himself and leapt behind the nearest column right as a loud bang rumbled through the space. 

Sebastian stared from behind the column as she apparated near the elevators, an instant chill sweeping through the atrium. She was alone, not that the others could apparate through the wards like she could. The Ashwinders were likely soaking in the bloodshed downstairs. 

She stepped further into the vast room, her boots clicking against the marble floor. There was no sound, save for the buzzing of her magic and Sebastian's breathing, which sounded too loud for his own good. He quietly pointed his wand at himself, casting a nonverbal silencing charm. He wasn't a Wizengamot member, she had no reason to slaughter him. But he had taken her mark from her, had gotten in her path. And he looked himself once more. Black could've placed a target on his head as he had all the rest. 

Sebastian watched as her red eyes locked on the gift he had left her, magically paralyzed and waiting. She apparated closer, not bothering to walk across the cavernous hall, sending another thunderous boom echoing in Sebastian's ears. 

Sebastian held his breath, despite the silencing charm. He hadn't been this close to her in months. She stood directly at the edge of the runic trap, staring down at her prey with calculating eyes. At this distance, Sebastian could see the daggers strapped to her thighs, and the shortsword at her back. Black had wanted The Sword of Gideon incarnate, had wanted the spectacle it seemed. 

Sebastian stared at the braid swept to one side, and the burnt skin revealed under the collar at her neck. At the matching marks on her wrists and forehead. Sorrow and rage licked at his insides. Gods what had they done to her? He wanted to reach out, to grab her and whisk her away. 

He restrained himself. 

Ash raised a hand towards Ravenscroft, and flicked her wrist. The man went limp, gasping as the immobilizing charm was lifted. His relief lasted only a heartbeat, until his eyes met that of his killer. He shuddered on the ground, rolling to his knees as he reached for a wand that wasn't there. 

She raised her other hand, and Sebastian gritted his teeth. She hadn't moved forward enough—

"Please—" Ravenscroft rasped out, body quaking as he scooted backwards away. She didn't give chase, didn't even take a step in the man's direction. Sebastian stared at her, and lifted his wand. This would surely be his end, if he fucked up—

Ash crushed her fingers into a fist, snapping Ravenscroft's neck, right as Sebastian wrenched his wand to the right, "Carpe Retractum!"

Ravenscroft's body slumped right as Ash stuttered forward two steps, less than any other witch or wizard would under the powerful spell. But it was enough—

She snarled, turning towards Sebastian as the runes began glowing at her feet. Sebastian dropped his disillusionment, rushing to the edge of the circle. Ash met his gaze, nothing but cold and raw power inside her crimson eyes. The blood red veins that branched across her ivory skin pulsated, thrummed with power. She lifted her hands to the shimmering barrier now encircling her. She pounded on it, forcing her magic into the runes at her feet to shatter them. But her magic faltered, weakened, as the runes absorbed whatever she gave them. 

A binding entrapment ritual. One Black himself had devised to use on her when placing the manacles to begin with. His runes had been different— but Harlow had said that the runes needed to be connected to the relationship between the binder and the entrapped. Sebastian knew that his runes were as powerful as any others. 

She drug her nails against the barrier, ripping at it as she began to weaken. Sebastian rested his forehead against it, penetrating her with his gaze. 

"It's alright, love. It's going to be alright." He murmured. 

She growled, her icy features contorting as she felt her power drain. She sank to her knees, dropping her head to the ground as she panted against the cold marble. This was as weak as she would get. It had to be now. 

"Sit ligans transeat."

The barrier rippled under his touch, and Sebastian slid through. 

She lifted her head, curling her hands into fists before launching herself off her knees at him. Sebastian grappled her, grunting at the impact. He fought to get ahold of her arms, pushing them both to the ground. She landed under him, letting out a gasp of air as her back collided with the stone. Sebastian clenched his jaw, forcing his weight down on top of her—

She wrenched an arm free and clawed at him, ripping her nails down his already shredded arm. He let out a pained scream, his body shuddering at the torn muscles under her fingers. He fought with her, finally getting ahold of her arms again. He pinned them down, laying his body on hers to trap her under him. She thrashed like an animal— a weapon who wasn't completing her mission—

"Immobulus—" Sebastian breathed at her ear. She stilled under him, body frozen and drained from the runes holding her magic within them. 

Sebastian gasped for breath, nearly collapsing. He pushed up onto his knees, looking down at her with a pained expression. He reached a shaky hand forward, brushing her hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger against the scorching silver against her brow. 

He pulled away and reached his hand into his pocket, removing Bloodbreaker from its confines. 

Sebastian swallowed hard. This was it. If the potion didn't work— 

He didn't think about the death that awaited him. He popped the cork out of the bottle and reached for her face. She was paralyzed under him, but he could feel her magic swirling just beneath her skin. He grabbed her chin, grunting at the frigid temperature, and forced her mouth open. 

He poured the black liquid in, and quickly shut her jaw, covering her nose and mouth with his hand. He quickly lifted the immobilizing charm and forced his weight against her—

She struggled under him, ripping at his hands over her mouth as she fought to breath—

"Swallow it." He commanded roughly, holding her nose closed as he pressed against her painfully. Apologies swam through his head but he had no time to give them aloud. 

She yanked at his arms, digging into his ruined flesh and he bit back another scream, holding her against him—

What felt like eternity passed, but finally, as her gaze grew hazy, her body swallowed the foul liquid. Sebastian slumped over her, removing his hands from her mouth and nose as she sucked down air, hacking and gasping—

She reached for him, attempting to claw her way out when she stopped— her entire body went taut, rigid against the marble—

Then she began screaming. 

Sebastian moved to his knees in front of her, holding his hands out towards her as if to comfort—

He began the incantation, yelling it over her cries of pain. Over and over the words fell from his lips, ripped from him—

She convulsed against the floor, her body writhing as if crucio'd. Wretched screams fell from her lips, tearing at her vocal cords as she arched her back off the floor. She scratched at her face, at her stomach, and arms as if to staunch the pain radiating from within.

Sebastian held his breath. The potion had to take her to the brink of death, enough so that the blood bond would not return to the healthy replenished cells. It had to eradicate and then restore. 

Tears streaked down his cheeks, broken apologies falling from his lips as she died in front of him—

"I'm sorry, love," he sobbed, reaching for her but not touching, "It's going to be okay, Ash. It's going to be fine; stay with me, love. I love you, you know that? Such a goddamn coward waiting until now to tell you, but I love you—"

She screamed again, her body bowing nearly in half before she crumpled against the marble, going deathly still.

He grabbed her face between his hands, dripping tears onto her pale cheeks, "Come back to me, Ash." 

Her skin was cold. 

Not frigid. 

Breath fanned across his face—

And green eyes shot open.