I Love You In Every Timeline

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to Ron, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

He gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She searched into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty glare, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident glance. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian noticed that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading eyes.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him humoured if he was invisible, part of him spiked a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, whose breath hitched at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian’s heartbeat quickened ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to turn back to Sebastian. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it was rather a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational idea, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His mind circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if one went by the typical clichés.

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes meeting his back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. His mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that Sebastian could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she ogled him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who glanced at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian wished not to meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black.

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly wished to defend the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began to stare at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

Draco Malfoy appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret. 

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful glare. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian’s cheeks warmed up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he was content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he scanned their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he stood in front of the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and skimmed around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply as his eyes burnt.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck, he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where he had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

His cheeks flushed, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and turned back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiouslyn not sure why you felt the need to tell him about that. "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..."

Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, it was as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room."

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

His heartbeat accelerated. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one."

He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer.

"You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more his stomach fluttered. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian’s stomach boiled at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. But you minded a great deal, and it showed in the way your lip twitched up. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity!" You gave him a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and peeked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and observed him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense. Oddly enough, it seemed like a perfectly plausible, thought-out discussion. And yet, he found himself squinting his eyes with doubt.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You stared at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. A wave of lassitude washed over him, and he let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at last.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress." 

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

Your walk to Herbology was not as eventful, or at least not as stimulating. While your earlier interaction felt like a battle of wit, now the only battle was in your mind, between the idea — and self-consciousness — of having been over the top as usual, and the suspicions that you had about the new student.

"Did he give you anything?" asked Ginny after you met her on your way to your greenhouse and told her your doubts about Sebastian, along with bits and pieces of the conversation the two of you just had, all while omitting any talk about the secret room. For some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to reveal the room to anyone — not yet, at least.

"Nope." You bristled for a moment and hugged your book tighter to your body.

"So, what was your strategy, exactly?"

"To confuse him until he eventually spilled," you said matter-of-factly. It was a terrible strategy but you were no Bobby Fischer and that was the only idea that came to you at that moment. You certainly weren't expecting him to pop out of a wall in the middle of a deserted corridor.

Ginny squinted her eyes in tacit reproach, and you averted your eyes, abashed.

"Why are you so suspicious of this guy again?" she asked at length, apparently deciding not to comment on it.

"I don't know." You shook your head grudgingly. "There's something about him that just bugs me."

Ginny didn't seem impressed. "It's not unusual for a Billywig to enter your bonnet every once in a while."

You shot her a glance and she smiled wryly in return. She resembled Ron too much when she did that. Your belated response didn't surprise her either, but it did make your ears feel warmer. "Ron and Hermione won't tell me anything — Dumbledore's orders, so fair enough."

Ginny hummed, and you walked together in silence for a bit before she spoke again. "Try not to think about it too much; you've got nothing on him anyway." She shrugged, jumping over a faulty step all the way to the floor, clearly unaware of how deeply those doubts vexed you.

"Yeah, not yet," you said, just slightly irked at the dismissive tone your friend had used. You thought back to the secret room near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. That room was definitely the key: he was far attached to it — unusually so for a new student.

It was clear Ginny was trying to keep her sighs to herself, but her nostrils flared every now and then, and the spasmodic soft sounds of her heavy breaths resounded even over your steps. Your face twitched in annoyance.

"Why didn't you continue interrogating him if you're so sure he has something going on?" Ginny brought you out of your reverie, and you turned away from her, trying to keep your cantankerous nature at bay.

"I would have been late..." You chewed on your lip, tapping your finger on the book cover, and she let out a breathy chuckle.

"Of course you would have," she said with a light smile on her face and shook her head. "What are you going to do then?"

That was it. The million-sickles question. In truth, you weren't so sure — a part of you just wanted to let it go and mind your own business. But you were you: when did you ever mind your own business?

Ginny, bless her soul, scarcely understood. Hermione would reproach you. Ron would probably encourage you, but there was no way you would speak to him about the boy you had previously embarrassed him in front of — while he was on duty, on top of it. Harry had too much on his plate already, though you assumed some distraction would do him well. And then there were... others. Others you'd never speak about boys about.

"Get close to him," you finally said, deciding to deal with it on your own. "We share Potions with Slytherins; I'll see if I can partner up with him. He'll have to open up one way or another."

He didn't seem like the type of person who easily opened up, though, and you were pretty sure that the Palpatine-like blessed masterful manipulation you'd suddenly tapped into had vanished the second he had wiped his tears for the last time.

Ginny's voice reached your ears again. "Didn't you see him in class today?"

"No, Ron said he'd start classes tomorrow," you groaned. "They still have to show him around the castle."

As if he needs it, you thought.

"Well..." began Ginny, winking at you with a teasing smile that made you grimace. "You could always partner up with Dean Thomas now and get to know him instead."

Your heart skipped a beat, and it took a great deal of effort not to miss a step and tumble down shamefully. His name hit you like a cannonball, and you blushed heavily: perhaps if you actually trundled all the way to the greenhouse like a poorly inflated basketball, you wouldn't have to listen to her anymore.

(Ginny was silent.)

The idea that Ginny Weasley knew about your Obviously-Not-Crush on him was torturous enough, but the additional teasing felt like needles stuck to your skin, painful and pinching and familiarly dangerous.

You bit your lip harshly and tried to get your cheeks to go back to a normal, healthy temperature again. Because Ginny was lying. There was nothing between you and Dean Thomas. But she never said there was anything between you and Dean Thomas, did she?

The idea sent your mind into overdrive.

There was nothing. Nothing at all.

"Oh no, please shut up!" you said finally, thinking you must have taken much too long to answer her — much too long not to cause suspicions.

(It had been merely five seconds.)

You forced a smile back and nudged her arm. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Ginny quirked a brow, and you turned away again. You heard her let out a sigh, apparently dropping the subject, and breathed out in relief. One needle at a time.

"I had a free period and decided to go for a walk with my favourite Gryffindor who doesn't make me want to stick my head in a boiling cauldron," she simply said.

"I'm honoured?"

"You should be." Her smile widened and she nudged your arm back. "Are you planning on skipping Herbology and intercepting him or something? Sebastian, I mean." She added when your eyes widened again.

"If I wanted to, I would have done that earlier," you sighed, playing mindlessly with the edge of the book in your hands, glad to leave boy-talking and go into boy-talking. The kind of boy who doesn't make your heart explode with a nest of feral moths. "I've to hand in my essay on Self-fertilising shrubs. If I don't, I could lose House points, or get detention, and all for a boy? Never in my life."

"Fair enough, although I could always get you one of Fred and George's products. How about some Puking Pastilles?"

"Yeah, right. I wouldn't trust their products even if they paid me to take them." You frowned at your own words. "Actually, that would make them even more suspicious."

"Yes, it would." Ginny chuckled. "All right, then, I'll leave you to it. There's your greenhouse."

A group of students in red and gold robes stood at the door, and you recognised Harry among them. He was alone, since most of your fellow students still seemed to think he was a liar — and a mad one at that — and Ron and Hermione weren't there. You smiled at the sight of him.

"Let me know if you find anything. Honestly, I'm strangely interested in your paranoid ideas now," said Ginny, turning to walk back to the Central Hall. You waved goodbye to Ginny and walked up to your friend.

"Anything on your mind?" he asked upon seeing your face. You forced a casual expression immediately.

"Anything on yours?"

Harry just rolled his eyes, smiling a little, and followed you inside to begin your lesson.

Sebastian was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

He really appreciated Ron and Hermione trying to help him by explaining everything that had changed in the last century, but he was overwhelmed by it all. Too many things to remember, and too many changes to adapt to — though the biggest one remained his foreign surroundings.

The icing on the cake had been Professor McGonagall informing him that he might have needed tutoring to catch up with his classmates or private lessons with the individual Professors to fill in the gaps in his knowledge (and that meant a hundred years of discoveries, new spells, new potions and so forth).

"If you so wish, you could choose a student yourself, and I'll evaluate whether they're appropriate or not," she had said, capping the matter and dismissing him.

Sebastian dragged himself into the Great Hall, parting with the two students to sit at his House table, as far away from Malfoy as he could get. He just wanted the day to be over: maybe when classes started the next day, he would feel like himself again.

That was the scarce hope he clung to, anyway.

He knew he couldn't count on Defense Against the Dark Arts for obvious reasons — and the thought made him sadder than he felt comfortable admitting — but everything else was still intact, he supposed. He was eager to study, eager to learn, and at the same time so, so tired of it. Despite the love for knowledge that his parents ignited in him, it was one thing to open books and read them at his own pace; another to have it come like a Bludger right for his head, striking from both sides. He read his timetable, with a heavy lassitude pulling his neck down (he rested his chin on his palm then): there was actually a free period before Charms the next day, as he had only chosen Ancient Runes and something called Care of Magical Creatures, which he had never heard of, as electives, already having too much on his plate, and he let out a deep sigh.

Like a balm to that weariness beginning to tickle his chest, his eyes found you on the other side of the Hall: this time you weren't facing him. You had neatly placed your bag next to you and were talking to Hermione, though he didn't know what about. Part of him hoped you were asking her about him.

Sebastian shook the thought out of his head and focused on the soup in front of him, which was starting to get cold. At that moment, even the mere idea of pulling a spoon to his lips over and over again seemed exhausting, yet he forced himself to finish his meal; and as fast as he could, too, which led him to grab the bowl and down the soup in one go like water. He stood up abruptly, wanting to get to bed as soon as possible, and stepped outside the Great Hall, sighing. Finally, he could be alone.

"Sebastian!"

Or not.

"What now?!" he spat, turning in the direction of the voice so fast it made his head spin.

And as always, fate was cruel, and he was its favourite victim.

You stood there, a confusion clear on your face. His breath caught in that incensed ache, and he felt the need to clear his throat — he figured you must have followed him outside as soon as you noticed he was leaving. Why?

"Have I done something wrong, or...?" you asked grudgingly, taking a half-step back at his tone. He instinctively turned around to face you, like a quiet and guilty apology.

"No, no. It's fine," he rambled, figuring it would be right to use his words as well, though that never seemed to come naturally to him. "I was just... never mind, I'm sorry."

Apologies didn't come easy either, words straining their way out, just as they probably had in front of the Undercroft, when you did the same. He bit down on his cheek.

"All right, then," you sighed, looking unsure and not fully convinced, but walking closer to him nonetheless. You smelled like soil and pollen and an underlying scent that was strangely foul. He scrunched his nose a little: fertiliser, he recognised, probably from your last Herbology class. You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Are you going to your Common Room?"

"Yes, I was just about to. I wanted to go to bed early."

You paused, and he stared at you, and an awkward silence filled the corridor that neither of you attempted to break; something that felt both like a promise and a prison, and that kept you both firmly planted on your feet, though while Sebastian wanted to turn on his heels and run away, you wanted something else. Digging your nails in your palms, you decided that if the Sorting Hat had placed you into the House-Of-The-Brave, he had got to have a reason.

"You know where it is, right?" you asked politely, a bit shakily, and your voice sounded abnormally clear and awkwardly shrill, as you silently hoped he wouldn't see through your attempt to interrogate him again. "The entrance is pretty hidden. So—So they say at least," you frantically added. As a Gryffindor, you shouldn't have known about the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room at all.

"I... er..."

He seemed to remember that, too. In fact, Ron and Hermione could never have shown him exactly where he was supposed to stay.

"McGonagall..." he blurted out. "She—She mentioned it this morning. The entrance should open by itself, apparently."

You nodded, trying not to show your disappointment, and most of all, your growing suspicions. "May I walk you?" you asked then, your head tilted a bit to the right. "To the dungeons, I mean. Only there. I believe that's still new territory for you, isn't it?"

You pushed and pushed, and you watched, disheartened, as he closed off even more, just staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. You bit your lip and sighed inwardly, unaware of Sebastian's thoughts and turmoils.

Because Sebastian's heart had skipped a beat — or several — at your words. He'd opened his mouth to reply, but nothing had come out, and a million thoughts and answers now swirled around in his head; a bunch of meandering ideas and swollen utopias and the crash of real life all in between, going from Yes, to No, to Please leave me alone, to As long as you don't leave, to Of course you can, to Stay away from me, to I'll walk you instead, to I can't be near you, to Please, do, to—.

"Look, it's okay if you want to be alone. It must have been a hard day — getting to know the castle, the classes, and everything," your voice interrupted his reverie, and his mind returned to planet Earth.

That's when the biggest thought prevailed, like icy water dumped on his head: how long had he been standing there staring at you like a dumbfounded blobfish for you to reply like that? He wanted to get out of his body and slap himself across the face.

"No, it's not that. It's just..." He tried to make an excuse, hand-picking from his brain like wet and heavy algae. He couldn't be near you, and that, he meant. "You're not supposed to know about the entrance, and... it's late, and I don't want you to get into trouble."

"Charming, aren't you?" You smiled teasingly at his rambling, and his eye twitched at your tone. That was more disheartening than any blobfish.

It seemed like this world had taken that away from him, too.

"Thanks for your concern, and I suppose you're right," you acquiesced, shifting your weight with a cheerful bounce on your knees. It was meant to put him at ease, and it did, though Sebastian suspected it to be carefully planned as well. "Well, goodnight then. Will I see you tomorrow at Divination?"

"No, I didn't choose it as an elective," he said, still relieved you didn't seem to think much of it. "Honestly, I didn't think you would either. You strike me more as the Arithmancy type."

"In what world, exactly? I hate maths, and Arithmancy is basically that, but for wizards."

"I have no idea what maths is, but I'll take your word for it."

You chuckled at his remark, and Sebastian let himself smile back. "So, which electives are you taking?"

"Ancient Runes and — er — Care of Magical Creatures," he replied honestly, though he now wished he had added Arithmancy as well, if not for a secret and — he was aware of it — unjustified need to put one over you.

"Ah, a man of taste."

You nodded in appreciation, and he suddenly — and again, unjustifiably — felt his cheeks tingling at your praise. A red hue made its way onto his face, and he looked away.

"And you do strike me as an Ancient Runes type of guy."

"How so?" He cleared his throat, trying to cool off.

"Well, you seem like a person who likes to discover things," you said with a shrug. "Like the secret room."

"It's called the Undercroft," he corrected you without much thinking. "Nice, right?"

"Oh, you already found a name for it?"

For a moment, the floor melted under his feet at the cold realisation of his slip up. He rolled his tongue against his teeth in a weird attempt to tie it up. He then twisted it into a lie.

"Well, we cannot just keep calling it 'the room', don't you think?"

"We?" you repeated, smiling so hard it coloured your cheeks. Sebastian would like to say he was absolutely not looking at that, though. He didn't even notice. "So, I'm included now, huh?"

"I suppose I had no other choice."

Screw everything Sebastian ever stood for in life — or better, in those last few hours since he met you. He was diving into dangerous waters and screw any blobfish, too; he'd let a bloody Merperson lure him into Tartarus if said Merperson has a smile like that.

"Good call, because you didn't."

And something in those words, in the way you spoke them, sent a jolt through his spine. Not hunger anymore. Certainly not pity. But something that forced his legs to move forward towards you. Your eyes shifted to never leave his as he approached.

"It will be our secret, then."

You were looking up now, just as you had a few hours before. And he was breathing heavily, heartbeat loud and pounding, but with anything but annoyance this time.

"So that's it?" he said, not recognising his voice as it melded around the thrills still shaking his body.

"That's what?"

"That's the only reason you think I'm the type of person who would choose Ancient Runes?"

You let out a scoff, then a chuckle, then you averted your gaze.

"No." You conceded, meeting his eyes again, and just like that, his heartbeat slowed back down. Because your eyes were oddly calming, even if they were not the right colour. "You also seem to possess some wisdom and mind you, that's a huge compliment coming from me."

"What can I say? I'm an old soul. "

"Oh yeah?" You raised your eyebrow at him. "How old, exactly?"

What?

Sebastian's heart missed a beat just as he almost missed a step, his knee doing an awkward unbalanced movement that wiped the smile off your face for a second.

Did you know? How? Did Hermione tell you at dinner? Were you just toying with him?

His eyes were wide as they looked at you, and you grimaced a little, leaning away. "Se—"

"Pretty old. Older than Dumbledore probably," he joked, trying to go back to his usual self as if nothing ever happened, hoping not to sound too lame after the half-heart attack you just gave him.

"Hey, he's not that old," you joked back, and he was glad to see you grinning genuinely once again. "He's barely a hundred and... what, ten-twenty years old? maybe even less. Cut him some slack."

You laughed, and he did too, relieved, until his brain registered your words. The smile died on his lips, and his eyes widened again; ears filled with cotton and buzzing flies and heartbeats, his lips quivered.

One hundred and ten? twenty?

If she had professed his love for him at that moment, he would have been less shocked, he was sure. And that was clear by the way he knew he'd be less shocked. That painful calm again.

Dumbledore was alive in his time. They were about the same age.

A calm that was gradually disappearing as his body began to tremble.

Did he recognise him? Were they at Hogwarts at the same time, albeit in different years? Did he know what happened to Anne while he was away? Was that why he seemed to know he had lied?

"Sebastian, are you alright? You look... not all there." Your voice brought him back, and he regarded you as if seeing you for the first time. The questions bubbled behind his lips as if you could answer them.

He knew you couldn't. "I'm... I'm fine. I'm just very tired. I'd better go to bed."

He gave you no time to retort as he stormed off, not caring to look behind him.

Sebastian knocked on the door repeatedly, hoping the Headmaster wasn't still in the Great Hall for dinner. He didn't care that he was being disrespectful, or loud, or anything a student shouldn't be or do. He had to know: whatever the truth might be.

The door finally opened, revealing Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to be waiting just for him, with weary and heavy eyes.

"I knew you would come back one day." Dumbledore stepped aside and let him in. "I did not expect it to be the first."

Sebastian had no time to be angry at those words. Or shocked, even.

"Are we the same age?" He got straight to the point, taking long, deep breaths both out of fear for the Headmaster's next words, and because of the marathon that he had just run through the corridors.

"Well, yes and no," said Dumbledore, not seeming to mind Sebastian's untoward visit and questions. "As you can see, I’m quite old while you are still a boy."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him, Dumbledore's seemingly dismissing tone incensing him beyond belief. He was ready to reply, ready to do more, but the Headmaster stopped him by raising his hand.

"But yes. We were born only a few years apart. If you want to be precise, I am even younger than you."

For a split second, Sebastian's mind freed itself of all anger and conjured a young Dumbledore running through the corridors. The young Dumbledore still had a long beard, though.

"Did we go to Hogwarts at the same time?"

"Yes. I started my first year when you started your seventh. Rumours were circulating about you, Mr Sallow. Rumours that you had lost your way in the Dark Arts."

Sebastian grimaced, blood running cold. Rumours about him? Did someone tell about what happened in the Catacombs or the Scriptorium? Was it Ominis? Was it Anne? Was it her?

He decided to shove those thoughts to the back of his head. For the moment, at least. "What happened to Anne?" he asked instead, taken aback from the desperation he heard in his own voice. "What happened to my sister?"

Dumbledore looked down. "You see, I wish I could help you with this knowledge, but, unfortunately, I did not know your sister. She never appeared at Hogwarts in all the years I spent there."

Sebastian's optimism wobbled, all his parents' teaching crumbling before him. Solomon's face whisked through his mind and then away. He took a shaky breath. That could only mean one of two things: either the curse had not been lifted, and Anne had to continue suffering all these years, or it ended up killing her.

The back of his eyes stung; he lowered his head and took deep breaths to calm himself as another thought struck him.

"You said you started at Hogwarts at the beginning of my seventh year," he began as his mind ran a thousand miles an hour, seeking for a mere hint of that hope again, "which means I was there. One way or another, I was there! That means I'm going back, doesn't it?"

"That depends on you, Sebastian. You know, time is a mysterious thing and very dangerous if meddled with," replied Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Many people make the mistake of believing that the future has no influence on the past, and so they seem to think they can interfere with it as they please because it would not change anything. But time is linear. Past, present, and future coexist, and any decision you make in this timeline can also affect your past self."

Discarding all optimism from his mind like mere kitsch, the Headmaster just smiled in that irritating way adults seemed to consider reassuring.

"I don't follow. The past has already happened; there's no way I can change it!" Sebastian was beginning to resent Dumbledore. Maybe he already did. Maybe he always did, from the very first time he had looked at him through his half-moon shaped glasses. He could not change the past; if he could, he would have already: he would have already saved Anne, prevented the curse that plagued his sister every day, he would have made different choices to avoid losing her and Ominis. It was the reason he had searched for the artefact in the first place.

"Maybe I did not make myself clear. I apologise." Dumbledore started pacing up and down the room. "Are you not in the future now, Sebastian?"

Sebastian nodded and narrowed his eyes, Dumbledore's repeated movements somehow tiring him out even more.

Of courseI am, I'm standing right here.

He almost said it. Almost. But forced his tongue to tie again.

The Headmaster continued, "And why shouldn't that affect you in the past?"

Now Sebastian really wanted to tell him off. He wondered if he could have done that: the Headmaster couldn't have played the age card on him anyway.

He decided against it.

"Because I have no chance to go back in time if I can't find a solution," he said, scraping the obvious in a way that made him feel almost guilty and almost stupid, and definitely very small.

"Exactly!" Dumbledore smiled at him as if he had just found a cure for Dragon Pox, and Sebastian was sure that his eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline by now because he was raising them so high that his muscles began to hurt.

"Could you be a little more specific, Headmaster?"

"You have no way to return to the past, and if you do not find one, what do you think will happen to your past self?"

"He would follow my steps and disappear into the future, like in a time loop?" said Sebastian tentatively. He tried to recall any information about time travelling he had ever found in the books of the Library. He came up empty.

"You have already created a time loop. Now, your goal is to pass through it. If you don't, terrible things could happen."

The words weren't comforting, that was for sure, and Sebastian got a little rigid. Then he got a little angry, too. If that was Dumbledore's way of keeping him calm, he wondered what the man was like when he purposefully scared someone.

"Things like?"

"Your lineage could disappear, for example — if you had one, that is. I would forget you attended Hogwarts in your seventh year because you never did. This whole conversation would be erased from existence."

Traitorously, amidst the fright, Sebastian felt a bit like a God then. Then he felt like an idiot. Then he regretted every last moment of his journey to find the bloody artefact.

"Then what about my memories of this conversation?" asked Sebastian hesitantly.

"I do not know that much, Sebastian. I have made many mistakes but have never broken the fabric of time and space." Dumbledore's lips lifted into a half smile — Sebastian did not know whether he was making fun of or sympathising with him; he decided it was the latter, just to maintain a sense of self - "But I have reason to believe they would remain in your mind and your mind only. I will warn you: that would be a tough burden to carry."

Add one to the list, then, Sebastian thought.

"But wouldn't that affect my future self? I mean, I'm still not that Sebastian from the seventh year, so it is not my past I will interfere with."

"Yes, and no. That is why time is linear." Dumbledore stopped in front of a beautifully decorated perch near his desk; Sebastian wondered what it was for. "Your future and your past overlap. The you who would be attending his seventh year in 1892 is both in your past and in your future. You are not yet that Sebastian, but that school year already happened about a hundred years ago."

Sebastian went silent — or unconscious, for all he cared. His mind blanked, then it came back, and when it did, he was welcomed by the familiar sting of a headache coming on. He supposed that was what it felt like to be hit by a Confundus Charm.

There was a possibility that he would never return home, that he would disrupt the natural flow of time as he knew it, and he bore all the responsibility.

What would happen if he failed? In what way would he completely change the future? Or the present? Or the past? Or literally, everything that surrounded him at that moment?

He did not realise he had sat down on the floor until his vision cleared, and Dumbledore stood right in front of him, looking far too tall from his perspective. Sebastian lifted his head to meet his eyes and found a glint in them; he almost mistook it for pity or sympathy, but there was a certainty in them: something that told him that he could do it.

"Do you think I will ever be able to go back?" he whispered weakly, more to himself than others, but the man answered anyway.

"Well, Sebastian, I think you can. After all, you already have." Dumbledore winked and smiled at him.

Sebastian stood up, albeit slowly, as his legs might have given up at any moment. Dinner was sitting rather uncomfortably in his stomach, and he was sure any other misplaced word from the Headmaster would make him throw up.

"I suggest you get some rest. Everything seems clearer in the morning, I believe. It must be the pumpkin juice; the elves are working pretty hard to prepare breakfast." Dumbledore began to hum an unfamiliar tune as he sat down at his desk. Sebastian didn't have the strength to be annoyed at it.

Just like that, a beautiful red and gold bird flew through the window and sat on the perch, its black eyes focusing directly on Sebastian. He stopped in his tracks and took a step towards it.

"That's..." The sentence died on his lips. Sebastian had never seen a phoenix before, especially not one in its prime.

The bird nodded, or seemed to, its stately body flailing as it made itself comfortable. Sebastian wondered if the foppery animal ever took umbrage at the small perch it was to rest on.

"Fawkes, a Phoenix. He is beautiful, is he not?" At a mere gesture of Dumbledore's hand, Fawkes began to sing a slow tune, and Sebastian was drowning, and then floating, his mind empty of everything but the melody. And for the first time in a long time, his clothes were warm on his body, hugging him perfectly like flannel in winter, and his lips could do nothing but rest in an uncompromising lazy smile, and he wasn't thinking of the artefact, and the curse, and himself.

It lasted a few seconds. Only then did he realise how tired he really was.

Dumbledore smiled as he watched his reaction and slowly caressed Fawkes over the head, silently thanking him.

Sebastian turned to walk to the door when another thought crossed his mind. Her. "Wait," he began, turning back to the Headmaster. "I have got one more question."

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look before nodding slowly.

"I had a friend... a girl." His voice quivered against his will as he tried to calm his mind and make a coherent speech. "She helped me with my research for Anne — my sister."

He paused and waited, but Dumbledore said nothing. "She could wield Ancient Magic, and she saved the school," he continued.

"The Hero of Hogwarts," said Dumbledore simply.

Sebastian nodded, relieved that the man knew who he was referring to. "What happened to her?"

"I assume you have already met someone who reminded you of her."

And there went the discretion.

Reminded was definitely an understatement, if the way his heart started to burn meant anything.

"I have," Sebastian relented, swallowing thickly. It didn't help. "I was wondering..."

"If they are directly related?"

He nodded, mentally bracing himself. He did not know which answer he would dread the most: if Dumbledore confirmed, that would mean that the girl Sebastian was secretly and desperately in love with — and he had no fear admitting it — had married someone else and had children who then led to another girl who looks just like her and whom he had to meet, and now his brain was inevitably beginning to confuse the two; if he didn't, then the girl Sebastian just met was related to someone else in her family, but since fate loved to play with him and give him back all the karma he deserved, it made sure he had to meet someone he desperately craved but could never have because he did not belong to the same world.

And the entire mix made Sebastian feel like the protagonist in a badly written novel. Only he had a hunch it wasn't going to end in a Happy Ever After.

"Yes, they are."

Sebastian released a breath, stomach twisting, and while that traitorous hope tried to make its way in his chest again, his worst suspicions had been undoubtedly confirmed nonetheless. "How? I mean, who... who did she marry?"

Sebastian saw him raise his eyebrows questioningly, but Dumbledore answered anyway. "I do not know that much, Sebastian, but I know she had children. One, to be exact. Someone I know used to keep an eye on her because of her power."

Sebastian gasped slightly. He knew people had come for her in the past. Searched for her. That just meant they never stopped. His heartbeat sped up a little.

Balling his fists, he whispered shakily, "Did he hurt her?"

"I don't think he could have, even if he had tried." Dumbledore gave Sebastian a faint smile to reassure him. "But no, he did not. She was able to live a healthy and good life, that much I know. I became a Professor shortly after."

"Did her child attend Hogwarts when you were a Professor?" asked Sebastian, eager to know more, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"The child was born without magical abilities. He did not attend Hogwarts."

His words seemed much louder in the echoing silence that followed. Sebastian opened his mouth to say something but choked on his breath.

How could that have happened? Could her power, her magnificent, incredible power, prevent the possibility that her children themselves possessed any magic? Was it simply an accident?

"No one knows why this happens," said Dumbledore as if he could read his mind, "but it is certainly not the parents' or the child's fault.

"For many generations, her family lived in the Muggle world, adapted to their way of life, and lived happily in their community until your, well, now classmate began to show signs of abilities unknown to them, and when she turned eleven, I personally sent her a letter of acceptance to this school."

"Can she wield Ancient Magic?" Sebastian asked more to distract himself from his real thoughts. It was unfair. Unfair that you, the onlywitch from her direct bloodline, had to be the one who looked just like her. Unfair that fate was so cruel that he had to meet you right after he had lost everything. Unfair that he had to find himself right in your timeline. And above all, unfair that his heart would not stop jumping, and his stomach would not stop fluttering every time he thought of you

"She has not shown any signs of being able to do it yet, as most people who can are late bloomers according to historical records, but perhaps as a muggle-born descended from a powerful bloodline, her case might be an exception." Dumbledore looked up to meet Sebastian's eyes, and Fawkes began to sing slowly again.

"She is a gifted and very powerful witch worthy of her name, with or without Ancient Magic," he stated, piercing Sebastian with his ice-blue eyes. The conversation was over: now it was Sebastian's turn to face the truth. And Sebastian decided that he did not want to face the truth just yet.

Sebastian said goodbye to the Headmaster, thanking him for his time, and finally went to the Common Room, thankful that he did not meet anyone, as it was already late. He didn't even have time to process being back in the dorms, so similar but so different, before he collapsed in his bed and instantly fell into a dreamless sleep.