Aftermath
The sun rose slowly over the Atlantic, hues of pink and orange setting the turquoise waters alight. Seabirds swooped overhead, making their way from roost to the sea in search of breakfast.
Ash sank her fingers into the sand beside where she sat, burrowing the digits in the cool and wet beach as the waves gently lapped at her bare feet.
Her and Sebastian had arrived in Morroco three nights ago, going straight to the local wizarding hospital, where he had given tearful relief-filled hugs to both his sister and Ominis, who had apparently been waiting for them. Ash had hovered near the door, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, lost in her own thoughts.
It had been late when they had finally fled England, both of their magical reserves flagging at the strain of the entire day. She had used the dregs of her magic to break the warding around England, ripping the cage that Black had constructed around the country to pieces. It was the most she would be able to help with the aftermath.
Because Ash Cendrillion was dead. Had been memorialized months ago, with a headstone and all. Sebastian had even attended the ceremony.
And the Wraith—
She had died too. Nothing but charred remains and a bloody sword in Grimmauld Place study.
Sebastian had made it happen, had found a witch downstairs buried under the rubble, Ashwinder mask crushed; Had swapped her clothing for Ash’s, and set the whole house aflame as they left.
There would be no grand reentry into society. No sob story given to the public of her capture and brainwashing. She would be given the Kiss in Azkaban if any remaining members of the ministry found her alive. Not that she would’ve fought against it. If death was her chance at salvation, she would’ve gladly walked into the dementor’s den. But Sebastian—
She couldn’t do that to him. Not after everything he had gone through at her expense.
So the rebuilding effort would continue without her. According to local newspapers, it had begun already. With Black’s death, all those wearing silver rings tied to him had perished as well. All of the ministers he had propped up around the continent after she had slaughtered the innocents, all those under his thrall, died the moment she shoved a blade through his chest.
It was pandemonium across the eastern half of the globe. Governments in shambles, riots in the streets, uprisings by muggleborns against the now weakened states. England was no better. News had spread far and wide that the Black family was complicit in the downfall of wizarding society— helped along by the documents Sebastian had ensured survived the fire inside Black’s study. Documents and journals that Black had kept nearby at all times; showcasing the rituals for goblin silver, the binding of ancient magic to his will through a vessel, and the silver ring on his finger— a perfect match to all those under his influence in positions of power.
The coup had been uncovered, destruction had been wrought, and now— maybe— life could rebuild again. It would take years to reach stability again. Some countries, she feared, might be in turmoil eternally due to her.
Sebastian didn’t seem to care about the state of the world beyond their piece of sanctuary—a rented room at the local inn. He only brought her news because she asked for it. She asked for little these days. Said little. Did little.
Most days she sat at the small window of the bedroom and watched the fishing boats of the coast. Or she watched the ant colony near the back of the inn, sat beside the mudbrick wall as ants strolled in and out of their red-dirt hill. Or she sat on the beach as she did now, feet and hands buried in the sand, watching the seashells roll with the undertow. Usually in the early mornings or deep into the nights— the midday was boiling hot, too hot for anything but sitting indoors.
Watching kept her mind blank. When she wasn’t focused on something simple and mind-numbing, the memories— the screaming— filled every crevice of her thoughts.
Most of her memory was tangible now; the before and the during. Some things were still fuzzy. There was an errant memory, only that of big green eyes above her, that she could no longer place.
The faces of her victims were smoothed over in her mind, only visible and distinguishable if she pushed. She didn’t have the strength to push most days. But at night, when the screaming was the loudest, she would force herself to remember.
She would wake in the night, tangled in half-burnt sheets, screaming as loud as those she’d hurt. Sebastian would wake from his place on the floor and remind her she was safe. He wouldn’t touch unless she asked, which was rare.
The mirrors in the small room had to be covered at all times. Catching sight of herself— of the permanent burn-marked skin at her brow and throat and wrists— would send her into a panic.
In her heart, there was an empire of corpses. And she was drowning in them. She spent the days torn between wishing they could afford potions so she could numb herself, and glad that she had to feel it all.
They had arrived with only the coinage Sebastian had stowed away in his bag, and no inheritance left to either of their names. Ominis thankfully had hidden away money from his family vault before disinheritance. It was enough for room and board and a few hot meals each.
A burst of red and orange drew her attention back to the sunrise. A wave rumbled along the sand, brushing the backs of her thighs and soaking her in the scent of salt and brine.
Footsteps squished in the sand behind her and she tensed automatically, hands balling into fists even as she forced air into her lungs— even as her mind recognized the gait, the scent of parchment, and autumn. A tiny spark of red writhing magic burned at her fingertips that were buried in the sand, even as she told herself she was fine—
“Good morning.” Sebastian murmured as he stepped beside where she sat. The magic slowly fizzled out, and the muscles in her back and arms relaxed. She looked over at him, ensuring her rapid heartbeat that she was safe. Free.
He wore white linen trousers and a loose brown shirt. His feet were bare, the bottoms of the pants lightly dusted in wet sand. His hair was sleep tousled, errant curls hanging over his forehead. His skin was not as pallorous as when they’d arrived, nor did he seem on the brink of collapse from exhaustion. Instead, he seemed as at peace as she remembered him being before, if not a little stiff and unsure around her.
She was safe, her mind and body were her own. But her mind was a chaotic maelstrom and her body a collection of scars and tremors that would never go away.
She didn’t respond to his words, and once she’d had her fill of watching him, she turned her gaze back to the sun. He watched the sun and watched her in equal amounts.
“How is your magic?” He asked softly, sitting beside her some distance away.
“It’s not as diminished.” She whispered back. Her voice was still hoarse, despite numerous healing potions and spells Sebastian had tried. Scar tissue. Unlikely to fully return to normal.
She felt a mishmash of scar tissue, mental and physical.
Her magic was one of the only stable things about her. She didn’t fear it, not as she had before she’d been taken, and as such the magic didn’t fight her. She didn’t bury it inside herself, didn’t lock it away tightly. She used it, when needed. And so it responded in kind. It didn’t feel separate from her normal magic either. No longer a chasm deep inside her but freely flowing through her magical core.
It had taken two days after their arrival for her magic to begin to replenish, its stores drained. But now, she felt it purring under her skin.
They sat in silence for a while. An often occurrence. When the sun began to heat her skin she finally spoke again.
“Did you sleep?”
“Well enough.”
The first night they’d arrived, Sebastian had spent an extra hour placing wards around their room. Layering protection after protection. And then he had practically collapsed. He slept most of the night, until her cries of terror had woken him. The same was true of each night since. The moment his head would hit the pillow, his body would force him under.
He needed the rest. She could see it in his eyes, how he had gone months without full sleep. So every night she dreaded when she would eventually wake him with her nightmares. Ash had considered casting a silencing charm on herself, so he wouldn’t wake, but the moment he caught wind of that idea he had shut it down instantly.
It was why she had found herself on the beach at half past three. She had woken him once, and the moment he had fallen back into the clutches of sleep, she had stolen from the bed and crept to the lapping waves.
“Do you want to talk about your dream last night?” He asked, hands propped on his knees as he stared at the water.
She didn’t. She didn’t want to even think about it. But punishing herself was one thing, she wouldn’t punish him with her silence as well.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she forced out, “It was a memory.”
Sebastian waited, with more patience than she deserved. Ash ran a finger over the raised burn scars on her wrist, tracing where the edge blended into pale skin.
“I killed him.”
The skin was so warm at the burns, thick and nearly shiny. It didn’t stretch right, when she moved her wrists, pulling harshly at the rest of her skin. She focused on the feeling under her fingertips and not the words coming out of her mouth.
“Black found out something. I can’t— I don’t remember what. And Alexander,” her breath hitched the moment his name passed her lips. Flashes of dark skin, a toothy smile, brown eyes— “He had just gotten back from something. Black was waiting, and so I was waiting. I had just been…recalibrated that afternoon. Something hadn’t been right. I was…pushing back I think. I don’t know. Black broke Alex’s mind first.”
She saw him there on his knees, screaming as Black tore his memories apart. Begging him not to take some of them. Her eyes burned as she continued, her nail now lightly digging into the scar. “And then he laid there on the floor at my feet. And he said— he said it would be okay and he said your name. That you would come. And then—“
She choked on the words, pulling her knees up to her chest. Tears didn’t flow, she wouldn’t allow them. She had cried far too much already.
“And then he asked for my forgiveness.” The word tasted like poison in her mouth. Everything around Alex, around those memories, was tainted. He had taken her. Had hated her so deeply. Had watched as she was broken down and built into Black’s weapon. He had been her leash holder for months. But then— then things had begun to change.
He tried to help, and she had foggy memories of him whispering to her. Stories murmured at her bedside as she tumbled in a maelstrom of her own mind. A wooden figurine sitting on her nightstand. And then—
“And then Black had me kill him.” Blood welled where her nail punctured the scarred flesh. She stared at it as it beaded up. All of this horror over blood and the magic that ran through it.
“I don’t know what Black did with his body. He could’ve had it burned. Or maybe he had him thrown somewhere for the animals.” She pressed a fist to her mouth, holding back the horrid sound that fought to escape.
Sebastian sat quietly beside her, listening. She didn’t look at his face, but she knew she’d find no pity there. Sorrow, yes. But he had never once given her pity. Ash collected herself, dropping her fist back to the sand as she rested her chin against her knees. She was safe, yes. But she was so so lost.
“Can I touch you?”
The words from Sebastian were said so softly, the morning breeze nearly carried them away. She turned her head, holding his eyes. The pain marring his features matched her own.
She gave a shallow dip of her head and reached one of her hands across the sand. He took it, gently rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She tensed only once, when the contact was first made, before slowly relaxing into it. His hand dwarfed hers, though he had never made her feel small.
“You met him.” Ash rasped, eyes locked on their weaved fingers. “He said your name.”
Sebastian nodded. “He sought me out in Italy, after I had gone there to look for clues to find you.” He opened their hands, facing her, and traced his fingers lightly over the lines of her palm, the thin scars there. “At first he was resistant to helping. He didn’t even seem to know why he had come to me in the first place. But then he started feeding me information about the manacles and the blood bond. He couldn’t tell me where you were, but he could update me on your condition and your missions.”
“He was a spy.” She murmured back, the revelation unwinding some of the twisted pain around her lost brother.
“He got caught after bringing me samples of yours’ and Black’s blood for the potion I had made to break the bond. But he broke his Vow before Black killed him. He told me where you were and who had you. He was going to get you out.”
Sebastian had said that Black killed Alex, not herself. It had been a purposeful distinction, one coupled with a squeezing of his fingers around the middle of her hand. Her throat bobbed. It had been her. Her magic. Even if Black had held her leash.
Sebastian didn’t look regretful that Alex had died during a mission they had both planned. She didn’t expect him to. To Sebastian, Alex was the man who had taken her and helped in her torment. The man who had a change of heart after the fact. But Sebastian watched her, knowing that to Ash there was so much more.
She met his gaze. “He was kind growing up. He didn’t like bullies. He was afraid of thunderstorms, and would hide under my bed when one would stir. He loved reading, maybe even more than I did. He was always reading stories about adventure. I think he dreamed of getting out and going far away; of being a hero in his own story. A knight or something.”
Her throat felt ragged as she spoke, spilling every detail of Alexander’s life before all of this. When they were broken children in a broken house, and yet found happiness in every crevice they could. Every insignificant memory. She needed someone else to know him, if he was gone. Someone else to carry his memory. It was heavy enough on her own. Sebastian never interrupted; instead, he let the fall from her lips in a steady flow.
The sun was nearly baking them by the time she finished, when she could barely rasp out the last few words. When Sebastian was sure she had finished, he stood and gently helped her up. She watched the debate in his eyes as he continued to hold her hand, but she made it easy for him— threading her fingers through his as he walked them back to the seaside inn.
Their room was cozy, small. The walls were adorned with ornate, hand-carved wooden panels, their patterns highlighted by the flickering light of brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The lanterns cast a warm, amber glow, their light filtering through the delicate metalwork to create dancing shadows on the walls.
The floor was covered in a mosaic of colorful tiles, each one meticulously placed to form intricate patterns in shades of blue, green, and terracotta. A plush, handwoven rug in deep reds and golds lay at the center of the room, softening the coolness of the tiles underfoot. Against one wall, a low, wide bed was draped with linen and embroidered cushions.
A carved wooden screen divided the sleeping area from a small sitting nook, where a low table sat surrounded by plump cushions. The table bore a tray with a delicate teapot and tiny glasses, ready for the afternoon’s mint tea, and yesterday’s newspaper. The air was scented with the lingering fragrance of orange blossoms from the courtyard below.
In one corner, a small alcove housed a washbasin made of copper, its surface darkened with age but still gleaming where it caught the light. A large, ornate mirror with an arched top hung above it, its frame encrusted with tiny, colored tiles that reflected the light like scattered jewels. The mirror was covered and would stay that way.
Sebastian set himself to work on the tea while Ash stood in the center of the space. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Comfort was such a distant memory, covered in layers and layers of training and pain.
So she stood, back straight, hands twitching softly at her sides. Her eyes darted to the small window near the sitting area. Six panes, all intact. Latch locked. The door to her left, she never left a door to her back, was locked as well. She could feel the wards wrapped around the room, repelling anyone who might find interest in its contents.
It was moments like this that made her feel so alien in her own skin. Before, she would’ve plopped down somewhere, slumped into comfort that felt well deserved after her years at the orphanage. She would’ve found the nearest chocolate or sweet and shoved it between her lips with all the grace of a street urchin.
But that life felt foreign. A million miles away—left with a girl still holding hands with Sebastian in the Undercroft. Standing rigid felt incorrect too, like her body and mind couldn’t agree on what she needed— or wanted— to do.
“Do you want to sit with me?”
Sebastian’s voice broke through the reverie, the battle waging inside her head. She looked at him, at the way he held a teacup out to her, at the way his eyes stayed firmly planted on hers and not on the tensing and releasing of her hands.
She gave a short nod and stepped closer, taking the teacup from him before lowering herself to one of the pillows on the ground. She had never sat at a table like this, cross-legged. It was a new experience. Untainted. The tension fled from her limbs as she brought the tea to her lips.
The mint bit at her tongue as she sipped, cooling her ravaged throat despite the temperature of the drink.
“I found a job, nearby.”
Ash looked up, eyebrows lifting at his words. “A job?”
Sebastian swirled his tea and gulped the last dregs, “A potioneer position at the local apothecary. I spoke to the owner of the shop— well, I tried. I saw the poster in the window for the position and used some translation spells on it. I tried to speak to the owner but he spoke little English and I haven’t attempted Arabic yet—“
He was rambling. Nervous. Or excited. She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t remember what those emotions sounded like from him.
He continued, pouring himself another cup. “—but I’m to report this evening for an ‘examination of my talents’. So, we won’t be living from Ominis’ pocket change for long if this goes well.”
She watched him, taking another sip of her tea as her mind tugged at memories long forgotten. “I thought... you wanted to be a professor?”
There was a flicker of surprise, of longing in his eyes at her remembrance. It quickly melted away as he schooled his features. Whatever nerves, or excitment melted away as he stared down at his cup. “Unrealistic. The closest wizarding school is Beauxbaxtons, and they wouldn’t hire outsiders.”
She had ruined this. Dread sank in her gut like a lead weight. He had planned, had dreamed, of being a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. A professor like his parents. And now—
Now they were a world away, with no prospects or dreams he could follow.
“I’m sor—“
“Don’t.” He gave her a hard look, “Don’t apologize when it isn’t your fault. I am happier in this stuffy room with you than I’d ever be in England without you. I could beg on the streets for the rest of our days to keep food on the table and I’d come home with a smile if you were there. Don’t apologize for a change in plans when the alternative was you gone.”
Silence followed, and she watched him. Watched the spanse of his hands around the cup, the bob of his Adam’s apple, and the softness in his eyes that bloomed when he watched her in return.
“You’d be fantastic as a potion’s master.” She murmured, bringing the cup to her mouth once more.
“Master is a far ways off.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he held her gaze.
“No it won’t be.” She argued, “That owner will see your skills and he’ll move you from apprentice hastily. I mean, at eighteen you’ve developed two potions of your own. Well, two that I am aware of. Both for me.” She set her cup down, “How did you do it? The one that freed me?”
He let out a breath and rubbed his hand over his face, “Trial and error. Once I found the bond Black had used, I made a reverse incantation. And the potion—“ He let out another breath, shaking his head as if reliving the effort in his head. “Well, it took a lot of mice.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded funny. She let out a raspy chuckle, barely a breath of a laugh. Sebastian’s eyes snapped back to hers, that same longing there now intensified.
“Merlin, I’ve missed that.” He breathed, watching her with eyes that seemed to devour her; taking her in as if she’d disappear again at any moment.
She felt an ache in her chest at his look. How long had she wanted that focus from him? That same desperate need that she had burned with for years.
“There were moments,” She whispered softly, as if she wanted even the walls of the room to miss her confession. “When I would come back. Moments when I would overpower the bond and the silver long enough to remember fragments. Shards of my life.” She held his gaze, seeking the warmth she always had found in his brown eyes. ”It was always you, that they would take from me. Every time I…woke up from that darkness, found a semblance of clarity, it was your face or your name in my mind. The two of us sleeping in my bed. You and I translating runes in the Undercroft. It was always you that Black had the hardest time wiping away.”
For Ash, seeing his face in her mind, hearing his voice echoing in her thoughts for even a moment, had always been worth the pain that came after.
Sebastian moved, going from crosslegged across the table from her to kneeling beside her. He reached his hands out, eyes locked on hers with that same desperation she had seen daily since he had freed her. She faced him, pushing up onto her knees and taking his hands with her own.
His fingers clung to hers, “I did nothing but think of you for those torturous months. Every breath I took was for the sole purpose of getting you out. I knew— I knew that you would still be in there and I knew that I would save you. It was my fault you were taken and I know— I know you don’t want to hear that but it’s true. I told you I would always protect you, I would always find you and I couldn’t keep you from being taken and I am so sorry.”
His voice was ragged, laced with tears that threatened to overflow from his eyes. Her own eyes were damp once again, at the pain in his voice, the guilt weighing down every bone in his body.
“My only regret was that I didn’t get to tell you I loved you until now.” She whispered back, throat tightening as his face crumpled and tears streamed down his cheeks. He fell into her, and she let him, not flinching at the contact. Her body would learn him again, would learn that he was safety and comfort and all things good that she didn’t deserve.
“I love you.” He choked out against her neck, hands moving to wrap around her gently. “I have loved you for years and I thought we’d both die and I’d never get to say it—“
Her body, her soul, warmed at his confession, her magic purred under her skin. She wrapped her arms tightly around his back, burying her face in his hair. He smelled the same— parchment and autumn and every adventure she longed to take with him.
Her magic wrapped around the both of them, not the red writhing pain she had grown accustomed to wielding. But light, golden, and soft. Her magic was hers in every way— a reflection of her—
It weaved between them, branching out around the room as they murmured ‘I love yous’ against each other's skin.
When Sebastian pulled back enough to see, his face bathed in hues of gold and sunlight, a smile pulled across his face, “Beautiful. I’ve always thought your magic was so beautiful.”
She had always thought her magic a type of suffering. A curse and not a gift. But despite what had been done to her for the purpose of her magic, she smiled at the light that flowed and danced on her skin. She would turn that suffering into something else—something beautiful. Her magic could be something beautiful.
“Your wand,” Sebastian said, fingers brushing softly over her hands. “I couldn’t get it back for you. But if you want a new one—“
“I don’t need one.” She said, tugging that golden magic back inside herself with only a thought. “I learned how to wield wandlessly. The magic is mine and it listens.”
A thought brushed at the forefront of her mind, of a girl pale and sickly. A girl Ash had once tried to save but feared the damage her magic would wreak attempting such a feat. Ash brought her hands to Sebastian’s face, savoring the way he leaned into her touch.
“Take me to your sister.”