One Hundred Years of Solitude
The Great Hall was almost empty when he entered it, as most of the students had already gone to class. Since he had a free period before Charms, Sebastian decided to allow himself more sleep than usual.
Not that it had been any useful.
He couldn’t even walk straight, dragging himself to the nearest seat at his House table and resting his head on the cold wood. There was hardly anything left, and he was more than happy to just munch on a cold pancake and drink a glass of pumpkin juice, enough to sustain him for at least a few hours, although barely.
Perhaps it was the sight of the Hall, empty and familiar, perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling shining sunny rays on the Slytherin table, perhaps it was the unsatisfactory breakfast after an unsatisfactory dinner, but for a split second, Sebastian was at home.
It was a sour feeling, like his pumpkin juice had spoiled and his pancake had grown mould in his hands, yet he couldn't stop feasting on it, searching for a piece he could savour, if only once. That, he realised, was the beginning of his destruction.
Memories of the previous day's conversation came flooding back and he groaned, the weight in his chest growing heavier, and the pancake suddenly seemed even less appetising as he dropped it onto the plate.
'Everything is clearer in the morning', Dumbledore had said.
Perhaps he should lend me his glasses, Sebastian thought.
Fortunately, the headache had subsided since the conversation, and although his sleep hadn't been as satisfying as he'd hoped, he felt a little better than he had a few hours ago. Maybe it was the pumpkin juice.
He shoved the pancake back in his mouth, almost choking on it, and rubbed his eyes before standing up. From his table, a few Slytherins turned their heads towards him, and he recognised a few of his peers among them: a brown-haired boy was waving a wand around with a devil-may-care attitude while a blonde girl tried to snatch it out of his hands. None of them seemed in a rush to leave, which almost made Sebastian think he had read his timetable wrong.
He checked again for good measure and he was glad to know he was absolutely right. He then wondered if he might have been mistaken about the students: they either weren't in the same year as him as he had previously thought or they were waiting for the perfect moment to be fashionably late.
Sebastian, for all his self-respect and gallantry, had little time to be fashionable.
Leaving the students be — and ignoring their eyes on him as soon as he turned towards the door — he headed off to class, ready to begin lessons in a new, unfamiliar environment.
It felt bloody ironic to think that after five years.
If anything, the hallways were deserted and the cracking fire of the torches put him at ease, and that was a pretty huge step up. The walk to Classroom 2E was almost refreshing, and for once, he didn't lament the stairs. The same couldn't be said for the screeching laugh of a certain Slytherin girl as soon as she saw him wander around.
"Lost, new fifth-year?" laughed Pansy Parkinson, then she turned to her right as if expecting someone to pat her back.
If her goal had been to discomfit him, she might have needed to review her bullying strategies.
"You're not still crying because of what happened yesterday, are you?" retorted Sebastian, only stopping briefly to look at her before resuming his walk.
"I could give you detention," she shrieked.
"That would delight me."
Pansy Parkinson didn't follow him, for which he was delightfully glad. Not that it would matter that much: he'd see her in class anyway — probably fleering at him with newfound energy once she had his beau beside her.
A perfect pureblood pair, he almost wanted to throw up.
The classroom hadn't changed an inch, so much that Sebastian almost expected Professor Ronen to parade down the stairs with his purple robes and terrible jokes. Instead, what waited for him was a short man standing on a pile of books, swinging from left to right on his tiny legs. He was waving his wand around, blank scrolls of parchments depositing themselves on each desk while a whole new bunch of them floated around his head.
"Oh! Come! Come!" he shrieked as soon as he saw Sebastian, gesturing for him to approach his desk. "Have your classmates met you yet? Oh, I'm sure they have! You seem like a nice, friendly bloke!"
Sebastian wasn't sure if the words "nice" and "friendly" suited him, actually, but he gave the professor a smile nonetheless.
"I'd told Dumbledore he ought-a make a proper introduction! I can't imagine how odd it must have been for you — and especially in such circumstances," he whispered the last part, and Sebastian’s smile faltered and his heart dropped pathetically to his stomach. That was something that adults did, where in all their experience and emotional maturity they always failed to consider their younger interlocutors' perspective, and Sebastian really wanted to snap at the small man and make him understand that he didn't exactly feel the need to be reminded of his situation all the time.
The man seemed to notice, too (and what miracle, Sebastian thought), and he brought his hands to his mouth, capping it shut like he had just revealed a big secret. "Sorry," he muffled, "I ought-a be more sensible."
Unwinding his hands, he finally addressed the rest of the students, motioning Sebastian to turn towards them.
To say his introduction was embarrassing would have been too kind a compliment.
He stayed still like a statue, almost hoping that the less he moved, the less visible he was. The professor did the honours, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to take out his wand and blast Draco Malfoy and his gang to Merlin's grave as they snickered.
"You may go and sit next to Miss Davis." The small man lightly patted his back to direct him towards the desk. "I'm Professor Filius Flitwick — you can come and find me for any doubts, my office is open at every hour!"
"Every hour indeed," whispered Miss Davis as soon as Sebastian sat down. "He might even give you cupcakes if you look distressed enough!"
Sebastian thought that Professor Flitwick might have to step up his baking game, as far as distress went.
Charms class had paid off, and Sebastian felt better, more like himself, than he had in the past twenty-four hours. Flitwick was a little eccentric, but a very knowledgeable and capable Charms master, other than a lenient Professor by Hogwarts standards — he didn't even give extra assignments to those who were late.
Miss Davis — or Tracey, as Sebastian learnt — had been very helpful. She shared her book with him and lent him her notes. Sebastian realised there were quite a few things that he had never heard of, fruit of many decades of research and discovery.
On the whole, he believed he was content enough and ready for his next class. Sebastian was at ease in an almost confounding way, and he was sure he'd become jittery soon enough, yet a new found purpose — if only for a short time — invigorated his spirit. If he focused on school, he'd fill his brain enough not to think about anything else. That was ideal.
"What do you think, mate?"
A Slytherin boy approached him, slinging his bag on his shoulder, and Sebastian jumped a little, surprised by the sudden voice. He recognised him as the boy in the Great Hall, with the messy brown hair and the long face, but his blonde friend was nowhere to be found.
"What?" asked Sebastian, slowing down to allow him to walk side by side.
He smiled reassuringly. "Flitwick. That was your first Charms class in Hogwarts, was it not?"
Sebastian had to bite his tongue at that, willing Professor Ronen's jovial face to disappear from his mind. "Indeed it was..."
"So?"
So...
Sebastian tried not to make a comparison, but a wall of pros and cons was already manifesting in the window on his mind, served with just a tad of cognitive bias.
"Oh, it was good. He's a bit eccentric isn't he?" said Sebastian tentatively.
"Yeah, but he's all right. We thought he was part elf for the longest time but we never dared to ask."
Sebastian smirked, remembering the professor's squeaky voice and the books he had to stand on. He was almost bizarre, when he moved his wand around: like a toy hit by a Transfiguration spell that jumped around as if alive. "I thought he was a bit... short."
"Yeah. Apparently he's part Goblin instead, but heh, same thing," said the boy nonchalantly and walked past him.
Sebastian faltered, stilling in place as if someone had poured concrete on his shoes. Just as in a cracked mirror, the toy decayed on the wooden floor, moulded by years of humidity and abandon.
He thought he had grown even slightly accustomed to the changes — to the people wandering around him, the classmates treating him like a foreigner, the professors having to hide him under carefully practised smiles and braided hands on their mouths — and yet, the mere idea that his own professor had goblin ancestry was tearing him apart like nothing before.
He knew that Goblins weren't the ones that cursed Anne (his friend had told him that, after all), and he knew, logically and maturely, that just because a few of them were bad didn't mean all of them were, but he still felt a little flame of anger — and prejudice — light up inside him, along with scattered guilt for his own thoughts and the memory of Feldcroft's events.
Sebastian wanted to forget the past, and yet it kept following him, even through space and time, and he couldn't help but think about that goblin slitting his own throat at his wishes, and intrusively imagine Flitwick being in his place.
He really tried to ignore it, for his own good. Flitwick was a good teacher, a skilled wizard even: his ancestry had nothing to do with it — or him. He hoped that he wouldn't need more time to warm up to the Charms professor after hearing the new information.
But he knew he did.
"What's that face, new student?" came Draco Malfoy's provoking snicker, followed by his group's. "Was this little class so hard it made you realise how dense you are?"
"I'd worry more about your failed Colour Change Charm today. Need help with that?"
Draco Malfoy shut up immediately.
Upon leaving the classroom, Sebastian read his timetable again and saw that he had three free periods before Care of Magical Creatures. He groaned in displeasure and then cringed at himself: he was probably the only student in the whole world who wanted to actively study at the moment. He sighed and simply decided to spend his free time in the Library to try to catch up on what he had missed.
"Could you direct me to the books involving the events of the last century?" Sebastian asked the librarian as soon as he entered the room, and she eyed him suspiciously before handing him his library card and pointing him in the right direction.
Not much had changed in the Library, so much that Sebastian was still able to pronounce every book by memory as his eyes skimmed over the covers. He walked through the Library like it was home, his chest teeming with a soft buzz of comfort and excitement. Sebastian might have cried on the spot if he didn't have so many curious eyes on him.
There was, of course, a new section with books he had never read before: books of the new century, and, wistfully, the books he was searching for. Whilst the new shelves broke that bell jar of naiveté gradually forming around him as part of him still clung to the past, an excited grin broke onto his face nonetheless; he had always prided himself on having read every book in the room — except for the Restricted Section — and the idea of absorbing even more knowledge was almost invigorating enough to brighten up his day. He was his parents' son after all.
Madam Pince stared at him from across the room, her neck moving to watch his actions in a way that eerily resembled a rattlesnake as he grabbed as many books as he could carry in his arms before placing them on the nearest desk where another Slytherin girl sat. She peeped at him suspiciously, with a playful hint in her eyes.
"Busy, aren't we? I almost took you for a Ravenclaw," she said jauntily, then glanced back down at her book, a copy of Intermediate Transfiguration, and unwrapped a parchment scroll beside it, pushing a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear so it wouldn't fall in her face.
Whether the girl intended it as a compliment or not, he allowed it to go over his head: her teasing had already stepped foot into his boundaries, but Sebastian felt like the bell jar was too broken to stop it, and he let it be.
"I've a lot of catching up to do," he sighed as he took a seat in front of her, opened the first book on the list — A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot — and read the table of contents, frowning when he noticed the book didn't get past the 19th century. What surprised him the most was that this was, technically, the assigned book for the year. Was the history of the past century so useless and uneventful it didn't deserve to be shed light on?
The girl raised her head and looked at him as he focused on the words in front of him. "Oh, right. You're the new student everyone's talking about, aren't you?"
That was not exactly on his list of yearly accomplishments.
Sure, he was the best duelist in Crossed Wands (second best, he suddenly reminded himself) and his duels were the talk of the school for days after they happened, and especially if they involved her.
But that was good talk. The kind of talk that made people know him as talented and dashing and charming (and a loser sometimes, but only because she was better: and if she was better, he didn't care), not the kind that depicted him as the boorish and lonely new student who didn't even deserve a formal introduction and had a fight with two Prefects on his first day. That was the bad talk: the talk he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy (or perhaps only to those like Duncan Hobhouse, because he was a boorish and a loner and his formal introduction should spare everyone present. But that was Duncan.)
"Everyone?" he asked then, rhetorically and with a strange need to eat those words back up and become that boorish loner, too.
"Well, it's quite an unusual occurrence. People are curious."
Curious wasn't exactly what Sebastian needed at the moment, yet Hogwarts was, after all, a bracket of adolescents waiting to feast and find something else to worry about than their potions essay.
"Fair enough," he said, folding the book shut and putting it aside, deeming it useless for his research. "I'm Sebastian Sallow."
"Daphne Greengrass. Pleased to meet you." She extended her arm towards him over the table, her palm open and waiting, and he faltered for a moment at her boldness before repeating her movements. Her grip on his hand was firm and confident as she shook it. Sebastian studied her face more closely, familiarity lingering on the back of his mind.
"Are we in the same year?" he asked, almost hearing the gears turning in his brain as he tried to recall her face.
"You're observant," she replied sarcastically. "Yeah, I was actually sitting behind you in Charms just now. Next to Pansy?"
Like an epiphany. He remembered the blonde girl at breakfast. She was one of the few students who arrived late to Charms class.
Then his brain focused on the name she said, and his eye twitched. "Don't tell me you're friends with her."
"I wouldn't say 'friends'; she can be rude sometimes."
Sebastian had a word in mind that perfectly described his combination of "rude" and "Pansy Parkinson", but decided not to say it. He just rolled his eyes and Daphne smiled.
"Really, most of the time she's all right. Quite nice even — but only if you're a pureblood. I'm actually surprised she's never thought of me as a blood traitor, considering the stances of my family, but I suppose there's a clear line between support and neutrality, and we haven't crossed it yet." As if neutering any possible debate, she began scribbling on her parchment what seemed to be the beginning of an essay.
Sebastian was sure that the line between neutrality and supremacy was much more blurred instead.
"Delightful," said Sebastian simply, picking up the nearest book and beginning to read it as they fell into a comfortable silence.
The books were like a balm and a curse, redolent of pretty much every emotional experience Sebastian had lived through in the past day.
After about an hour, he put the books back, having flicked through them all, and had just begun to let his eyes wander over the shelf in search of a new one when he heard shuffling behind him.
Daphne had put her books away and was frowning at him. "It's nearly lunchtime, I'm heading to the Great Hall. D'you want to come?"
Sebastian paused for a moment, scanning around and noticing how the Library was emptying by the minute. "Uh, sure. I didn't realise it was that late." And he found himself following Daphne outside, striking a conversation on the way and feeling a little lighter.
The sun was still as hot as ever as he followed his fellow Slytherins to his Care of Magical Creatures class a few hours later. Draco Malfoy led the group, snickering along with Pansy Parkinson and the two big students about some second-year Hufflepuff they took points from. Sebastian rolled his eyes so hard he could have sworn he saw the back of his own head.
When Malfoy's blonde hair disappeared from his field of vision, he almost rolled them again when he recognised the familiar robes of his Gryffindor classmates.
Gryffindor could only mean one thing: You.
He frantically searched for your familiar silhouette and breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing. You hadn't mentioned any elective other than Divination to him — apart from your obvious dislike of Arithmancy — so perhaps, by some benevolent Supreme Being, you hadn't chosen that course, and he would have to see you even less.
His solace was short-lived, because after only a few seconds he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Sebastian turned and saw you walking towards him, followed by the two Prefects and the boy with glasses. Just like that, dread washed over him like magma, and he was sure his vision had lost focus for a moment — his body shrivelled at your presence, like you had touched him and burned his skin to the bone and no amount of Wiggenweld could fix it.
He grimaced (and he thought that the fact that he managed to contain his face to a simple grimace was noteworthy) as you approached and mentally prepared himself to start a conversation with you — because of course you would talk to him: you had done it every time you had met the day before.
It was logical, like Ominis reproaching him for no reason, or Anne holding his hands when they met.
(But that logic can break, and he knew it all too well.)
It's not that he didn't like talking to you — he did: far too much, in fact — but he had made a promise to himself and was willing to keep it. He had already regretted telling you about the Undercroft, and he had almost skipped class that morning when he had remembered your conversation.
'I suppose I had no other choice,' his mind played it over and over mockingly, taunting him like a broken cuckoo clock in an old lady's house — and he has seen an awful lot of them in his time living in the countryside — or like one of those school kids he wanted to strangle when he was young, singing off-key doggerels at the bare mention of a girl's name.
You flashed him a smile and gave him a quick wave, and the corners of his mouth lifted against his will. He found himself leaning towards you, ready to strike up a conversation when you would inevitably stop beside him. After all, you had followed him the night before when he left the Great Hall, hadn't you?
And so he spoke, "Hi—"
"Neville? How did you get here so fast?" you said at the same time, shifting your wide eyes towards the Gryffindor group. You practically dashed past him, rushing towards another boy standing just a few feet away from him, and Sebastian was left there, his greeting hanging in the air unanswered. "We literally just left the greenhouse, did you sprint here or what?" He heard you laugh.
"Hello, Sebastian," said Hermione, as Ron and Harry gave him a nod of acknowledgement, with polite smiles on their faces. The three of them joined you and Neville, along with the rest of the Gryffindors, and Sebastian sighed, a heavy weight in his chest and pure shame seeping through his veins. He thought he had physically heard his stomach bounce like a poorly knitted pillow, and the more his mind replayed the scene, the more it unbounded until all that was left was a poorly looped slip knot.
"Well, that was awkward." Daphne was right next to him again and had witnessed the whole interaction. Sebastian's eye twitched.
"What was?" He decided to play dumb, already knowing he'd be unsuccessful as his gloomy expression was more than enough for a tell.
"'Hi." She taunted him with an exaggerated dreamy sigh, and he bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance as another step forward in that boundary almost felt like a kick in the shins.
"I did not sound like that."
"You sounded exactly like that," she smirked. "You almost threw yourself in front of her, too."
"I did not," he protested weakly, surveying the ground to measure his position and see if Daphne was actually right.
She was.
"I beg to differ. What's with the few steps you took forward then?"
Sebastian was properly blushing now, and as Daphne giggled, he felt like a wet Puffskein in a camp of Poachers. He frantically checked around to ensure no one was looking his way, and no one was, yet it was as if their eyes were just barely waiting to peel the skin off his bones as languidly as a blink. He took a step back as if it could undo his actions.
"Don't tell me you've already got a crush," she continued, either unaware or uncaring of Sebastian's feelings. "You've been here — what, a day? I mean, I get it. She is gorgeous; I'm sure many guys and girls would agree, but that's a record."
"I don't have a crush," he said through gritted teeth, arms tightening around his midriff as he crossed them to his chest protectively, yet at the sceptical glimpse on his newfound friend's face, which seemed to reach parts of him that felt a bit too personal — specifically the alcove between his ribcage and heart — he snapped. "I don't! She just reminds me of someone else I knew. It's not her I... It's just not like that, all right?"
A few heads turned to him, startled by his outburst, and he chewed on his cheek to calm down. He did not need further attention.
He opened his hands and caressed the palm over his arms, as if smoothing the skin down.
Daphne stared as well, and Sebastian was pleased to see her bite her lip as if regretting her words. "Wow, all right, I get it." She took a few steps to stand right beside him, trying to appear unfazed by his tone, and faced the Professor, whispering: "So, it's like a 'fill-in crush'?"
Not again.
Sebastian sighed heavily, like it could remove the huge weight of her words crushing his lungs. "A what?"
"You're attracted to her because she's, in a way, similar to your other crush," said Daphne matter-of-factly, nodding in satisfaction at her own statement.
His blush spread, and he had to close his eyes to bask in that bell jar again, if only for a little.
"I wouldn't say 'attracted'," he muttered, but Daphne only raised her eyebrows knowingly, and he found himself yielding like a fool. "Well, yes... probably."
For some reason, the admission didn't actually crush his lungs as he had expected.
(He believed the sigh had been responsible for that: let's give credit where credit is due.)
"Mm..." Daphne seemed lost in thought for a while. "Well, the only advice I can give you is to sort out your feelings."
Feelings. Those weren't feelings. They were a trick: a traitorous, disgusting trick of his brain that made him want to throw up.
"There are no feelings to sort out. I don't feel anything for her." Sebastian averted his eyes. "Nothing real, at least," he mumbled the last bit, turning his head away from her. It was a terrible large word for such a small muscle.
"Well, that's great, for now. But if you do at some point — or if you two become friends in the future — really put some thought into it. After all, you can't rule the heart." She winked at him as Professor Grubbly Plank began her lesson.
You can't rule the heart. Sebastian knew this all too well and yet seriously wished he could. Especially at that moment.
"Was your crush unrequited?" Daphne added musingly as she got her book out of her bag, and his breath caught in his throat. He had, for a moment, settled down in that peaceful certainty that was a closed conversation.
Logic was broken again.
"Why... Why is that so important?" he asked, reproaching himself for his ridiculous stutter.
"It must have been if your brain is looking for a replacement."
"I do nothing of the sort," he spat defensively, as if Daphne's words had moved past that alcove and directly touched his nerves. He turned to glare at her, but she just shrugged and acquiesced to his words without arguing. That unbalanced him, like missing a step and feeling the void under your stomach.
Under normal circumstances, he would have been deeply offended by a stranger's assumptions, yet for some reason, he was relieved by her utter lack of judgement about his insane situation.
"All right, I'm just saying. Be careful," she resigned and proudly showed him her assignment sketch of a Bowtruckle, as if the conversation had never happened. Despite everything, he snorted at the sight.
He supposed he could pretend that as well.
"I'm impressed. It looks almost different from a twig," he said jauntily, pointing at its head, and she slapped his arm with her book.
The day had gone better than he had imagined, and the next day started just as well, only with a bigger breakfast. This time, both Daphne and Tracey sat next to him, and that mere action made him feel normal again. (And there were no dry pancakes this time, Sebastian noted happily)
Ron and Hermione had stopped him right after he left the Great Hall to give him his textbooks for the day.
"McGonagall asked us to get these for you. They're a bit worn down, but they will do. I hope." Hermione had said.
Transfiguration class went by quite smoothly, and McGonagall was more of a capable teacher than he was willing to admit. He grinned in victory when he was the only one to have Vanished his mice completely by the end of the lesson.
"Oh, come on. You can't be serious." Daphne complained, holding up a slithery mouse tail. "There's no way you managed to do that before me. Beginner's luck." She sulked.
"Next time, you should start from the tail," he snickered proudly.
"Next time, I'll Vanish your mouth, Sallow."
After that came two whole hours of Potions, and Sebastian was curious if the rumours about Snape being strict and — quote — a bully were true (the rumours being Ron Weasley).
He entered the class, careful to keep an eye on you, just in case you had the bright idea to sit next to him, and basically sprinted to one of the square tables that already seemed too crowded for you to attempt to follow him.
Unfortunately, his planning was as bad as ever because he ended up banging his hands on the table to avoid crashing into it, inhaling some of the dust and erupting into a coughing fit that momentarily broke his focus. When he noticed the bright red hem of your uniform right next to him, it was already too late.
"'Morning," you smiled politely at him, and he forced himself to smile back, certain that he could not have mustered a better expression than one that said, 'I'm going to puke.'
To be fair: the dungeons were quite humid, and that, mixed with the various strong smells of potions and ingredients — and the dust still lingering at the back of his mouth — was not helping.
"'Morning," he said, making his voice as clear as the ceiling of the Great Hall. The thought of being mocked by Daphne Greengrass again surpassed any social etiquette in the proper tone to use. You, however, seemed totally unfazed.
He assumed that being around blaring Gryffindors every day must have attuned your ears to withstand ultrasounds by now.
"How was your first day? I forgot to ask yesterday."
Yeah, you walked right past me. Did you remember that, at least? he almost said.
"Not bad at all. I had only three classes, though," he shrugged nonchalantly. The fact that you didn't even stop to talk to him and ask how he was doing was not bothering him.
Maybe it was mildly upsetting, like waiting all day to explore the Highlands and then being stopped by a sudden rain.
Perhaps just a little annoying, like receiving an A instead of an E on an essay one had worked on for days.
But not bothersome. That would mean he cared, and he didn't.
You nodded and began setting your ingredients on the table. "What about today?"
He had to force himself not to care then. Force himself to suppress the sudden, prideful fluttering in his chest. He decided he was going to check the dorms that night: there were definitely a few moths or flies nestling around that he had accidentally swallowed while sleeping.
"McGonagall, first two periods."
You gave him a sweet smile that made his stomach tighten, and before he could stop himself, the moths fluttered and he blurted out, "I was actually the only one to master the Vanishing Spell today."
You seemed to be caught off guard, and he saw Daphne stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he didn't quite grasp what he did wrong. Then, like a cannonball,his cheeks warmed up, as if his body had caught up before his brain.
Because he had just shamelessly bragged about himself like a first-year learning the Levitation Charm for the first time.
"Cool." Your voice was about an octave higher as you nodded at him, clearly unsure how to respond to his statement. He bit the inside of his cheek, and wished the Giant Squid would burst through the window and snatch him away to make him its lunch. He definitely needed to check the dorms.
"W-what about you?" he asked instead, knowing that not even the Squid would show him mercy at this point.
(He suspected it would laugh at him, too.)
"Two free periods. I caught up on homework a bit." You shrugged off your robe and neatly placed it with the others in a corner of the classroom closest to your worktable. "Hogwarts Professors do love an essay, don't they? Feels like I haven't stopped writing since the year started. It wouldn't have surprised me if they asked us to write one right on the train."
He grinned, glad that at least you seemed to think nothing of his clearly odd behaviour. "Seems like I have a lot to catch up on."
"If you're lucky, they're going to spare you. I can't believe I still need to work on my essay on Gillyweed; I thought I might spend the evening—"
Just like that, a tall Gryffindor boy came sitting on your right, and Sebastian watched as you faltered, pausing your hand mid-air. You were holding a handkerchief in which you had wrapped your Erumpent tongue: It never made it to the table's surface.
"Hi," said the boy politely, flashing you a smile that you returned immediately.
"Hi," you breathlessly replied, finally setting the wrap down and wiping your hands on your cardigan, taking a deep breath. Sebastian waited for you to continue your sentence, but it seemed like your conversation with the Slytherin was the last thing on your mind at that moment.
"Is this seat taken?"
What happened later felt more like a warm rush to his forehead, which quietly manifested into a frown. Why was he bothering asking if he had already put his stuff down?
But you didn't seem to notice.
"Not at all — you can have it." You stuttered a bit.
He watched this whole interaction with his mouth open, noticing the small smile dancing on your lips as you stole glances at the boy, and he did the same. They said looks could kill, and those gazes felt indeed like tiny stabbings all over his skin.
He met Daphne's gaze, and she gave him a knowing glance, hiding a smirk. His jaw set, and he mouthed, "Don't start."
"Today, you will be brewing the Babbling Beverage," said Snape, forcing Sebastian to look away from the pathetic and horrifying scene next to him. "It's fairly easy to grasp and should be a piece of cake for students who are supposed to be at Ordinary Wizarding Level, but I'm sure even then, some of you will encounter difficulties if so to speak." He shot Neville a smug glance, and the boy seemed to shrink into himself. Malfoy snickered.
"Instructions are on the blackboard. You may begin."
He saw you take out your textbook and search in your bag for — something you probably didn't find. Groaning, you took out your quill and ink and began scribbling the instructions on the book, crossing ingredients and numbers, adding arrows and switching passages. That took you a whole five minutes before you closed your book and got to work.
He added Alihotsy leaves as his water simmered, and you did the same after a few minutes, glancing at what seemed to be a watch. The leaves had to stew in water for twenty minutes, so he got closer to you out of curiosity.
"Is that a watch on your wrist?" he asked, leaning over your shoulder as you were reading the time. It was worn and a little chipped on the sides, the hands wavering between seconds passing.
"It's a wristwatch. Do wizards not use them?"
Wizards definitely used watches (he himself carried a pocket watch at all times), but he had never seen them worn as a bracelet.
"It looks fancy."
You snickered. "Nothing fancy about it. I actually bought it for a cheap price."
That would explain the painfully slow pace of the hands.
"I can see it's barely moving at all," he smirked.
"I know," you stifled a small chuckle. "You could say it's dying on mywatch."
Sebastian paused then, with a quiet buzz in his brain. There was a moment of realisation on his part before he found himself snorting, insides twisting and cringing at your terrible joke.
And the best part (the absolutely amazing part of it all) was that he would have had the same idea had he been in your place. A lousy, dreadful pun that would make anyone's chest shrivel in embarrassment. And yet he loved it.
"Merlin, that was awful!" He tried to hide the absolute joy on his face. Anyone else — Ominis, Anne, her — would either dismiss or ignore him when he made jokes like that, and rarely laugh. And there you were. It was you saying it, and it was you laughing at it. And it was him feeling warm all over again.
So different. How could you be so different?
"And yet you laughed. That says more about you than it does about me."
It did indeed say a lot about him, Sebastian acquiesced to that, and yet when you turned to smile at him, he froze. And if he hadn't caught a glimpse of your clock, still feebly moving, he would have thought time had too.
Sebastian hadn't realised how close the two of you actually were. He hadn't realised if it happened when he leaned to examine the watch. Or if he got even closer as he laughed.
His vision blurred for a second and his delusional, twisted mind screamed at him tolean in, and lean in, and lean in, because it was her, after all. He could just do it, just to put an end to those fluttering feelings that have been eating at him for months.
And he did. Just a little, enough to feel your breath touch the side of his face. Enough to notice the stray thread coming loose from the shoulder of your cardigan. Enough to notice every fleck of colour in your eyes.
Your eyes.
So different.
It wasn't her.
The rational part of his brain tightened the reins of his body, stopping him immediately like an abrupt braking, and he took a step back, almost stumbling backwards, heart hammering in his chest.
If you were her, you wouldn't have made a joke like that. It just wasn't her personality, he reasoned.
And yet, he wished it was. He wished he could mould the two of you together and keep you both with him. Then he forced himself out of his fantasy: the last thing he needed was to lose his grip on reality more than he had on his own life.
He decided to just sort out his ingredients while he waited, trying to stop the blush from spreading across his face.
He didn't look back at you to see your expression.
"Well, it could have been better." He eyed his potion gloomily. It was dark pink and definitely didn't smell like bubblegum, as it should have, not like yours. He glanced at your cauldron, which was filled with bright red liquid: a perfect job. His shoulders slumped.
"Mm, not bad," said Daphne as soon as she was beside him. "You were supposed to stir five times before adding Leech Juice, not six."
"I got distracted," he muttered, sending you a glance. You had asked the other boy — whose name was 'Dean' as he heard you say more times than he could count (you had only said his name twice, but it was twice too much for Sebastian's taste) — to grab you a pair of Billywig stings that were drying in a basket beside him and that you couldn't reach yourself. You could've asked him. He had some spare stings as well — maybe not as many as Dean, he admitted, but enough for both of you.
"Right, right, by your 'not-crush' and her... 'yes-crush'?"
"She doesn't have a crush."
"Right, she doesn't. And it's definitely not requited either," Daphne remarked sarcastically, ogling at you and the boy chatting merrily. Sebastian thought he might puke in his cauldron and create a whole different brew altogether.
"Just because they're chatting doesn't mean there are romantic feelings involved." He stirred the potion again in frustration, and the mixture turned purple. He cringed. Thank Merlin, he had already filled a phial to hand Professor Snape.
"Come on, I've been in this school longer than you, and everyone knows something is going on between her and Thomas. They've been at it since last year."
"She called him 'Dean' before." He frowned, his stomach churning painfully. Maybe you hadn't asked him for his Billywig stings because he had eaten them without realising.
"Yes, Dean Thomas." Daphne rolled her eyes. "You should've seen his face when you got close to her to 'look at her watch'."
"I was really looking at the watch."
"Yeah, well. It was priceless either way."
A wave of pride struck from inside him, but he forced it back down almost immediately. Sebastian wasn't here to date, and if you and Dean Thomas had anything going on, then so be it. He didn't care, anyway. He didn't care that you had just lightly punched the boy's arm, laughing at something he had said (Was he that funny?), or that he had asked you if you could study together this evening (So graceful), or that you had said 'Yes' and he had told you to meet him in the Library (That was his brand).
Sebastian had promised himself to stay away from you, and that's exactly what he was planning to do.
But he had also promised himself to catch up on his studies, so how bad could it be if he 'followed' you there?
And the Library was a public place, open to any student, so how bad could it be if he accidentally sat near your table? Or at it?
"Please, don't." Daphne's voice brought him back.
"Don't what?"
"Follow her to the Library tonight. That would be pathetic. And stop staring, it's creepy."
Sebastian just wanted Daphne to stop walking around him and hitting all the right spots. Was she a Legilimens or what?
"I—I wasn't planning to." His face flushed with his lie, and he sighed deeply again. "I just... I mean, I need to study too. And I wasn't staring."
Daphne sighed, dropping the subject. He suspected she thought it was no use arguing with him. He was actually glad for that reasoning.
"Come on. We still have another hour to go through. Try to pay attention," she said tiredly.
You had left the class with Dean that day, leaving Sebastian absolutely fuming like his messed up potion he had half a mind to dump into Dean's morning pumpkin juice.
In the few hours he'd known her, Sebastian had decided that Daphne was a good friend and a reliable person to have around when lost a hundred years in the future.
And in the sixteen-almost-seventeen years he'd known himself, he had learned that he wasn't good at following advice, no matter how reasonable it might be.
"That would be pathetic."
Then so be it.
He turned a corner and saw the familiar entrance to the Library. He fervently hoped that the two of you had not decided to leave it at that and study together in your Common Room. Sitting in a comfortable armchair, shoulders touching, whispering to each other, not out of necessity this time — as Madam Pince would ban both of you for daring to do otherwise in her sacred space — but out of pure will and need to be close to each other.
Perhaps someone should have done a background check on the Kitchens for food safety because Sebastian's stomach had had quite a hard time digesting his meals in the past few days.
The Library was almost empty at this hour. Most of the students sitting there seemed older than him, probably seventh-years preparing for their N.E.W.T.s.
Madam Pince gave him a warning glare before walking away, muttering something that sounded much like a threat to his safety if he were to ruin a book (and other stuff about hexes and jinxes placed on them). He decided to ignore her.
Sebastian began to walk through the aisles, glancing at the people sitting at the tables to see if the object — person — of his interest was among them.
Discreetly, of course.
(As discreet as a six feet tall stranger looking around suspiciously could appear to other students.)
After walking around for what felt like an eternity, a fellow Slytherin distracted him with a weary sigh and gave Sebastian a clearly annoyed glare.
"What are you looking for?" He grumbled. His voice sounded strained, like he hadn't spoken in hours.
Sebastian turned to him, taken aback. Sometimes you just know when someone is referring to you, like their words physically push against your body. And yet, people always ask, and he was no better. "Who, me? Nothing in particular."
The stranger narrowed his eyes. "Why are you hanging around the Library, then? People are trying to study here."
"I'm not bothering anyone. I'm just wandering around," replied Sebastian, now annoyed as well. Everyone in this school seemed to have a problem with him ever since he arrived, like a scapegoat to all their problems. He suspected it to be his karma following him even after a hundred years.
"You can 'walk around' in the Common Room instead. Have you tried that?" He peeked down at Sebastian's robes. "You're a Slytherin? I've never seen you here before."
"I'm that new fifth-year. I'm sure you've heard."
The boy shrugged and resumed his reading of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. "Not my year, not my problem. Now either pick a book or get out of the Library. Or get away from me, whichever you prefer."
Sebastian scowled but faltered nonetheless. He glanced at the boy again, sure that he was going to regret what he was about to do, but he had been walking around for ten minutes with no sight of you — or Dean, for that matter, but honestly, the less Sebastian saw of him, the better — and he had begun to think (it was more of a hope, really) you'd both called off your date, becausethat word did not sound right to Sebastian's ears, or the rest of his body for that matter. Part of him wished it was off for good and that you and Dean would never see each other again — within the limits that the same House and shared Common Room can set — but then the same daydreams of the two of you sitting in the same chair next to the fireplace in the soothing red of the Gryffindor Tower plagued his mind again.
And so he asked, "Have you seen Dean Thomas anywhere?"
The Slytherin gave him another look and seemed to ponder whether to answer him at all or ignore him.
"Dean, who?" he finally said. How useful.
Sebastian groaned. "Dean Thomas? He's a fifth-year Gryffindor. Maybe he was with a girl or... something."
"I barely know any fifth-years, aside from Potter. Especially not Gryffindors. I can't help you. Now go away, you've distracted me enough."
Sebastian was about to give up for good. He'd never find you, or sit at your table, or try to assess the situation between you and your friend. And maybe, by tomorrow, you would be happily taken and walking around with Dean Thomas through the corridors. At least he hoped the boy was courting you properly.
"Why so rude, Robinson? He's just curious."
A Slytherin girl approached them, wearing a malicious smirk that sent chills down Sebastian's spine.
"Don't mind him, boy. What's your name?"
"Sebastian — Sebastian Sallow," he said unsurely. She had something about her, in the way her eyes widened at his answer, the way her lip curled slightly more, that even disclosing something as simple as his name made him feel like he was revealing all his secrets.
"Tracey Nettlebed, nice to meet you," her grin widened, and she patted the other boy's shoulder. "And this is Michael Robinson. He's my sister's boyfriend. He's annoying and rude, and I hope she leaves him."
"How graceful, Tracey;" Michael sighed, but she ignored him, as her attention was fully on Sebastian. He felt, once again, like someone had placed him on a stage made of rotten wood and pointed numerous lights right at him.
"You're searching for Dean Thomas, aren't you? What if I told you I know exactly where he is, and what he's doing."
His heart immediately skipped a beat, quite painfully, too, and he tried to conceal the immense interest on his face.
Sebastian was failing miserably at that, if Tracey's pleased face was of any reference.
"Why so mysterious then?" he said eagerly, dropping the facade, but Tracey only chuckled.
"I need something in return. Deal?"
Of course. She was a Slytherin after all. They don't exactly help strangers for the sake of helping: he knew that first-hand.
"What do you need?" he asked, praying he could easily meet her needs.
"When you see him, ask him to give me a Skiving Snackbox. I know you don't have any on you, but he might. And I need it."
Sebastian pondered on her request. It didn't seem so bad, even though he had no idea what she was talking about. But then again, maybe it would all be useless if the person he was actually searching for wasn't with him. Why would he need to find Dean, when he could find you?
"What about..." He had to ask.
And so he did, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Do you know where she might be?"
Tracey Nettlebed arrowed her eyes, and the mischievous grin upon her face only widened. "The price might be higher, you know?"
By Merlin's name, no, Sebastian thought.
"I don't need to find Dean anymore. And I'm certain she will also have the... Stiving Snakebox."
Tracey seemed to deflate, and Sebastian almost grinned in victory. "Bummer. Well, they're together anyway, so..." — she peeked down at Michael's book and sneered — "Transfiguration, such a stupid subject."
Sebastian's heart skipped a beat, he didn't know whether to place it in the good-feelings box yet. But you were together. The date wasn't called off. "So?"
"They're a few aisles away," she pointed behind Sebastian. "You still haven't checked back there. Careful. It'll be incredibly awkward to walk in on them while they're snogging."
"They won't be... I hope;" then his stomach tightened pathetically at the vision that was gradually taking form in his brain. He really tried to ignore it. "You haven't... seen them do that, did you?"
"Not yet. But I'm sure it won't be long since they start actually dating," she smirked. "More gossip for me."
She could have the decency not to look so damn pleased.
"I'll go search for her — them, then. And I won't forget your prize," he said gloomily.
"No, you won't. And for any more secrets, just come to me." Tracey shrugged. "I know everything."
It sounded more threatening than promising.
Tracey was right. You were only a few aisles away. Sebastian heard your voice before he saw you, and the worst part was that you were laughing.
Well, it was more of a suppressed giggle, but in the context of the Library it basically counted as a laugh, didn't it?
"I'm honestly surprised he didn't screw up his potion today. I'd have expected it to explode like the others." He heard Dean's voice say, barely catching his breath.
"Well, that either means he's getting better, or that we should all be worried because there's something bigger going on. Both options are terrifying," you whispered, laughing as well.
Sebastian didn't know who you two were talking about, but he decided he didn't like him. If he was funny enough to be a laughing topic between the two of you, then he absolutely despised his existence.
Sebastian couldn't stand hearing the two of you go at it for much longer, so he elaborated on a strategy. He would walk past your table — slowly, maybe reading a book in the meantime — and you would see him (because how could you not) and call out to him to have him sit at your table to study. It would work, right?
Let's just say it was pretty optimistic.
After the Care of Magical Creatures fiasco, he should have known better than to think he was any more important to you than others just because he was new and you had talked to him a few times (and he had shown you a super secret room hidden for generations). But he hadn't. And that's why he had reached the next aisle completely unnoticed, no matter how slowly he walked, how loud his steps were, or how many glances he had sent your way, hoping his eyes held some sort of power over your mind that would tell you exactly where he was.
If Dean had used a Disillusionment Charm and done the same, hoping to stay hidden, he was sure you'd have detected him like a Niffler with gold.
But he wasn't Dean. He was the 'new' Slytherin you barely remembered the name of. And you sitting next to him in Potions held nothing special for you.
He should've realised and accepted it long ago, perhaps even upon your first encounter.
Sebastian just wished he wasn't so stubborn.
And he just wished he wasn't so in love with her.
He rested his head on the rack and closed his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than most, it was feeling embarrassed, out of control, unsure.
All things he had experienced way too much lately.
"Feeling pathetic, yet?"
Sebastian jumped, like a cat startled out of his mind. Of course she had to be there to witness his disgraceful plan. "Merlin's beard! What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to prevent you from doing something stupid," Daphne smirked, eyeing him up and down. "Although it seems like I'm already late for that. That walk was painful, to say the least."
See, there were things a few people got away with easily: Duncan Hobhouse got away with being a coward; Sebastian got away with murder, Daphne got away with... pretty much everything. And he let her do it.
And he suspected he wasn't the only one in school.
He sighed defeatedly. "I cannot argue with that."
"All right. I will be a good friend and help you."
He bit his lip, afraid to hear Daphne's 'plan'. But if Daphne really got away with everything, he might as well lend the reins to her. Time to test his theory. "How? And please do not embarrass me further."
"I won't. But...." she dragged the word, checking around. "The Library is public, is it not? And we're the public."
The glint in her eyes discomfited him; it told him it was going to be a disaster. But, truth be told, what alternative did he have?
(He supposed he could spend the rest of the evening wallowing against the shelves, it just didn't feel very dignified.)
"What's your plan?"
She smirked. "Follow me."
And before Sebastian could argue, Daphne walked past him, right to your table.
He cursed under his breath, blushing.Daphne's confidence was doing nothing to put him at ease. He was about to become more of an outcast than he already was.
It was a terrible idea.
"Hello, I'm sorry to interrupt. Is it okay if me and my friend sit here? All the other tables are taken by seventh-years that seem to want to kill us if we do so much as glance their way." Daphne asked you and Dean, delivering an award-worthy performance of desperation and hope.
You turned to Dean, an equally startled look on both your faces. A pureblood Slytherin was asking the two of you if she could sit at your table after all, your obvious first thought was that it could not be anything good.
"We were actually about to—" you began to answer, to give her an excuse so the two of you could get out of there, but the words died on your lips when you saw Sebastian standing right behind her. He was her friend?
Despite your earlier annoyance at having your Not-Date with Dean interrupted, you supposed the new situation could reveal itself to be fruitful in your plan. You still didn't trust him, so you were willing to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.
Dean shot you a glance, silently asking why you had stopped. But you only smiled at the two Slytherins and gestured to your table. "Of course, no problem."
Dean gaped at you as if asserting you were actually still yourself, or if someone else had drunk Polyjuice Potion and taken your appearance, and it was all a cruel joke on him. You understood his point of view: why on Earth would you say 'yes'? that was probably his thought.
But you only nudged his arm under the table, as if telling him to trust you.
Sebastian, for his part, was speechless. There was no way that had worked. He couldn't fathom that you had said 'Yes'. And, above all, he couldn't fathom that you had said 'Yes' only after you had learned he was there. He was sure, certain even, that you were about to decline Daphne's invitation.
He fisted at his robes as an attempt to stop the traitorous and familiar fluttering.
Sebastian smiled as he sat down next to Daphne, ignoring the giddy quiver in his stomach as you watched his every move.
He also might have accidentally sat right opposite of you.
"So what are you two studying? Maybe we could catch up on stuff together," said Daphne, ever so friendly, nudging Sebastian's arm. He thought he should start thinking about a proper thanks for her help.
"Oh..." You tore your curious eyes from Sebastian before picking up the book in front of you. "We were reading about a Goblin Rebellion."
Haven't seen you read at all, thought Sebastian bitterly.
"1752? That was nasty," said Daphne.
"No, late nineteenth century, actually. Did you know that Hogwarts was involved?"
Sebastian's heart jumped, and his eyes finally moved away from your face and landed on your book — Hogwarts: A History.
That was his century, his life, his present.
"No, tell me about it." Daphne now seemed quite interested. Sebastian, on the other hand, felt that familiar fizzy air of a storm coming, tearing at his nature; a part of him wanted to bask on the electricity, another wanted to be responsible and hide in the comfort of a strong roof.
The jar was still broken, though.
"There was a Hogwarts student who fought among the ranks." Your eyes twinkled in excitement, and Sebastian's insides caved. "Very powerful one. The Hero of Hogwarts, as it says here."
Her. She was in a history book. Hogwarts' history book.
His mouth went dry and his head spun, dizzy and nauseous. He quite literally had to force the words out, then. "Wh-What does it say?"
"Not much." You furrowed your eyebrows while turning a few pages. "Stuff about a guy called Victor Rookwood... a goblin named Ranrok... It's very limited, there's a few articles from the Daily Prophet here which seem to consider it just a rumour."
"That is nothing but bilge!" Sebastian spat, his anger boiling inside him, finally blowing the roof and exploding in a galvanising thunder. Rumour? Anne's curse was a rumour? Her almost sacrifice was a rumour?
The three students stared at him with wide eyes. Both because of his startling reaction and his questionable vocabulary.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked him, taken aback. "Do you know more?"
Do I know more? he bit harshly on his lip until he tasted a familiar metallic tang in his mouth. He knew more: much, much more. And he wanted to tell the whole story, to honour her memory right in front of the girl who bore her last name. A girl who didn't even know who she was. A girl who wasn't even half of her. He wasn't just angry. He wasn't just bitter. It was clear you hadn't even searched for your own lineage. You'd just accepted that you were a simple Muggle-born with no special abilities, and you'd forgotten all about the beautiful woman who shared your blood, the woman who could conquer the world with barely a drop of her magic. Did you even care?
"I don't," he replied coldly, trying to keep his emotions in check.
You looked at him and noticed he was staring right at you, like he was tearing your skin off, layer by layer, hoping to find something underneath, something worthy of something you couldn't quite place.
You decided to ignore him.
"Does it say more about this Hero?" Daphne tried to break the tension.
"No," you sighed, flipping through a few pages full of articles. "I think it's anonymous, because..." you suddenly trailed off. Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared at the page for a few seconds, shock and confusion evident on your features.
Dean leaned over your shoulder and his eyes widened. "Is... Is that you?"
You shook your head, reading the date under the moving picture of a smiling girl over and over. 1891. 1891. 1891.
"What's wrong?" asked Daphne curiously, and now even Sebastian had calmed down, taken aback by your reaction. The sudden change in your behaviour made him jittery; his leg started to bounce under the table. You simply turned the book towards them and slid it on the table.
At the top centre, your features smiled at them, with a pleased and satisfied hint in the girl's eyes. The date June 1891 was written directly underneath, along with a name.
A very familiar name.
Sebastian froze, the world around him muffled as he looked at her. At her proud face, her dashing smile, her everything. His lips trembled in a weak attempt of a smile, and his finger longingly caressed the page as if it was her face. Only then did he realise how much he missed her.
"I thought you were a Muggle-born?" Daphne breathed out as your family name appeared over and over again, dancing on the enchanted page.
You didn't reply. Instead, you stared off into space for a few more seconds as Sebastian finally looked up.
You really don't know anything, he thought, watching your reaction intently. The sheer resemblance between the photograph and you sitting before him threw him off-guard, made him almost believe she had taken life in front of him again before he remembered. It was uncanny and a complete, utter, bloody injustice. He noticed the birthmark near your lip and saw that she didn't have it.
At least, he could cling to that.
Before he could say anything, you stood up abruptly and snatched the book from their hands, storming off the Library.