Epilogue
~No one will ever know the violence it took to become this gentle~
___ 6 years later ___
Moonlight streamed through the kitchen window, pouring over her like rivulets of silk. Her hands shook as she tipped the kettle over, letting the stream of hot mint flow into her teacup. After years under the Moroccan sun, the mint tea had grown on her.
The nightmare had been a bad one, forcing her from her bedchamber in the wee hours of the morning. It was her most frequent haunt.
It always began in the orphanage, with her and Alex playing piano side by side. They would be smiling and laughing, and then she’d turn her head to face him, and he would no longer look like a child. He’d be a man, stony features— and dead eyes. She would look down at herself and find silver wrapped around her wrists, burning her all the way up her forearms. She’d only get a glimpse of the light fading from his irises before he would slump over the piano keys, causing a discordant symphony to fill the stagnant air.
It was not even close to her goriest dreams, and yet it always upset her the most.
Ash brought the shaking cup to her lips, careful not to rattle the porcelain too much, lest she wake her husband.
Husband.
Four years since their elopement, and it still felt foreign to say. Grown-up in a way she never felt. On the cusp of the new millennium, with her age now closer to thirty than sixteen, some days she felt closer to the girl in the Undercroft. Other days, closer to the one drifting the halls of the orphanage. On bad days, she felt like The Wraith, and would haunt their house, locked in what healers referred to as ‘an episode’. But more days than most, she felt like the girl on the beach, holding Sebastian’s hand as Anne and Ominis stood witness to their bonding.
The engagement had been a short affair. Sebastian had taken her on a date, a picnic, on one of her good days. They had traveled to the lush Atlas Mountains, and found a river to sit by. It had been the first time they’d left the coastline, and she had missed seeing green grass and moss covered rock more than she could bear. They’d shared a basket of sweets, chocolates and dates and sesame cookies. They swam in the river, splashing and dunking each other like children. They made love on their blanket, kept warm by the sunshine and each other.
And then he’d pulled out a ring. It was a gold band, simple and elegant. One he had saved every knut for since he’d begun working at the apothecary. She had cried, he had cried. And then they sat on the riverbank until the sun had set, talking about the future. And the past. And everything in between.
They’d waited only days to marry. Prolonging the marriage seemed trivial. Proper courtship was for the upper echelons, and Ash had never pretended to be part of it. So they met on the beach just after sunrise, with Anne and Ominis, and proclaimed their love. She had worn a green and gold silk dress she’d found at the market, and Sebastian had worn his nicest linens.
Anne had practically shrieked in joy once they had finished their vows. The girl was glowing in the morning sun, a wide smile on her round face. Healthy. And happy, as she had tackled her brother to the ground while Ominis bit back a smile.
That day during their first week in Morocco, when Ash had Sebastian take her to Anne, had marked a new beginning for the Sallow girl. Ash had sat at her bedside at the hospital, and taken her bony hand into her own. She extracted the curse as she had taken the emotion magic from others before, without leaving the girl a shell of a person. And when her magic had wrapped around the curse and ripped it apart— purifying the remains until they were nothing but wisps of what Rookwood had left inside Anne— she bottled it, as Isidora had done all those years ago. It was something Ash couldn’t have done prior to her capture, to her training with her magic, before she had gained full control over the abyss of power. It was a bittersweet feeling.
The cursed remnants were given to the local cursebreaker division at the hospital, who were more than happy to take it for study.
Anne had taken only days to begin to feel better, and Sebastian nor Ominis had rarely left her side during that time.
Once she had gotten up and walking, Anne had sought out Ash with a gentle hug. She asked first, and Ash knew that was at Sebastian’s behest. The girl had thanked Ash for saving her brother. Ash had insisted it had always been the other way around, and Anne had given her a secret smile. One of those expressions Sebastian wore that meant they really knew the truth.
Ash sat her teacup in the sink, rinsing it lukewarm water. Her fingers smoothed over the gold band that never left her left hand, the only metal she ever wore. She glanced up, out of the small window over the sink, towards the matching white stucco house next door. Anne and Ominis had bought the property the same day Sebastian had bought theirs.
Ash had often wondered if the two found some sort of bond beyond platonic friendship. If they shared a bed to ward off unpleasant dreams. If Ominis oft pretended he was with the other Sallow twin, or had found solace in the sibling of the man he had loved so fiercely. Ominis had never told Sebastian the truth of his feelings, and Ash knew he never would.
Her and Ominis had developed a psuedo-friendship. One more cordial than anything. He was glad she was alive, that Sebastian was safe and happy. On some of her good days, she would visit the little bookshop he opened in town, perusing both the muggle sections up front and the wizarding volumes tucked away in the back. Or she would visit Anne at the bakery she worked at when the shop was near empty, sampling the Sfenj or the vanilla macarons Anne made special for her.
She was the only one without a job, and it burned away at her when she thought about it too much. She had tried, nearly a year into their residence here. Sebastian had brought her in to consult on runic translations for potions at the apothecary. It had been crowded that day, at the front of the shop, and someone had worn bright silver bracelets. Ash had dropped to the floor screaming, locked in an episode her mind couldn’t rationalize its way out of. She’d tried again on a less busy day, but when she’d seen the runes scratched along the parchment, she’d only been able to see the runes etched into her manacles.
Anne had invited her to work at the bakery, per Sebastian’s suggestion, once she’d failed at the apothecary. But the bakery was busy five days of the week. Big crowds were too loud, and the coffee percolator sounded like a high pitched scream when it went off. Not to mention the burn scars still wrapped around her wrists, throat, and forehead that brought more attention than she wanted. No concealment charms could cover the cursed wounds, and she could only stand wraps and scarfs for so long during the hot months.
So she stayed at home. Sebastian had reassured her, time and time again, that she had done her labor already. Had saved the world twice over. He would whisper against her temple that she deserved to rest, to not cater to the public ever again.
But for Ash, it was another bitter pill to swallow— the uselessness. Over time, she had found ways to fill her days to drown out the voices in her head and the episodes that threatened to send her spiraling.
She read. A lot. And when she wasn’t reading, she was walking the length of the beach, forcing breath after breath and footstep after footstep. Telling herself that she could get through each day, not for herself but for Sebastian. She wouldn’t give in to the struggle, to the consuming grief and guilt despite the days she wished to throw herself into the sea. The days when the faces of her victims wouldn’t leave her mind no matter how many breaths she forced into her lungs.
Alcohol was one thing she didn’t allow herself to indulge in. It was a temptation that called to her, the first few weeks after Sebastian had rescued her. Some of her first blurry memories she had rediscovered were of her drinking herself into a stupor night after night sixth and seventh year. The need had arisen with the arrival of the memories, and her hands had itched to grab a bottle and drown her sorrows.
Sebastian hadn’t allowed a drop of alcohol in the house, before she had even mentioned needing some. Once the itch had dissolved into an occasional thought, and she’d begun to venture out of their abode, she had found unrestricted access to liquor in the markets of their city.
She hadn’t partaken.
Now years later, despite the years separating her from the young girl drowning herself in a bottle, she stayed away from the mind-altering substance. It would do her no good.
When she wasn’t walking on the beach or reading, she made herself useful in other ways. Mending Sebastian’s shoes when they couldn’t afford another pair. Learning elaborate braiding techniques to fix Anne’s hair so it would be out of her way at work.
Warding the property, daily, for her own peace of mind.
The voices, the screaming, were always loudest before she fell asleep. But Sebastian—
He was always there when she needed him.
She heard his footsteps in the hall, and her shoulders immediately dropped, the tension easing its way from her body as she sat the cleaned teacup next to the sink.
“Good morning, love.”
His sleep heavy voice soothed the lingering shakes in her hands, and as he stepped up behind her, waiting a moment for her permission to touch, she leaned back against him. His scent wrapped around her, sending a purr through the magic under her skin.
“It’s barely morning.” She murmured back. Her voice was hoarse, as it had been since Sebastian had saved her. Despite his multiple attempts to create salves and potions to reduce the scar tissue, some mangled things never heal.
Sebastian brought his hands around her, wrapping her up as he buried his face in her neck. “Which dream?”
“Alex.”
“Is it because of our trip later today?” He asked, mouth gently brushing against her skin.
There were many things that she still could not do, despite the years passed from her capture. She couldn’t wear metal jewelry, or have anything tight around her wrists or neck. She couldn’t manage large crowds. Rough touch would send her magic flaring. The word pet or master.
But Sebastian’s hands and mouth against her skin were something she had relearned as safety.
She brought her hands to his where they rested across her midsection, and twisted the matching golden band around his finger. “Maybe, or it’s just the date in general. It’s probably a mistake going back.”
“We don’t have to go, love.”
“The rebuilding effort is nearly complete in England. There’s no more riots, and the ministry seems to have straightened itself out.“ She turned her face, looking up at him over her shoulder. “And it’s his birthday.”
“Are you convincing me, or yourself?” He murmured, turning her in his arms. His hair was middling length. Not as short as he had worn it in school, but not as long as it had grown during the months she was gone. It flopped over his forehead when he hadn’t styled it, as it did now. A shadow of stubble grew on his face, a development that had occurred in the last few years causing lots of whoops and hollers of joy from the man; despite the fact that he kept clean shaven most of their days.
“There’s no need to convince me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and from this distance she could see the flecks of gold in his chocolate eyes. “Because I told you, I’ll follow you anywhere.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing, “I just don’t want to panic and... cause a scene somewhere.”
“We’ll bring a calming draught, and ensure our schedule doesn’t intersect with the busy hours of London.”
“So prepared.” She smiled, brushing her lips against her husband’s.
“One of us has to be.” He smirked back, giving her a lazy kiss. There was no rush to it, not when they had all the time in the world together. “Come back to bed wife, and we can pass some time before we leave.”
She giggled softly as he swept her up into his arms. “I love you.”
“I love you. Always.” He responded, carrying her down the hall and over the threshold of their bedroom, as he had on their wedding night.
___•___
Sebastian
England was much cooler in June than Morocco. The early morning air kissed their skin as they landed from their portkey. He knew his love would enjoy the breath of cool air, a reprieve from the heat that chased them in the height of summer in their new home. The far edge of the Forbidden Forest was clear of any persons, exactly why he had chosen the remote location.
Ash was still wrapped in his arms, wearing a long burgundy skirt, corset, and high-necked cream blouse instead of her regular silks or linens due to their change in scenery. Her hair was pinned up, traditional for a married woman in England, despite his protests to the matter. He loved her hair down, wild and free where he could tangle his fingers in the strands. Ash rarely wore it up at home, not when she herself loved the feeling of the sea breeze blowing through the tangled weave. But she had insisted on blending in, as much as possible.
He himself wore starched trousers, a button-up and suit jacket despite the summer’s warmth. The cotton felt suffocatingly thick after years of loose fitted linen. Ash pulled herself from his arms, looking around with cautious eyes. A flick of her wrist and a wide-spread revelio showed there was not a soul around. Her magic still awed him even after all this time; the effortlessness, the beauty and strength.
Sebastian reached into his satchel, patting the calming draught to ensure its safety during travel. He wrapped his hand around a differing object and pulled it free.
Ash smiled at the wide-brimmed summer hat. It was cream, with faux flowers sewn around the crease. She took it from him, placing it low on her head to cover the burn mark that stretched over the top of her forehead. She tied the silk ribbon under her chin, looking for all the world like a proper English woman.
“Is it good?” She asked, fingers fidgeting with the ribbon under her neck. She loosened it slightly. Too tight, he realized. Too similar to a collar.
Sebastian stepped forward, undoing the ribbon completely. He sliced the strands from the hat with a flick of his wand, murmuring a quick sticking charm to hold the hat in place instead. “No one will recognize you, Ash. It’s summer, no one will even be near that area of the grounds anyway. This is only the second year that school has been reinstated, so the staff aren’t going to be lurking around.”
She leaned into his touch and he welcomed it. His wife. Even years later, the thought still brought an unbridled smile to his face. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s get moving, before we both sweat to death in these heavy clothes.”
“How did we wear these for so many years?” She murmured, tugging at the sleeves of the blouse.
“You complained constantly, so—“
She smacked his arm, grinning despite the heavy thoughts Sebastian knew were weighing on her about today. She began walking, “You liked my complaining.”
Sebastian fell into step beside her as they trekked towards the castle in the distance. “Never said I didn’t, love.”
___•___
Ash
The headstone was unremarkable.
Ash stared down at the slab of rock with an odd mix of grief and nothingness. The graveyard was empty, as Sebastian had said it would be. Though he was constantly watching from where he stood at her side. Unlike Ash, who couldn’t look away from the short words etched on the stone, Sebastian couldn’t bear to look at all.
Asha Cendrillion
Beloved student.
August 1874- December 1892
Her fingers twitched at her sides. There was an ache, a hollowness that she thought would be filled. A closure, at seeing her past life dead and buried.
Beloved student.
That’s all she had been. That’s all they could think to write. Every other title, washed away. Two words of an epitaph, and she’d been reduced to someone who had walked the halls and loved every class. As if she had even taken her exams, or shown her face in the classroom most days.
It was deserved, she supposed. Better to be remembered as a young studious girl, than the wraith who destroyed the continent. She should be thankful, that the blood on her hands didn’t extend to the stone in front of her. Should be glad that her old friends, those who mourned her, would never know of her atrocities.
But all she felt was numbness.
“I’m ready to go.” She rasped, eyes boring holes into the dash that represented everything she had been and wanted to be.
“I love you.” Sebastian murmured, voice heavy as he avoided looking at the gravesite. It was too real for him, she knew. He had attended her memorial, had been stuck in hell for those months just as much as she was. He hadn’t wanted to come here, but she insisted on seeing it for herself.
She ignored the bitterness and the grief and instead focused on the numbness that sat heavy in the pit of her stomach.
She took his hand, and let him apparate them away.
___•___
The back streets of London were rarely traveled even on a busy day, and at only nine in the morning, only the rats were out and about.
The past six years had taken both wizarding and muggle England from the brink of civil war and government collapse to rebirth and renewal. Ash had kept up with news from her homeland as frequently as she could. Tales of uprisings of muggleborns while the government was weak, repealed anti-muggleborn laws, the eventual election of a new minister of magic.
It had taken England longer than other countries who had suffered from the puppetry of Black’s hand. While Ash had been tasked to take out government officials across the continent, leaving countries in a state of crisis, England had been a message. The final straw in a haystack lit on fire. Nearly the entire governing body had been massacred, leaving no one of substance behind to step into power once Black had been done away with. The power vacuum had caused a near collapse of society, one that would’ve fully fallen apart if not for the aid and support of prominent wizarding families within and beyond England.
Now, over half a decade later, things were on the up and up. Hogwarts had reopened once more, government was in place and stronger than ever— with a task force created for the sole purpose of rooting out corruption within the ministry before it could take hold— and fear amongst the populace had decreased to levels similar to before the continent wide slaughter.
And because of the hope that blossomed, being back felt like tainting the progress. She was the stain on history, the wraith at Black’s right hand who had caused the suffering to begin with.
She would’ve never have come back, except for the need for closure.
Ash held tightly to Sebastian’s hand as they made their way to the iron gates that had haunted her dreams since she had first learned what fear was.
The plaque above the gate had been refashioned, no longer St. Mary’s Home. Instead the words, Wool’s Orphanage were etched in the metal sign.
The facade of the building was unchanged, despite Sebastian’s assurance that the headmistress she knew was no longer there. That was a revenge he had apologized for taking for himself, a death that should’ve been hers to give. However when he had told her, of his poisoning of Headmistress Beckett all she felt was thankfulness. Thankfulness that he had willingly slain one of her demons, so she hadn’t been made to do it herself.
Ash pushed through the creaking gate, eyes immediately darting across the courtyard. A few children milled about, all glancing curiously— and hopefully— towards the couple walking towards the orphanage proper. She ignored the stinging in her gut. She couldn’t save them all but—
She made eye contact with all of them, the older children and those toddling around with thumbs in their mouths. She gave them soft smiles, waving at a few. The world wasn’t all cruel, she said with her eyes. You can survive this.
The large wooden doors loomed tall, yet smaller than the foreboding entrance she remembered. She was grown, and this was nothing but a building.
Sebastian opened the door for her, and the scent of potpourri hit her nostrils. She glanced at the small bowl of scented herbs and flowers, the one and the same that had hidden away the scent of rotten food and dirty children all those years ago. A bitter smile pulled at her lips. Some things never change.
Ash stared up at the grand staircase and she could almost see the ghost of herself, head held high as she trudged to face punishment. Everywhere she looked she could see herself. The little girl mopping the floor who wouldn’t meet her gaze. An older child, frowning as she marched past, long since given up hope of adoption.
Minutes passed of her just staring, lost in memory. She felt Sebastian’s hand squeeze hers, connecting her back to the present. She let out a long breath, this wasn’t a recreational visit.
Step after step took them to the highest floor, closest to God. Soon, the oak door was in front of them.
The scars on her back itched as she raised her fist to knock. Vaguely she wondered, as her knuckles made contact with the wood, if the chifforobe filled with whips and lashes would still be there.
“Come in.”
The voice was soft, with only an undercurrent of the unyielding nature one required to manage one hundred orphans. Sebastian’s hand was a lodestone, holding her firmly in the present as he pushed open the door with his free hand.
Ash’s eyes immediately darted to the right, only to find the wardrobe gone. The tension in her shoulders eased as she stepped into the room with her husband. The office itself was unchanged. The oversized wooden desk she dug her nails in during her lashes was still there, with neat piles of parchment and a copy of the Lord’s book.
Ash drug her gaze to the woman, Headmistress Alda sitting behind the desk. She was younger than Beckett had been, though still rigid in her posture, with an air of control that suggested she wouldn’t tolerate defiance. Her red hair, vibrant and plaited, fell just past her shoulders. Unlike Beckett, her features were softer, though not warm—a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and lips pressed into a line of quiet calculation.
She was dressed neatly, her dark, modest gown buttoned to her throat.
A smile pulled at the woman’s lips and she gestured towards the seats in front of the desk. “Ah, you must be the Downey’s. Please sit.”
They did. Ash didn’t dare let go of Sebastian’s hand, especially when she let her eyes dip to the edge of the desk. Tiny, imperceptible scratches marred the wood. The only remnant of the pain that had occurred here. The headmistress continued, “I was surprised by your letter. It is not often we have distant relatives come searching after so long, however I believe I have the records you were looking for.”
At that, Ash snapped her gaze to the woman, now straightening a thin folder. Her heart felt nearly in her throat as Headmistress Alda gently handed the folder to Sebastian who immediately passed it to Ash. Ash stared and stared at the cover, at her name scrawled across the front.
“I admit the previous Headmistress had quite the organization system, though it seems Miss Cendrillion’s file was much smaller than the rest. I checked for any loose documents in the filings but could only find what’s in the folder.” Ash wasn’t listening anymore, not as she opened the folder and stared down at the contents.
Only one slip of parchment was inside. At the top, her name and date of birth. At the bottom, her adoption date with Professor Fig’s signature. But her eyes were drawn to the middle of the page, to Headmistress Beckett’s neat writing—
Robert and Cassandra Cendrillion. Residence, Old Nichol Street. Died at ages twenty-eight and twenty-five, respectively. Cause of death: typhoid. One child, Asha Cendrillion, brought to orphanage by a concerned neighbor. Three years of age, untouched by the fever. Left with neighbor by parents when they were nearly in the Lord’s hands.
Sebastian was conversing with the Headmistress, buying her time to read and reread as much as she wanted. Needed.
Robert and Cassandra.
Her fingers traced gently over the names, careful not to smudge the writing.
Her parents.
There were gaps still present in her mind, memories permanently lost when she had been wiped clean repeatedly. Most she had regained over time, had pushed away the gossamer that covered them. But anytime she tried to picture her parents, her mother—
It was like something used to be there. Something with green. But it was out of reach.
It had been such a loss, to have the slim memories she had of the life before the orphanage ripped from her. But now—
Now she had more.
Robert and Cassandra.
Her parents hadn’t given her up. They had wanted her, had protected her from the same death. Loved. She had been loved.
A warmth filled her, filled the gaps in her mind with something new. She smiled down at the paper, the small paragraph that contained everything she had ever wanted.
“— a beautiful couple, are you sure you aren’t looking for a child?”
“No ma’am, just the information.”
Ash gently closed the folder, her magic tingling under her skin. If she let it, she knew it would fill the room with vibrant golds, would glide over her skin like a shimmering weave. She slid it back over the table, unable to hide the pleased smile on her face. “Thank you for your time.”
The headmistress gave a dip of her chin, and then they were outside the door.
“Well?” Sebastian murmured, hands running over her arms as he watched her. His eyes took in everything, the upward pull of her lips, the wonder in her own eyes.
Ash covered her mouth with her hands, hiding the grin that was too wide for a place like this. She sucked in a breath, dropping her hands to her sides as she looked up. “They didn’t leave me here. They would’ve kept me. I would’ve been kept.”
Maybe she should’ve felt some melancholy for the life that passed her by, the parents who died before she could ever really know them. Maybe tears should’ve sprung instead of a smile. But Ash had wept for her own life too much to weep for one that she never knew. She had grown up hoping only that her parents hadn’t given her away purposefully. And now—
“Let’s go home.” She smiled, grabbing his hand as they began their descent down the stairs.
When they reached the bottom level, the hustle and bustle of the children had quieted. It was likely time for mass. Ash took a moment, without the eyes of the orphans, to brush her fingers over the hallway walls. Sebastian watched her, thumb brushing steadily over the back of her hand.
The silence was broken by a discordant sound.
Ash’s head snapped to the left, ears straining.
“What is—“
“Shh, wait.” She whispered, shaking her head slowly.
Then there was music, out of tune, and yet entirely recognizable. It wasn’t any piano music. It was her own. The melodies she and Alex had written on sheets a lifetime ago.
She stepped forward as if in a trace, letting her body bring her further and further until she reached the basement steps. The music was louder here, yet still soft enough to suggest whoever was playing knew not to be caught.
Sebastian was only one step behind her as she creeped down the stairs, she had to see, had to know. Because until she knew, all she would picture was Alex. Did he survive? Was he here, locked in a memory like she was? It was his birthday after all, had he come for some form of closure?
Her heart was beating raggedly as she hit the bottom step, Alex’s name in her throat as she came upon their hiding place—
A little boy sat at the piano bench, feet barely scraping the floor. His skin was tanned, from playing outside in the summer sun, but not dark like Alex. His hair, thick and curled was a light brown that looked near honey colored in the flickering candlelight.
Not her Alex. Her heart stuttered, hands slackening at her sides. She knew of course, that it couldn’t have been. But for a moment, she had hoped.
Despite this, she watched him rapturously as he played the music that had come from the imaginations of the child she once was and the brother she once had.
The little boy pressed down on the keys, a disgruntled sound falling from his lips when he hit the wrong ones.
“It’s an E flat, not a natural.” She murmured softly.
The boy jumped, nearly falling over as he stood and pushed back against the piano. Fear dances in his eyes, and then that fear morphed to uncertainty when he saw strangers at the bottom step.
His face was round, with tightly coiled curls falling in his eyes. His eyebrows were pinched tightly together, and his little fists squeezed hard at his sides.
“It’s an E flat. Can I show you?” She whispered, like it was a secret just for him.
The boy stared at her, too young for the distrust that marred his face, a distrust she understood all too well. After a moment, in which he flickered his gaze over her shoulder to Sebastian— who Ash guessed had smiled at the boy due to the softening of his furrowed brows— the boy nodded slowly.
Ash stepped forward, and suddenly, despite being in the place of her childhood sanctuary, she was acutely aware that she was no longer a child. Grown, an adult in this boy's eyes.
As she got to the bench, she saw just how small the boy was. He came up only to her mid-thigh, though he stared at her with a resolve that made him seem twice his age. She sat down at the very edge, on her usual side, and beckoned the boy to sit beside her.
He did, keeping space between them.
Ash placed her fingers on the keys, breathing in deeply at the memories that flooded her mind from the simple touch.
Laughter. Bright and happy.
Wads of parchment strewn around the two of them, as Alex scribbled furiously on another.
Their off pitch voices singing along to the discordant melodies, giggles following behind.
Both wiping each other’s tears away on days where their lashed backs weeped with pain.
She pressed down on the keys, aware of the little gaze beside her and the loving gaze that watched from the stairs. The notes sang out as she played the section the boy had been working on. The same smile that had pulled at her lips when she had found the truth of her parents, stretched across her face again at the awe on the boy’s face.
She stopped after a moment, “There. Now you try.”
He lifted his chubby fingers to the keys, and if Ash used a little bit of magic to heighten the piano bench so he could reach the sharps and flats, so be it.
He played the same section, slowly but not incorrectly.
Sebastian slowly shuffled up behind them, leaning on the piano beside Ash and watching the boy with a soft smile.
“You’re very good,” Sebastian said, grinning wider as the boy's cheeks flushed a light pink. “What’s your name?”
“Christoper Evans!” A demanding voice yelled from the top of the stairs. Footsteps shuddered down and down, and the Headmistress came into view, red faced and out of breath. “Mass is beginning and you are late— oh! Mr. and Mrs. Downey, apologies if the boy’s racket disturbed you on your way out, he is quite obsessed with this old piano.”
Christoper was standing in front of the bench, head dipped low in chastisement. His hands were clenched tightly behind his back, and his thumbs twiddled nervously.
Ash stood herself, glancing down at the boy. “No, I was very glad to hear Christopher play. He is an exceptional young boy.”
Christoper’s head shot up at the praise and big blue eyes met hers with a kind of desperate ache she understood all too well.
“Ah well. He is a bit of a troublemaker, but I admit he is talented.” The headmistress huffed. She lifted a hand, waving the boy over to her. “Come along now Christopher, and let these good people about their day.”
His head dipped back down, glancing only once more at the piano before trudging slowly to the stairs. Ash looked up at Sebastian, who was already staring at her with resolution in his eyes. She looked back at the boy as he crested the bottom step.
She didn’t believe in a god. Had stopped believing in divinity long before she discovered magic. And yet, she knew a sign from fate when she saw one. She felt that if she turned and faced the piano bench, she’d find Alex giving her that goofy smile, urging her on.
Her voice echoed against the basement walls as she reached a hand out, “Wait Headmistress Alda.”
___•___
Sebastian
Sebastian strolled along the beach, bare feet sinking into the sand, much deeper than they used to. He grunted as the little body on his shoulders wiggled. Sebastian looked up, grinning. The curly-headed boy wiggled again, reaching up with his chubby fingers towards a seabird flying high above.
“I think he’s a bit too far away.” Sebastian smirked, squeezing Christopher’s knees playfully. The boy sighed, shoulders slumping as the bird flew on.
It had been seven months since Christopher had joined their family, seven months since both he and Ash took one look at the boy and knew he was meant to be theirs. Sebastian had never thought about having children of his own. He feared passing on whatever darkness lay in him, feared that he would be no different than his uncle had been at raising children. Harsh, intolerant, impatient.
Of course, anytime he laid with his wife, he had pictured a little cherub faced child with her eyes and hair. A tiny version of his love. But that had been in the abstract.
Ash herself had never shown a desire to bear a child.
They had discussed it once, only a year into their marriage. For Ash, the fear was tied to her own darkness, her unusual magic. She didn’t know what effects that would have on a fetus, nor did she think herself the motherly type. Without a mother of her own for guidance, she confessed fears of ruining a child. They didn’t discuss it again, instead focusing on each other and the small life they had built.
And then they had gone to the orphanage and seen Christopher.
Adoption had only made sense once the option was on the table. It freed Ash from her fears of her magic corrupting a child in utero, freed Sebastian from fearing his darkness passed on to his offspring. Adoption did little to quench their fears of simply being horrible parents, and yet when the boy had been trudging up the stairs with the headmistress, neither of them could stand to let him go.
“Do you want to play in the surf?” Sebastian asked, rubbing the boy’s knees gently as he stared upwards at his round face.
Christopher shook his head, pointing instead at the sky with a concentrated frown.
“The birds will come back, they always come back.”
Christopher was the quietest child Sebastian had ever seen. In the seven months he’d been with them, Christopher had spoken a total of three words, ‘Where are we?’ A question that was asked after their arrival via portkey. No question about the travel, though the boy had likely never left the orphanage and any form of travel would be found confusing.
Since then, silence.
They didn’t push. Sebastian was sure he’d speak in his own time, when his safety felt truly guaranteed. Ash minded the silence even less than Sebastian, as someone who spent some days without saying a word at all.
The first week they had been back, she had scrounged together coinage from their own coffers, as well as from Anne and Ominis— who were more than surprised at the additional person upon their return— and purchased a beat-up piano. She spent the day tuning it magically, and cleaning it up until it shined like new.
It was Christopher’s greatest love, music. A love he shared with Ash. So, silence from Christopher was never truly silent. There was always a melody floating through the house. Ash played the accompaniment parts, when Christopher wanted company, always giving the boy the grandest runs up and down the keys.
Sebastian noticed that her good days became more frequent, and her bad days less potent.
Sebastian himself found his dreams plagued less by nightmares of his wife bound and chained, and more with dreams of his days spent at the beach with Christopher.
Christopher was a balm to their souls. Not only had they saved him, he had saved them back.
A seabird flew overhead, and Sebastian murmured a quiet charm, causing the bird to dip lower towards them.
Christopher gasped and reached his little arm up overhead as far as it could go, letting his fingers drag the underside of the bird's belly. He let out a giggle as the bird flew away, and Sebastian thought the sound more magical than any spell he could ever cast himself.
Neither him nor Ash expected their son to have magic when he came of age. It didn’t matter to either of them. They used magic sparingly around the boy, not because they were hiding their magical talents, but simply to keep Christopher from being overwhelmed. And when the day comes that he finally asks about magic, they were ready to tell him everything about it.
But at the moment, when he was young and unbothered, neither were in any hurry.
“You touched it! That’s incredible, Christopher! How’d it feel?” Sebastian asked, smiling at the awe on the boys face as he stared at his own hand. He didn’t respond, nor did Sebastian expect him to.
“Are you two planning to spend the entire day out here? It’s burning hot!”
Sebastian turned away from the surf, facing the figure standing further up the sand with a hand on her hip and a smile on her face.
“Not enjoying the heat, love? It’s a beautiful day.” Sebastian smirked, lifting Christopher off his shoulders when the boy began squirming. As soon as his bare feet hit the sand, he was off running towards Ash. He said nothing, just lifted his arms in the air as he reached her. Without missing a beat, she bent down and scooped him up, setting him on her hip. She wiped the bits of sand off the boy’s cheeks, grinning over at Sebastian. “I have someone in agreement that it’s time to go inside.”
He made his way to the pair, a look of faux outrage on his face as he looked at Christopher who was fighting back a smile. “Traitor! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Their son laughed, burying his face in Ash’s neck. She looked down at him, with a softness reserved only for the two men in her life. “It’s story time, I think.”
Christopher began wiggling in Ash’s arms, pulling his face from her neck as he nodded rapidly. Besides the piano, books were Christopher’s second comfort. Sebastian read to him weekly, but it was Ash’s stories, Frankenstein specifically, that Christopher never tired of. There were many days he found the pair curled up in the window seat, with a book between them.
“I’ve been bested by story time. How dreadful.” Sebastian groaned playfully, reaching forward to tickle the child. Laughter filled the air as the three made their way back to their home.
___•___
Ash
“You can blast my other passions; but revenge remains— revenge, revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die; but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery.” Her voice was a rasp, vocal cords throbbing after nearly an hour of reading out loud. She glanced up from the book, at the body tucked against her. No, she wouldn’t stop reading for all the world.
Sebastian came around the corner from the hall, and leaned against the wall. His eyes met hers, a soft smile stretching across his face. Even still he made her stomach flutter, and she knew no matter the passage of time he would always make her feel like the blushing schoolgirl she’d been when they’d met.
“This is your father’s favorite part.” Ash murmured against the side of the boy’s curls. “He told me once, years ago.” Christopher snapped his gaze to Sebastian, pointing to the book with fervor. Sebastian walked to them, crouching down to their level. Christopher’s little finger ran across the page, and Sebastian smiled, glancing up at the boy rapturously.
“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful,” he said, voice low and strong like Victor’s creation. “I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom.” Sebastian scooped the boy up, tickling him relentlessly as he hissed like a snake on the attack.
There were days when sorrow weighed her down, days when she felt herself reaching for the threads of normalcy but only found ashes in her hands. But then there were days when the grief wasn’t so heavy. Days when the laughter from her husband and son burst through the room, and her magic sang in return.
It was a soft life. One that she usually felt she didn’t deserve. One that would’ve made a younger version of herself cringe. Where was the violence? The snarling anger that had resided in her heart for so long? The suffering she had caused and endured?
What was a woman without her teeth and claws?
But if she could, she would take the younger version of herself by the shoulders and tell her that she did not have to be a rabid dog anymore. That she didn’t have to bite the hand that fed her or fear the fingers that stretched to caress. She would tell her that a soft life was not a weak life, and that together— the past and present versions of herself— they had caused enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.
Christopher laughed wildly in Sebastian’s arms, arms held wide as her husband spun him around the room.
It was a soft life.
And she was glad for it.