I Love You In Every Timeline

Tracey Nettlebed was boring holes into Sebastian’s skull, and he was sure it wouldn’t be long until they were deep enough for his brain to start leaking out. And, to be honest, he didn’t totally hate the idea.

It would ensure he'd stop him from thinking altogether.

In short, he did forget the prize. He had remembered that the same night, when he’d met Tracey's incensed gaze in the Common Room.

“I asked him, but he didn't have any,” he’d lied through his teeth when she’d approached, and Tracey had only narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine,” she’d conceded brusquely. “But you better have them by tomorrow.”

She had stormed off towards the girls’ dormitories then, not leaving Sebastian any space for compromise. Not that she'd accept it, he suspected.

In his defence, he’d had other things on his mind. The picture of her had followed him in his dreams; a meandering torture of longing and sadness that only reconciled at his wake, and even more had vexed him the resemblance, like the picture had taken form in front of him. He’d dreamt of you, then, standing from your chair in the Library, and hugging him; he’d felt your heart beating against his, your arms tightly wrapped around his neck, he hadn’t even been sure if it was you, at that point. He’d wanted it to stop, yet never let that person in his arms go. He’d realised, at the same time, that you were shorter than her.

The fact that you weren't at breakfast, and the fact that you had taken the book with her picture with you were, instead, what haunted him now. You weren't in his arms and neither was she. And she was nowhere to be found.

Not that he blamed you for storming off and stealing her right from his nose, she was your family after all, but he would be lying if he hadn't thought about keeping that picture to himself. After all it was, in a twisted way, the only memory he had of his past life, of his past love, aside from you — but you had that birthmark, and that crease, and those eyes, and the red and gold reflecting on your skin tone.

Sebastian had tried to find another copy of that book, another copy of her that wasn't in flesh and bones, as much as the thought made his stomach knot in guilt at the disrespect it showed towards you, but no matter where he searched, there was nothing in any of them about the Goblin Rebellion of the 1890s. The copy you were reading was obviously a one-off.

Sebastian's luck as always, ladies and gentleman.

He had half a mind to ask you where you had got it, but the discovery seemed to affect you more than it did him. And that was saying something.

Sebastian attempted at allotting all his anger and annoyance and sympathy around that idea, like putting marmalade in jars in his brain. You deserved to have it more, as much as it hurt him.

And it did hurt him. A lot.

It was with that thought that Daphne nudged him under the table, and he broke out of his jam-filled trance.

"You're staring," she whispered. "She's not here."

Sebastian scowled. Of course he knew that, but that didn't stop him from scanning the Gryffindor table, hoping you'd randomly appear like a hidden object highlighted by the Revelio Spell.

"Why do you think she isn't?" he asked, rather rhetorically. He was pretty sure that the whole ordeal must have sent you in a whirlwind of questions and doubts with no answer, and that the elves’ hard work was the last thing on your mind, no matter how undoubtedly delicious the breakfast was that morning.

Sebastian didn't even bother to contradict Daphne and tell her that no, he was not looking for you, he was just looking around , and justify himself like a blithering fool, because even the walls would be able to tell he was lying — and he had no energy to be mocked by the walls, too.

"I think she went to see Professor Dumbledore last night to ask about the girl."

A pang in his chest, painful enough to cut the air out of his lungs.

" Dumbledore? "

Alarmed, he let his spoon drop on the bowl, hitting the ceramic with a loud clang, and quickly reached for it again in a failed attempt to hide his shock. He was certain that his bumbling attitude would soon be conducive to the revelation of all his secrets; Sebastian started to feel like a bloody amateur again.

Daphne only narrowed her eyes. "Yes, most likely. It's also odd that my own copy of Hogwarts: A History doesn't have that picture nor says anything about the Goblin Rebellion of the 19th century."

Sebastian faltered for a moment, then slowly let his spoon sink in his porridge, the information lining up in his brain like flagstone. Daphne must have searched too, maybe out of curiosity for herself, maybe out of fealty towards a stranger like him, and she had succeeded in heaping his thoughts in a pretty unbalanced manner.

Sebastian had scanned every copy in the Library, as well as having asked some of his fellow Slytherins for their own copies (Michael Robinson was not so happy to lend him his, even if only for a few moments), but to no avail. Someone seemed to have gathered all news about her and that Rebellion and shrouded it to the public eye in an impudent effort to perform a badly planned damnatiomemoriae.

"Where did she find it then?" he asked, eager to hear if Daphne had found more than he did.

"Not in the Library. Why would they only have one copy of it?"

"Maybe it was a special edition or something." He didn't look back at Daphne while he said it, wanting to avoid the embarrassment of having to face her possible incredulous stare. His statement had sounded stupid to his own ears, after all.

(Ostensibly).

It appeared that, on certain mornings, his usually nimble mind lost all elasticity like an old, dry chewing gum. Said mornings seemed to be quite frequent lately as well.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. Sebastian suspected his neurons must have stretched out during space-time travelling and no amount of coddling will ever get them back to their original capacity. It could not be the same brain that had read all the books in the library more than once, it just wasn’t realistic.

The thought came with just the right amount of sadness and self-loathing, enough to make him deflate on the table.

Sebastian heard Daphne sigh, and he knew it was safe for him to turn towards her again, like an amnesty to his dignity and pride. Daphne just shook her head, and he pursed his lips. "So what do you think?"

"The Restricted Section," she said simply, like it was the most natural confession of all, like she didn't just baulk his lungs from breathing.

Sebastian's stomach dropped pathetically, like his porridge had suddenly taken on the weight on a brick and pushed his oesophagus down until his appetite was knocked out of him. The idea that you would sneak into the Restricted Section was already burdening enough, but the certainty that you'd done it so often that other students came to know about it, and even accepted it as a reasonable assumption, was agonising. He bit on his lips to keep his heart from caving.

Just when he thought he had come to know enough about you, there you appeared with another trait that made the floor melt under his feet.

"Why would she sneak into the Restricted Section for a copy of Hogwarts: A History ?" he asked, his mouth dry. Yet that copy was, for the first time since the previous night, the last thing on his mind, now swarming with questions about you, your behaviour, your past, your reasons.

"Well, obviously she was not searching for that book: she was probably searching for something else and... perhaps got curious when she found that copy." Daphne shrugged, moving her food around on the plate with the tip of her fork. "I mean, the Restricted Section only houses books that contain very hidden magic and knowledge, a copy of Hogwarts: A History must have seemed out of place there."

The statement carried its truth, he knew that better than anyone. Though it did nothing but cram his mind with more questions regarding her situation: ‘ hidden knowledge ’ didn't feel like a fitting word for the Goblin Rebellion he had lived through — no matter how violent, it hadn't, statistically, been any different than the previous ones.

Except for her presence.

Still, things didn't quite fit into that puzzle that was his thoughts about the ordeal, and the scattered pieces were teeming his brain with broken information that anticipated a headache.

Sebastian wanted to ask how she was so sure you would sneak into the Restricted Section, why she believed you had done so, what you might have possibly been looking for there, but then one question prevailed over the others, clearing the pieces out like a grumpy toddler as his brain replayed the night before in a cloud of muffled laughs and Billywig stings, and dug out his hole of embarrassment, stripping it of all the dignity that covered it like dirt.

And it made his heart drop.

"Do you… think she snuck in with Dean Thomas?"

He spoke quietly, mentally chastising himself. It should’ve been the last thing on his mind, who you bloody went out with. The conversation that he was carrying out was far more important and far more serious and far more conducive to cleaning his face from the utter simping mess he’d turned himself into in Daphne’s eyes.

Yet blast to the Leeches all his self-respect, as it appeared. What an utter goon he was.

Daphne gave him a knowing glance and seemed on the verge to tell him off, and he would have deserved every word of it, but then she mercifully decided not to taunt him further. He should've appreciated his friend’s empathy more. "Dean Thomas is a lot of things, but he's not the kind of person to sneak into the Restricted Section — or generally break rules when it's not necessary. She probably went with someone like Potter. Now he ’s the deal. Or perhaps even alone."

That was meant to reassure him. In a way, it did, until — unfortunately — his brain hung on the words Potter is the deal .

Who the bloody hell was Potter, now?

Sebastian forced himself to remember what his goal was, and not let himself be entwined in petty school drama or stupid, tiny, insignificant feelings that didn't belong to him in the first place.

"Has she done it before?" said Sebastian, scanning the Gryffindor table again in search of someone who resembled the name ‘ Potter ’ (he believed that people had a face for a name, it was scientific. He looked like a Sebastian just as Daphne looked like a Daphne.)

"You have a lot to learn about her.” She grinned and took a bite of her bacon. Sebastian envied her as he gandered at his own goopy, cold porridge. "Everyone knows she did it but was never caught. The Professors have no proof and even believe that people are just making up rumours."

Daphne's words loitered in his mind for a bit before they finally settled, bringing back that uneasy feeling of swimming in uncharted waters. Rumours , like you had bewitched the entire school and then some. He hefted her words attentively before they crushed him in toto .

Sebastian listened with intent, eyebrows furrowed to match his fluttering heart. He thought that out all the timelines he could have ended up into, this was by far the most dangerous one. Sebastian clung to the idea that there must have been a reason he did, fate or whatsoever, because the opposite would mean he's just very bloody unlucky.

And no fretting, he knew he was, he just hoped by Salazar that his stars would align providentially every so often.

He scanned his surroundings, searching for your figure again before his eyes were lost in the sea of students and Professors. His gaze absent-mindedly followed McGonagall as she sat down at the Professors' table, right next to Madam Pince.

Madam Pince .

Sebastian's chest inflated so much he might have floated off as he jumped up and almost hit Daphne with his arm.

"What are you...?"

But he didn't answer; he didn't even wait as he sprinted out of the Great Hall, mind brimming with euphoria.

“How did I not think about it?” he whispered to himself, chuckling like a maniac. For all it was worth, and if a measly prayer to the stars had worked for him, perhaps Amit Takkar was in the wrong for being so against Astrology. Sebastian ran like his life depended on it, ignoring the burning in his lungs and ache in his legs.

You were there now. The Librarian was at breakfast, so you had all the time in the world. That was the real reason why you had missed breakfast. Not to wallow in self-pity, not to cry up in your room.

What a wonder you were.

A somewhat proud smile danced on his lips at your expedient. Sebastian had always waited until curfew to try and sneak in, deeming it the most suitable option given everyone was pretty much asleep, and avoiding the prefects had practically become second nature to him, but maybe he didn't have to. There you were, running rings around everyone like it was nothing, finding the best possible moment to play them right under their noses, a marvellous, nimble but not pliable mind that made his stomach twist with that same hunger he had felt on his first day.

A real, true wonder.

It wasn't long before Sebastian reached the first floor and caught sight of the Library, his heart pounding in his chest as he neared the entrance and pushed the door open.

It was empty — completely empty. Sebastian had never been there at this time of day, always assumed it to be closed, actually, and it seemed that not even the seventh-years bothered to study this early in the morning. Perfectly timed .

Slowly, forcing himself not to waste time ogling the familiar but now empty place, he approached the ingress to the Restricted Section with a thrill up his spine, watching out for any ghost or, more importantly, Peeves. With a shaky breath and a suppressed ecstatic laugh, he stepped over the rope.

It had never been so easy to sneak in — he didn't even need the Disillusionment Charm. The vast forbidden knowledge stood before him, a hidden and unexplored place he had yet the pleasure to know fully. His mouth stood agape as he gaped around, almost discomfited by the utter silence around him, and he had to physically stop himself from grabbing the first book he found; after all, a hundred years must have had their effects on proscribed magic as well.

But he wasn't searching for knowledge, alas, he was searching for you.

He sidled forward, keeping an eye on each aisle, in case something or someone popped out to drag him to the Headmaster's office, and slowly reached the end of the corridor with a tranquil smile on his face, one that only existed when there was peace, knowing that one can't get into trouble at all. And he couldn't now, could he? Peeves was nowhere to be found, nor was the Librarian.

Sebastian imagined Madam Pince sitting at her table, devouring her breakfast without a care in the world. He wondered how she could do that, knowing she had left the Library unsupervised to debauched students like him and you.

He was safe. Alone and free to do as he pleased.

Or almost.

"What are you doing here?" someone hissed next to him and he jumped, half expecting Madam Pince herself to strike him on the head with that feather duster she always carried, perhaps as a punishment to the arrogance of his thoughts.

But there was no feather duster, and the only thing that hit his head was the shelf he had slammed on.

For a moment, his vision crossed and a sharp ache cleared his sight from books and motives alike. Sebastian heard himself groan in pain, air straining its way up his throat. His neck felt stiff, too.

"In the name of Merlin's damned–" he said, rubbing his head to numb the pain, and he swore he almost felt a bump grow then and there. He squeezed his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. There was another lingering throb in his wrists as he had fallen right on it.

You glanced at the entrance and froze, panicked at the loud sound of his head colliding with the hard wood, not even bothering to notice that the reason it was so loud was because it was really, really painful.

"For heaven's sake!" you hissed, and Sebastian flinched in shock at your tone, leaning his head away from you and almost bumping against another rack.

His chest squeezed at your hostility: you could've at least pretended you didn't hate his presence every once in a while, especially since he didn't hate yours in the slightest.

Except when he did, but it was so rare and perfunctory he usually forgot about it immediately. And also quite unreasonable, enough to pack up his self-respect and force himself to get a grip .

"What are you doing… here...?" You interrupted his thoughts and suddenly trailed off. Sebastian finally looked up at you and watched your eyes widen ever so slightly as you gasped a little.

Something akin to embarrassment traced across your face before you squinted at him, as if searching for the right word. Sebastian tilted his head in confusion, not even bothering to stand up again.

“ Simon? Stephen? What the hell–?” you mumbled under your breath, clearly sure he wouldn't hear you. But he could, very much so.

He froze in place, mind stalling for half a second as if refusing categorically to process, and stared at you, speechless, wondering if he had accidentally transferred his concussion to you instead.

"Sebastian...?" he said tentatively, hoping that he was wrong and that you hadn't really forgotten his name. "Sebastian Sallow..."

"Good, you remember your name," you said smoothly, trying to deflect the conversation, and he deflated, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was keen to take back any positive remark his mind had ever conjured about you.

"Have you really forgotten?"

"No..." you said defensively, and it would have been almost convincing if you hadn't added under your breath, "I thought it started with an S... yes."

His stomach sank in chagrin and he sighed deeply. A part of him hoped it was all an illusion caused by the strong hit of his head, or that he had fainted and was dreaming again, because if he had considered Care of Magical Creatures and the Library a fiasco, then what was happening then was a complete and utter defeat.

Hadn't you called him 'an interesting case'? Where had all that interest gone?

"So, what are you doing here?" you asked for the third time, and he forced himself to look back at you. He was sure he was glaring, and quite rudely as well given how your eyes narrowed down at him as well.

"I could ask you the same thing," replied Sebastian, now finally standing up. He had expected his head to start throbbing in pain, but luckily it didn't. It meant he still had the ability to understand and will and that his brain probably wasn't messed up.

It also meant that it was all real.

The now bumpy spot on his head started to hurt again, though, a dull ache probably accompanied by a cut he would have to check later, but he didn't want to rub it and show you that it still did. Not after you barely remembered his name.

Scrap the ' barely' , don't be merciful.

You rolled your eyes and peeked over at the entrance to the Restricted Section, before turning back to him with cold composure. "It's five to eight," — you held up the bracelet-watch or however you had called it, Sebastian couldn't remember — "that means we have twenty minutes, at max , before Madam Pince returns."

Sebastian squinted at it, wondering how that piece of scrap metal could ever count those minutes right.

"Is it always this easy to sneak in?" he asked instead, a part of him annoyed at himself for not noticing before. Putting one over you was harder than climbing the Astronomy Tower from the outside; it was infuriating to say the least.

"The Library is closed at this hour, so no. It's not."

Sebastian frowned at that; he reckoned the door opened without even a squeak when he snuck in. No keys, no charms, no guards, no effort. "It was open when I came in."

You gaped at him, and he thought he must have said something wrong. An awry concern traced your features as you turned back to the entrance.

"Was it?" You paused for a moment at the revelation, biting your lip, then you sighed in disappointment. "I must have left it open. It was a mistake on my part."

Sebastian fought the laugh trembling on his lip. He swore that your admission alone was more satisfying than any challenge moved by Nellie Oggspire then.

"If it's easy to open either way, that doesn't change it." He smirked, crossing his arms, faring on the worried glimpse on your face.

A look that immediately turned into a deadpan.

"There's a jinx on the door, actually." You rolled your eyes again, defensively. His smirk stretched. "I just learned where the weak spot is."

"So you've done this before?" asked Sebastian eagerly, wanting — needing — to know more. He was uncharacteristically curious about what you could ever want from the Restricted Section, and he would do anything in his power to make you tell him, just as you'd done in front of the Undercroft.

You didn't bother to answer, though, and instead turned to go through another aisle. Sebastian sighed loudly, exasperated by your reticent behaviour, and followed you like a poorly written sidekick.

"All right, if you want to know..." That notorious blush spread on his face at the confession, and desperately attempted to hide it. His reputation had to have been compromised at this point — not that he had any in this timeline — but if that was what it took, he wouldn't budge. "I was looking for you."

At that, you stopped abruptly and turned around in confusion, "What?"

That had managed to catch your attention, which counted for something. He almost swung his arm in victory.

"Well, you weren't at breakfast, and after the thing with the book and your doppelganger or something..." He paused, not meeting your eyes, the word ‘ doppelganger ’ leaving a sour taste on his tongue. He tried to ignore his bubbling discomfort at his alloyed description of her. She was undeserving of such a downplay. "Daphne told me you snuck in here before, and since I saw the Librarian at lunch, I put two and two together..."

"Why would Daphne tell you that?"

Of course your retort would make him falter. He cursed your quick mind — while usually admirable, it could be just as frustrating.

Sebastian was now sure that his once brisk neurons had knackered during his travel.

Ah, he's digging his own grave.

"She told me she scanned other copies of the book, but found nothing about that rebellion, so she said you probably got it from here," he replied smoothly, relieved that his brain had finally decided to lend him a hand, neutering his previous rude assumption. Now it was only a matter of whether you would question Daphne's curiosity, or his own. You didn't.

You averted your eyes and he tried to read your expression, to no avail. You were the farthest thing from an open book — that he noticed, and he knew a lot about books — but he was determined to see this through, no matter how uncomfortable it made you feel.

"I went to ask Dumbledore about... well," you began, nervously crumpling your robes.

"And...?" asked Sebastian, much more eagerly than he should have. He almost expected you to send him a leer at his nosy questions, but you didn't seem to care.

"He told me a little bit about it. Things about my family, things I couldn't even fathom. I mean... Ancient Magic? Seriously?"

Sebastian held his breath, then, like your words had made it all a little more real. You knew, and now that mere fact was merging the thoughts he had carefully sectioned in his brain like a first-year potioneer.

"And... And my family never told me any of it. They probably don't even know. I mean, I always assumed that I was just... a Muggle-born. Nothing special about it," you continued before he could say anything, "and yes, I know that Muggle-borns are supposed to be descended from Squibs according to popular theories or something, but... but seriously, out of all Squibs...?"

She's rambling , it was Sebastian's first thought. You weren't looking at him, gesticulating harshly, and your voice was trembling. Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to pay it any mind; his brain floated empty and light, precariously recalcitrant to his own will, and he swallowed thickly.

"What's wrong with her... with this family?" he asked, getting inevitably defensive of her.

Sebastian wanted to snap. He believed that you should be grateful to have her blood run through your veins, maybe even her magic. She was... wonderful, a goddess among men, a whirlwind among fields. You should have been proud. You needed to be proud, and he would make you understand it.

You paused for a moment, your eyes searching your surroundings but unable to focus on anything. It appeared as if you were searching your brain from the inside out, and he realised immediately, like a punch in the gut, that you didn't know her. To you, she was a stranger who had twisted your world upside down and nothing more, destroyed your present and all the beliefs you had about your family and would probably force you to carry something that you couldn't shoulder. Ancient Magic; the words always chilled his skin. 

He had expected you to tell him off, get angry at him, chase him away from you for daring to get into your personal business. He would have accepted it, maybe in the beginning; you would have had every right to.

To his surprise, you opened up to him instead, an example of your transient nature, or your faith in him. He didn't dare hope for the latter. "I'm just... afraid. Both of not living up to that legacy and of actually succeeding to."

Sebastian frowned. It was not what he had expected — other than it being very contradictory, he hoped you realised that — but the mere fact that you had told him that oddly meant more than he could ask. "What do you mean by that? I don't follow."

You turned and carefully placed your hand on a shelf, scanning the books with your fingertips. Sebastian saw you far away, then, somewhere he couldn't follow, even if he desperately wanted to.

"I'm the first witch from this family since... her . Dumbledore told me a little bit about her: that she was a late bloomer because of her magic, which means it was... it's a kind of... rite of passage. A prerequisite, almost,” you confessed, wilting more and more as you spoke. “And I didn't experience anything such. I started Hogwarts in my first year, and I started showing signs of magic ever since I was a child. So there's no way I can live up to that name."

Sebastian listened intently, taking a hesitant step closer. You didn't stop him.

When he reached you, you finally looked at him, and he noticed the sheer fear in your wide eyes.

Your whole behaviour made sense. Isidora had also shown the first signs of magic later than most — but you hadn't. Sebastian didn't know if that meant you had no chance of developing those powers in the future or if you could be an exception, as Dumbledore had touched on in their conversation.

His expression softened, but he hoped it wasn't in sympathy; the last thing he wanted was to scare you off or make you raise your walls back up. He couldn't give advice, he knew that; he personally had never had to live up to a big name, so he couldn’t possibly know how you felt.

Yes, he aspired to be like his parents. They were his role models, the people he admired more than anyone else, but the Sallows were never prestigious, never admired. Not like the Gaunts... or her.

"What about succeeding, then? Why does that scare you, too?" he asked quietly, hoping it would at least reassure you a little. Sebastian realised then, when your lip disappeared between your teeth, that it had the opposite effect. You were slipping away, and he couldn't stop you, like water through his fingers.

"Because that would mean harnessing an incredible power, one I have never heard of. Everything in the palm of my hand.” You paused, swallowing. His hand instinctively reached for yours before he stopped midway. You didn't seem to notice. “And the idea of... losing control, hurting someone because of it… it terrifies me."

Sebastian bit his lip at that. Had she felt the same when she had her first experience with magic? When she had to learn to control it?

Was that why she was so worried about the Repository? About speaking to the Keepers?

Not mere power : the kind everyone felt when a particularly flamboyant spell lit up the entire room. It was much bigger, much stronger, much more unpredictable. And much more dangerous than anything he had ever heard of.

And you knew that, even if you had never witnessed it like he did. Never witnessed the beauty and damage of such a marvel.

"You can learn, can't you?" The Keepers can teach you , his mind added, like a script, and a sense of déjà vu clouded his mind for a second.

You did not answer and instead stared blankly at the old books for a few seconds. He could feel you close off to him, so he reached to block the entrance himself.

"Is that really all there is?" Sebastian dared to ask, prompting you to look back at him, slowly, trying to keep you grounded. He needed you to talk, however uncomfortable it may be, and he fared on your vulnerability to achieve it.

"I'm also... angry," you hissed, your eyes searching for his desperately. "She was... She is … my family."

His hand began to shake as he checked over your expression, and he hid it behind his back. She was. She was your family. Your blood. It was the first time it actually downed on him: hearing it from your lips. His emotions swung precariously, and he desperately tried to grasp at the threads of reality. He stared into your eyes as well, basking in their colour.

Sebastian wanted to add something to the conversation — anything — but then you continued.

"I mean, if she was so... so amazing, if she really had saved the school... the wizarding world even," — you took a shaky breath — "then why is she being hidden like this? What has she done to deserve this?"

You had fully tuned to him now, and he could see the anger and disappointment in your eyes. And he was sure that, deep down, you could see the same expression in his own.

"I don't know," he said between clenched teeth, as a million thoughts swirled around in his mind. Why had they hidden her? What had happened in the Repository? Why had she been treated like that ?

It couldn’t have been a mere whim. The Ministry (or whoever was behind it) had gone out of its way to ensure that any information regarding that particular time period was enshrouded.

Sebastian wasn’t even sure you had actually found that book in the Library itself at this point.

"Dumbledore said she got to live a nice life. That means she hasn’t done anything immoral or illegal, or she would have been sent to Azkaban, right?" Your lips trembled slightly, but he was hardly listening anymore. "So was it her power? Was that what everyone was afraid of? Is that why they had to hide her?"

"How about..." he began, trying to keep his own composure.

Sebastian was more than angry. He was furious. It wasn't just the abstruse nature of the answers you both searched for that wilted him, but the ingratitude, the sheer audacity of the whole wizarding world. After everything she had done for them, after putting her life in danger for them, that was their way to thank her. There had to be more to it, and Sebastian was sure that your presence, your family, would be conducive to the solution.

He forced himself not to lose his temper in front of you, not only because, technically, he wasn't supposed to know anything about your ancestor, but also because the last thing you needed right now was dealing with him.

So he pushed his feelings aside. You had already opened up enough, and he wasn't a monster; contrary to what his uncle said about him, he knew exactly when to stop. "We could figure this out... together?"

Sebastian had to know,  he had to be involved. He needed to know why . It was vitally important, and if he could use your blood ties to do it, so be it. Gently, of course. He wouldn't commit the same mistake twice.

You met his eyes and nodded slowly. "I … er … I was here looking for books on... Ancient Magic, but I cannot seem to find anything."

"I'll help you."

Together, you began to search, scanning each and every aisle for something — anything. Even a hint was enough.

A name, a date, a picture even. Something that could hold even the slightest news. If there really was a copy, even if only one, depicting the Rebellion and her, it meant there had to be more, no matter how indecipherable.

Sebastian, on his side, also made a mental note of every book he found interesting in general, too, and promised to come back for them. Spells and discoveries can be useful in every timeline, after all, especially given his bigger, more overarching goal of going back home.

He thoroughly searched through every book he could put his hands on, but it seemed that any form of information was actively escaping him, and you weren't having better luck. He looked at you from the other side of the room, and you looked at him. And he saw the disheartened feature of desperation in your eyes, which thoroughly matched his own.

Unfortunately, your research had proven fruitless.

Just as he reached you to tell you he had not found anything useful, more as a formality given that your shared look meant more than a thousand words, you both heard a loud metallic noise.

He froze in his steps and your eyes widened, and you stared at each other before leaning forward to spy the entrance.

"Oh, no," you muttered, gaping at your watch in panic. "Eight-fifteen, we have lost track of time."

Sebastian knew he couldn't have possibly trusted that damn watch.

You both turned back at the door and saw Madam Pince walking through the aisles of the normal section of the Library, as if asserting that all was well. She hadn't seen you yet, or appeared to have noticed anything out of place, which was an advantage.

"Who is the other?" asked Sebastian, examining the rather slovenly man who accompanied her.

"That's Filch, the caretaker. He's obnoxious and bitter, that one."

Sebastian could see, now, that he looked like a ‘Filch’.

Sebastian heard you curse, and noticed that the pair had begun to walk towards the Restricted Section. His heartbeat spiked with the inevitable certainty that the two of you would be caught, but before he could react, you forcefully grabbed his arm and began dragging him down a small flight of stairs.

"We are so dead. Dead. " You muttered as you turned various corners in a panic, with Sebastian hot on your heels. He didn't know where you were leading him, but he supposed anywhere was better than close to the two authority figures.

Your panicked tone wasn't helping his nerves, though.

He glanced around in anguish, clicking his tongue against his teeth when he couldn't see a way out. Yet you kept running, your hand firmly grasped around his wrist in a scorching grip, looking as if you had no intention to let go of him any time soon.

"What can we—?" He decided to ask, for this meandering sprint was starting to feel rather useless given it was an enclosed space with no way out, but didn't get to finish speaking before you gasped loudly and tugged him towards what appeared to be an old wardrobe with slanted doors and precarious shelves framed in a poor attempt to make it appear like a normal library rack. Sebastian's eyes widened: not only the wardrobe appeared to be very rickety, rotten, and unreliable, but it was also very small .

"Wait, are you sure it's—" but again, you interrupted his words (and mind as well) and just pushed him towards it with all your might, impelling him to step over the sill to avoid falling face first onto the wall. The shelves trembled and fell, almost hitting his head again, trundling on the ground in front of him. Sebastian stepped on them without too much ceremony.

He hadn't noticed that the wardrobe was open on the other side, only a sign of how old it actually was. Sebastian was sure it wouldn't be of any help at all, and it wouldn't sustain their weight in a million years. 

He turned to tell you just that, reason with you, and saw that you were following him, wasting no time. Your body pushed him to the other side as you nestled in the small space.

"Just shut up," you said before closing the door behind you with a loud squeak of the hinges and breathing a sigh of relief as you fell into complete darkness.

Sebastian's eyes stung a bit at the sudden change of luminosity and he turned his head left and right, trying to assess his surroundings more. Of course, it was no use: He couldn't see a thing; he could only feel the hard wood of the door pressing hard on his arms. He had to admit that it was quite a solid door, despite everything.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," you whispered, and his breath caught in his chest, a chill running up and down his throat as he heard your voice just under his chin. With a turn of his head, your hair brushed on his neck, breath stuttering as he realised how close you actually were to him. “Might end up in Narnia.”

This time, he didn't even bother being confused at your words, or asking you what ‘Narnia’ was, or doing anything but harshly biting on his lip to stop the capricious fluttering of his chest. He had seen that the wardrobe was small, but this was an entirely different meaning of proximity, one no one else had breached before.

"Wh-what?" He swallowed, the heat rising to his face. The small space seemed to be getting warmer and warmer and under normal circumstances, Sebastian would've spent a great deal of time reproaching himself with motivational speeches and images of his old life.

Unfortunately, his mind was pretty blank, preoccupied only with the heat coming off your body and attaching to his, blood draining away from his head and towards more proscribed and mortifying parts.

Sebastian had, in those brief moments of heartfelt conversation, forgotten about his traitorous brain. The same that made his heart twist at your teasing smile and his hands tremble at your voice.

"We'll just have to stay here until it's safe. Or at least, as safe as it can be;" he heard a hint of a smile in your words.

Sebastian’s heart hammered in his chest as he desperately attempted to squeeze himself closer to the other side of the wardrobe instead, and the only answer he could give was a strangled noise. You cast Lumos, so that the two of you could at least see the inside of the wardrobe, and what he saw froze his whole body once again.

His heart skipped a beat as the light hit your face, flickering in your eyes. His gaze followed the tiny shadows of your lashes fluttering on your cheeks, and the thin flecks of white in your hair, blending with the strands, in a brushwork of hypnotising chiaroscuro. There was some distance between your bodies, a matter of inches really, but a blessing nonetheless — just enough to avoid the rupture, to keep him from plummeting into those beams in your irises. And yet, he wasn't sure he liked that distance.

The heat of your body, warm against his, your robes touching, your breath brushing his neck like a soft breeze. He wanted more.

He didn't.

"Can... Can you step back a little?" he asked, suddenly too aware of his own body, his own breathing, his own heartbeat, and aware that you could see him, too — that he was actually there, that he was real, that you could count the shadow of his eyelashes as well, see the white reflecting in his hair, and feel him. And he knew he wouldn't look half as angelic, half as alluring, half as worthy — and he needed you to step back, to put some dignified distance between the two of you, but then his eyes fell on the wall directly behind you, and he knew there was no point.

"There's no more room. Sorry." You gave him an apologetic smile, and he kept his face from morphing into a grimace.

Of course there's no room, he thought. Merlin, I can't do this.

He blew air out, huffing, and watched with chagrin as the hair on your forehead flew back at his exhale. You closed your eyes at the feeling, probably a reflex, but it still made his breath shaky and his mouth water slightly. He needed to get out.

Sebastian immediately opened the door a crack, without thinking. "Maybe I should go and see if—"

"Have you lost your mind?" you hissed, not even giving him time to breathe as you closed the door again. "Just wait a second. Look—" you showed him your watch. 8:23 — "in about fifteen minutes or less, the students will flood the Library, especially our seniors because they have more free periods, and we'll be able to mingle with them if we're careful."

The light of your wand was dazzling him, making you appear even more alluring, and a choked hum left his lips. He coughed once to deflect it and averted his eyes.

Sebastian sighed: there was nothing wrong with that logic. It was a perfect escape plan, and he couldn't ruin your strategy just because he was slightly blushing, or slightly embarrassed, or slightly stirred.

Slightly .

"All right," he muttered, not looking your way. Because he knew that if he saw you, the air would be knocked out of him once again.

But oh, this was hard .

As a means to distract himself, he tried to move his arm, which was trapped between his body and the stone wall, but to no avail. Sebastian wiggled and shook his body, his feet making the wardrobe crack slightly. You shushed him more than once, but he ignored you. His cursed arm had to be his only focus, so he pushed harder, trying to move a bit to his left to make more room. This bloody wardrobe was awfully measly.

With a strong pull, he freed his arm violently, his initial relief immediately turned into void as the momentum sent him stumbling forward like you had personally pulled him towards you.

For a split second he saw your eyes widen, your face getting closer, but he couldn't stop. His body collided against yours, pressing against it in all the wrong ways, and his hand hit the wall behind you to steady himself. As your back hit the hard wood, you groaned in his ear, in a tone that sounded almost erotic in the heat of the moment. A quick breath left his lips, his stomach flipping in a primal rabidity as the sound stirred his venter.

“Sorry,” said Sebastian breathlessly, his face practically buried in your hair as his body caged yours against the wall. He released a shaky breath against your jaw, making you gasp, the comforting warmth of you against him sending his brain into short circuit.

“It’s okay,” you said in a small voice, muffled against him. Sebastian could feel his control slipping by the minute. He felt your breath on his ear and he shivered, hand turning into a fist against the wall .

His face was on fire, burning, and his whole body turned inside out. His other hand had grabbed your hips in an attempt to find balance and he was now pushing against your hip-bone. He desperately fought the urge to grind his hips and find some relief, and attempted to move them slightly away from yours instead; whether you had felt him or not, you said nothing, for which he was glad.

Your hands pressed on his chest: you had probably raised them to protect your body when he hit you, and they were driving him mad. He was sure you could count every thumping beat of his heart under your fingertips. First they were firm on it, then they gradually softened. He expected you to pull them away, put more distance between the two of you — he didn't want you to, but he needed you to. He was a walking time bomb at the moment, and he could feel your gentle touches all too well, even through his clothes, and it was becoming too much for him to keep soft grunts and gasps from escaping his lips — but you didn't. You were completely unable to free your arms from that position. Just as he was unable to let go of your hips, elbow pushing against the wall to keep him firm in place.

Your wand was no longer in your hands; you had dropped it when he’d hit you, and the light flickered for a few seconds before going out.

It was completely dark and he could only feel you.

"I'll try and..."

"Yes, of course," you replied softly.

Sebastian tried to push himself back again, leveraging on his arm, and managed to at least free himself from your hair.

Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze.

"I—I don't want to step on your wand, but I can't see anything," he muttered, still struggling to move — and struggling to think , because the only thing he wanted to do right now was to press himself against you, your hip, stomach, or wherever he could, and find some relief.

"Oh, it's probably—"

"What's that noise?"

Sebastian almost didn't register the external voice and footsteps coming down the stairs, too focused on the scent of your hair, your breath against his neck, your hip under his palm. He stopped himself from caressing his hand on your side.

You froze against him and he thought he must've done something to upset you, touched you in a way that's inappropriate.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, exhaling softly, apologetic and equally, confoundingly, thrilled.

“Shh,” you whispered back, softly, sending shivers down his spine again before your next words neutered any excitement like a sharp kick in his gut. “She's here.”

His eyes widened as he looked in your direction, sure you were doing the same. He heard Madam Pince’s voice getting closer and closer and swallowed thickly.

Sebastian couldn't think of a worst way to get caught in the Restricted Section: it was one thing to go through forbidden texts out of curiosity, another to be found in a tiny wardrobe with a beautiful girl, all up close and personal in a compromising position.

"That's probably just Peeves," replied Filch in a revoltingly adoring voice. You both frowned at his tone.

"Should we—" Sebastian started to whisper, but you clasped one hand over his mouth — your arms could move a little more freely now that he took a small step back, and it took a few taps for you to find his mouth, your palm sliding over his chin and up, curling his lips — to shut him up and shook your head; your hair brushed against him again.

Make it stop , he thought, blushing fiercely now, your touch making him tremble all over. Whatever this feeling is, make it stop.

Your hand was soft against his lips, a caress almost.

Neither of you dared move for a few minutes as you listened to the conversation outside, except when you took your hand from his mouth, now trusting him to keep quiet. His chin had dampened with his breath, and it was now cold to the outside air.

Madam Pince and Filch were chattering about books, students and dates, and Sebastian felt your heart thump violently as your chest pressed against his.

But his heart wasn't doing better, only it wasn't just fear that brought him to the brink of collapse. His hand was still at your hip, and he slowly slid it up your waist to free his elbow from that uncomfortable, bended position. You stiffened against him and he apologised softly against your ear but you didn't answer, and his arm circled your waist, pressing his hand on your back instead. Sebastian tried not to think about the warmth of your body, shielded, gracefully, by your thick robes. He hoped the corset was shielding your flank properly from his touch.

Sebastian moved closer again, his mouth close to your ear in an attempt to ease the situation for you, and he half-jokingly whispered, "How long are they going to flirt for?"

You gasped slightly as his breath fanned your skin and that did something to him once again, hand fisting your robes slightly. He shifted his hips back again.

You chuckled quietly, breathing in his scent of cedar and lavender in the meantime, just as he relished in the sweet perfume of lily of the valley near your neck. It smelled like home, like the flowers near the outskirts of Feldcroft where he used to play in. Anne loved the flowers.

"Of all the rooms in this forsaken Library," you whispered back, and he closed his eyes, his whole body tingling with a newfound fondness for your persona.

This hadn't been his plan. His plan had been to find out what you knew and then get as far away from you as possible, not being stuck in a small wardrobe together as he took deep breaths to smell your shampoo better.

Think about her. Think about her.

But it didn't help, because when he imagined her being in the same situation instead of you, he couldn't tell much difference.

Perhaps that was the problem.

But the sudden comparison sounded wrong to him, bringing an uneasiness in his chest. He thought back to when he considered you unworthy and bit his own tongue in shame.

So he decided to know what you were thinking about instead, as a means of distraction.

Sebastian cleared his throat, his heart jumping slightly, and whispered again, "so... how are things with Dean? Hopefully he won't find out about this... inconvenience."

It was like the topic had abated given the circumstances, like Dean Thomas was nothing but an ant-sized distraction compared to — well — him. Almost a vote of confidence given by your sweet gasps and soft body next to him.

You stiffened against him once more, clearly taken aback by his prying question. "Where did that come from?" you whispered back.

"Just, you two... are a couple, aren't you?"

Sebastian almost smirked after saying that, considering it more of a rhetorical question, yet dearly hoped you would say no anyway.

Then he decided that you could say whatever you want, because he didn't care. He was not supposed to care.

Damn it, why did he bring this up?

You were silent for a few seconds before you mumbled, "we're not..."

As he had thought. Sebastian's lips stretched even more, not caring that you could probably hear it in his next words, like a mockery. He was relieved by your words, because it meant Dean Thomas hadn't touched you, hadn't touched your lips, hadn't touched your body, not even in the way he was doing right now. "No? But you... You like him, don't you?" he taunted you, wanting to see how far he could take it.

"Honestly, Sallow, this doesn't seem like the right situation to talk about our love life," you joked, letting out a breathy chuckle. It meant more than a thousand words to him, the way you dodged his question.

"True. Only Madam Pince and Filch's apparently."

Sebastian felt you shiver as you stifled a laugh. "You're going to get us caught," you scolded him, but he could hear the smile on your face, and he grinned smugly.

No, this doesn't mean points over Dean Thomas again, you stupid, idiotic — his brain reprimanded, but he ignored it, breathing in your shampoo again. His nose nuzzled your hair, and you jumped a little. He immediately retreated, giving you more space.

There was silence for a moment as you both took deep breaths to ease the anxiety. Only, taking deep breaths in that situation meant that it wasn't the usual scentless air that filled your lungs.

But rather each other.

"You smell good," you whispered shyly after a while, and immediately turned your head away from him.

Sebastian's breath hitched and a blush crept up on his face again at your compliment. At the very least, it meant being locked up with him wasn't a terrible experience. " Oh ? Is that so?" he teased smugly. "It's all my natural scent."

"I'll bet." He heard the smile in your words.

Sebastian chuckled lowly as you snuggled up to him a little. His hand pressed on your back again and guided you slightly towards him; he had the sudden urge to lean down and touch his lips to your forehead, but he pushed it down just as fast.

That gesture would inevitably shift it all to a romantic area, something much bigger than he could uphold at that moment.

You let out a slow sigh, oblivious to his thoughts. "Do you think… we're going to come out of this smelling like each other…?”

The idea hit him like a brick, malleating his brain into a treacly, exhilarated mess.

"I don't mind," he said jokingly, his heart leaping at the thought: you smelling like him, for everyone to notice. The entire school would know you'd been close enough to carry a piece of him around, if only for one day. "Your shampoo is really nice."

"It's avocado scented," you replied quietly, your finger subconsciously tapping against the buttons of his robes. "Maybe you can borrow it."

Sebastian grinned, shamelessly moving closer and loudly breathing in your hair just to taunt you further. You let out a squeaky short whine that you immediately swallowed in fear of alerting the two figures, and lightly slapped his chest with your palm, your movements very limited.

“I'll see if it smells good on me when we're finally outside,” said Sebastian, freeing his face from your hair again.

"Oh, shut up."

There was a beat of silence after those words. Sebastian repressed a chuckle, sending a gentle gaze in your direction. He enjoyed being the one to tease you immensely, and that did nothing to ease the slight tenderness between his legs. Sebastian might have had to take a quick trip to the bathroom after you both were done in this wardrobe.

And then you knocked the air out of him, along with all his smugness and endearment, with only four words.

"What if Dean notices?"

His smile faltered immediately with a sharp twinge in his chest, almost spasming. "You said you weren't a thing," he punctuated coolly, trying to hide the bitterness in his tone.

"Yes, that's true, but..." You shuffled again and then sighed defeatedly. "I'll admit it. I do like him."

It wasn't just a twinge in his chest now, it was a whole game of cricket darts. And Dean Thomas led it by opening the highest number on three marks.

And the original advantage Sebastian was sure he had achieved with this wardrobe amounted to barely fifteen score points.

"Oh," he said simply, swallowing painfully, like nails scraping his tender gullet. "What… What do you like about him?"

It was an impulsive question, the answer of which scared him.

"I'll tell you when we get out of here in one piece." You smiled faintly.

Sebastian wasn't sure he wanted you to tell him anymore.

The caretaker and Madam Pince had finally begun to climb back up the stairs, as it appeared to be. Sebastian heard their faint steps and muffled words. Who knew what they had been doing in the meantime.

Neither of you wanted to know.

As soon as their footsteps faded away, you opened the door slightly, allowing a glimmer of light to enter through the crack. It had broken the illusion Sebastian had created in the darkness of your proximity, shattering it like blown glass. You pointed to your wand beside your feet, and Sebastian nodded as he took a step back.

"Let's go, we have Ancient Runes in a few minutes," you said, keeping the volume of your voice as low as humanly possible.

"You're taking Ancient Runes as well?" asked Sebastian, surprised. He reckoned you already took two electives, like any other average student.

But he should've expected that you were anything but average .

"Three electives, yes." You smiled and slowly climbed out of the wardrobe, retrieving your wand and checking around suspiciously, taking in your surroundings to make sure it was safe to leave. He followed you, breathing in the clear and almost chilly air deeply. It was almost disappointing to be free again.

" Homenum revelio ," you mumbled, and Sebastian gasped as your magic went through him, hot and cold and gloomy at the same time. He smiled at the spell. It was a more advanced version that reminded him of old times.

"We're safe," you said, walking ahead. Sebastian followed you without uttering another word. What happened in the wardrobe was wont to stay in the wardrobe: there was no place for it outside, no matter what happened. It was clear as a day by your behaviour.

Only when you were only a few aisles away from the entrance to the Restricted Section, Sebastian spoke again, stopping you. "We can't just sneak out. Let's use a Disillusionment Charm."

You faltered for a moment and averted your gaze, abashed. He tilted his head in confusion at your reticence.

"I'm not very skilled at that yet," you confessed, looking down at the ground.

Sebastian held a sigh. Not ideal.

"Let me see," he encouraged, and you took a deep breath before twirling your wand around you. Your body began to blend with the shelves behind you, and he could read the titles of the covers as easily as if nothing were there.

Well, that seems proficient to me , he thought, capping the matter immediately.

But then the charm flickered. The shelves blurred, and it was as if the magic was fighting against your body to remain whole.

Yes, that could be a problem.

He drew his wand and repeated the movement around your body.

You stopped in your tracks and stared at him with wide eyes as a new wave of warmth suddenly engulfed your body. His magic mingled with yours, dancing almost protectively around it.

It was odd, Sebastian realised, almost intimate. Almost more than the wardrobe itself, when he had stepped into your personal space and you had done the same. Like he was now close to you but in a different, almost affectionate way.

"Thanks," you whispered, in a small voice, but the charm was covering your face now and he couldn't see you.

"Any time," he whispered back, swallowing, and used the charm on himself.

You both approached the entrance, as quietly as possible, neither of you sharing another word. Not bothering to follow your original plan of mingling with the other students, you headed straight for the Library entrance, slipping out just as easily as you slipped in.

Sebastian breathed a deep sigh of relief. "That was something," he said with a smile.

"It was," you agreed. His magic withdrew from you as he dissolved the spell, and you did the same. It was cold all of a sudden. You both felt it.

"Let's go, we're late."

Sebastian had desperately wanted to sit next to you, but Hermione had stolen you away as soon as she saw you come in, scolding you for being late.

You were perfectly punctual, but apparently that wasn't enough.

He sat down next to a Hufflepuff student instead and prepared to be distracted by the memory of you in that wardrobe for the entire lesson. He shifted in his seat numerous times, crossing his legs and rubbing them together and pulling his robes tighter against the front of his body. He hadn't had the chance to relieve himself, not even a bit, still feeling that annoying tenderness between his legs, and it appeared as if the boy next to him wasn't going to help his situation in the slightest.

"So, I don't mean to pry," the Hufflepuff whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer. Sebastian felt like he wouldn't pardon said boy like he easily pardoned Daphne for the words that were about to spill from his mouth, not to mention the breaching of his personal space in such a vulnerable state. "But are you two—" he shot you a glance, "—a couple now? How did you steal her away from Dean Thomas?"

Sebastian almost fainted from his chair. Steal her away? A couple? The words shocked him to his core, igniting a thrill that didn’t make his situation any easier.

"Why would you say that?" he asked, trying to contain his reaction. It was as if his heart was waltzing with this new implication and with the fact that another student seemed to think you two weren't just friends.

His heart choked on the bitter taste of that word. Finest gentleman.

"Well... considering you came in together, you both look like a mess, and I can smell her shampoo on you..." the Hufflepuff trailed off, giving Sebastian a smirk, but the latter could easily see the falseness behind it. He didn't look very happy.

And that only turned up the music.

Especially when his brain registered what all these aforementioned characteristics could imply for any lecherous teenager in the school.

At that moment, Sebastian didn’t care about the Hufflepuff’s reasons to be so upset, nor about his motives, because the mere fact that he was had his stomach quivering. Because if he was upset, who knew who else would be, and who knew who might interpret their condition in a slightly lopsided way.

Not that Sebastian would willingly encourage those rumours. He just would dispute them, or so to say.

"How do you know what her shampoo smells like?" replied Sebastian with the widest smug grin on his face, faring on the upper hand he had just achieved in the game.

The Hufflepuff averted his eyes and didn't reply.

Oh, how he loved Professor Binns' class. Sebastian was probably the only one in the whole school. Not that he loved the way he taught, but he definitely found History of Magic one of the most interesting subjects, and he was also the one who helped Ominis and her catch up when they eventually fell asleep in class.

Sebastian smiled as he remembered the one time she had fallen asleep on him, resting her head on his arm laid on the desk. He almost lost the use of it — or at least it felt that way — but he didn't dare move an inch. Just having her so close had been enough for him.

His gaze involuntarily wandered to your figure, expecting you to be fast asleep on your desk like everyone else around him — with the exception of Hermione — but to his surprise, you weren't. You had your notebook in front of you, full of sentences and misplaced words connected here and there by off-centred arrows. In the margins hung drawings of random figures, eyes and misshapen blobs that served mainly to keep you grounded when Professor Binns went on a tangent to explain something more than necessary.

What caught his attention, however, were not your notes, but rather what you were taking them with.

You had a transparent stick in your hand with a black cap on the end, and you scribbled quickly on the side of the page to colour in what appeared to be a square — Binns had been explaining the rules of the International Statute of Secrecy and their origins for about ten minutes, his voice as slow as a slug, so there was no point in taking further notes — and, somehow, you never stopped to dip it in ink. You quickly wrote a few words and connected them to the main sentence with another arrow before reprising your work, and once you looked satisfied enough, you moved to draw circles and lines directly underneath it.

Sebastian frowned a little and looked around, and to his surprise, he saw that a few other students were using tools very similar to what you were using. He decided to ask you about it as soon as class was over, curiosity taking over his self-imposed promise once again.

Not that it mattered anymore. Not after his tie still smelled of avocado.

"What was that you were using just now?" Sebastian decided to approach you at the end of class as you were putting your things away, including the mysterious object.

Confused, you turned to him. "What do you mean?"

Sebastian bit his lip, wondering how he could explain himself.He suspected that the object was the same one you had searched for in Potions class — the one you didn’t find. "The stick?" he said tentatively, but you only raised an eyebrow. He bit the inside of his cheek to fight the embarrassment. "The stick you wrote with."

You opened your mouth to form an 'oh' for which he was utterly glad. Sebastian dearly hoped his ignorance wouldn’t weird you out or increase your suspicions, which you had apparently dropped after the Undercroft encounter. You took the object back from your bag and showed it to him. "This?"

Sebastian nodded and examined it carefully; he took it in his hand and found that it was surprisingly light, almost delicate. He turned it around, examining the clear surface and the black line under it, uncapped it and brushed the pad of his index finger on the head, accidentally drawing a dot on his skin, then he pulled it and almost dropped the whole thing when the black line came out, afraid to have broken it. You only chuckled as he curiously observed the small hole on the side.

"It's a pen."

His eyes narrowed immediately and shifted from your beaming face to the piquant object in his hands. "A what?"

That was an unusually short name for an unusually interesting invention.

"A ballpen. It's like a quill but with... no quill. It's faster to write with."

"Is it charmed?" asked Sebastian, his inveterate curiosity taking the better of him. He glanced at the black dot on his finger and brought it to his nose, frowning when he didn’t immediately smell the sharp scent of ink: it was indeed a fascinating object to him. "You've never dipped it in ink, not once."

You chuckled and, and his ears grew warm, abashed, feeling mocked. He embedded the line back in its clear case and capped it again.

"Have you been watching me all this time, or what?" You teased him, and his blush spread, but for different reasons. Heart thundering in his chest, a sudden flash of your body against his rendered him dizzy for a moment. The quick trip he had taken right after the tortuous hour of Ancient Runes couldn’t have been for nothing, so he took a deep, loud breath.

Sebastian hadn't been certain of anything ever since he arrived in that strange world, but for once, his vision was crystal clear. With your smirk, and the tilt of your head, and the way you were leaning on the table...

He was sure that was flirting.

(Or perhaps a friendly banter as the kind Daphne had accustomed him to, but perhaps that explanation didn't scratch his brain quite the way he wanted).

And so, just as a gallant gentleman would do, he shifted his confusion and curiosity to a well-trained charm and reciprocated.

"I have indeed. I enjoy watching you, much more than Professor Binns," he said, letting a small smile play on his lips. He didn’t have the advantage of a small space, but he certainly could rely on his piquant character. So he hoped, at least.

"Well, he's almost transparent, so you don't have much choice," you replied, turning your head away a little and surprising him with how pliant you were acting. Sebastian chuckled, noticing the slight blush on your cheeks that you were trying to hide, and bit his lip in endearment. One step at a time, and he could climb that tower with no qualms as well.

"He could shine for all I care. My eyes would still be on you," he pushed his luck, hiding his clammy hands at his own boldness. It wasn’t like him to cross boundaries so early and so shamelessly, but for some reason, now he didn’t really care much for his integrity of character. Or, even better, he didn't care to make a separation that was entirely due since the early morning, when the lines blurred.

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, and your face flushed even more. His heart leapt at the sight — you looked really pretty like that, much more than usual, and you had no idea. Your head was still turned away from him, your eyes avoiding his, which made it easier to pretend, if only for a moment.

(In a life and death situation, a moment can be dangerous and devastating at once).

"Don't tell me you're flirting with me in History of Magic, of all places.” You finally uncovered the lid and gave him a teasing smile, trying to take a step forward and steal ground from him. He smirked back, just as eager to dive into dangerous waters, not at all fazed by your attitude and, on the contrary, enjoying it quite as much.

"Would you rather I had taken you to the Undercroft instead?"

It was more than bold. It was scandalous, especially after he was sure you had felt him press against you. There was no hiding the implication of his words, even if he didn't, truly, mean to take action in such a way. It was simply a means to invade your mind, a loom that would probably follow you for a while, make you think of him.

You shook your head, playing along but never showing any sort of weakness or reticence, for which he was glad, and a bit surprised as well. While he wanted a piece of your mind, he’d stray from any attempt at discomfiting you.

"It's dusty there," you commented.

This time, you peeked back at him, a way to assert yourself and stand your own, and he knew that it would take a lot more than a few words for you to break. He should have expected it. "And private," he added smoothly, leaning his hand on the table and delicately twirling the pen in his hands.

Your eyebrows lifted, evidently surprised by his deliberate flirting, and Sebastian began to feel even more victorious, his chest buzzing softly with something that grazed want and need.

“Haven’t you had enough in that wardrobe?”

Ah, that was it, the blow that almost knocked him down, deflating his lungs and rusting the marrow in between. He was sure, then, that you knew. You knew what had happened and had said nothing, perhaps to spare him the shame, perhaps because it embarrassed you more than it did him. It was with that last bit that he pushed further.

“Let’s say I could use more of that avocado scent of yours.”

Your eyes widened at his boldness, and you broke eye contact, silently handing him the winning sword.

He smirked victoriously, so hard his cheeks warmed up, and took a step closer, drinking in your flustered expression. "So?"

"So ... what?" You replied breathlessly. His hands twirled the object again, languidly and deliberately never stopping to look at you.

"How does it work?" Sebastian pointed at the pen, hiding a smirk. He had just made you stutter with a few words here and there and he absolutely loved it.

Perhaps he could close the game with a three mark number as well.

You seemingly woke up from a trance and cleared your throat, redirecting your attention to the object, as if pretending that the conversation had never happened. It both annoyed him and deeply endeared him. "See this?" You pointed to the black line right in the middle. "That's ink. Gravity pulls it into the half of the sphere that's inside," — you pointed at the little ball at the end — “and when you press it down on the paper to write, it spins and boom, you've got it."

Sebastian dropped the exchange, now a memory, and focused on your explanation with growing fascination. "How come I've never heard of that before?" (he had a vague idea, though that was starting to make him feel much more stupid than he ever had) "I've seen other people use it too. Where can I purchase it?"

"Well, you're a Pureblood," you said simply, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised, but you quickly explained, "I mean, it's a Muggle invention. The other people who use it are probably Half-bloods or Muggle-borns. It's not allowed for exams because the Professors give us special enchanted quills so we don't copy, but it's definitely useful for taking notes and it can last for months or even years."

He twirled it a little more in his hands, taking in as much detail as he could. He noticed he couldn’t unscrew the other end as he did with the first.

"You can keep it if you want. I've far too many." You smiled sweetly, much more kindly than he deserved.

"Are you sure?" Sebastian shot you a glance, expecting you to laugh at him and snatch your futuristic possession back.

"Yep!" and you took it back, and he almost frowned, but then his body betrayed him in the vilest way possible. Because, along with the pen, you had also taken his hand and held it gently in yours, and his insides squirmed, your feather-light touch like a balm that soothed his nerves and ignited something deeper, fiercer, something that kept his lungs from working. And his hands twitched, giving you a gentle squeeze.

You met his eyes again, and he hoped he didn't look too hopeless, too red, too boyish for you to notice him. Your gaze wasn't intense, and certainly not inquiring: it was gentle, cautious, but that didn't stop his brain from running for miles.

(Was his hand too sweaty?)

(Was his hair too messy?)

(What did you think of his nose? And the freckles? Did they make him seem less manly?)

(Was he not tall enough? He was shorter than Dean, that he knew.)

You gently brought his hand close to you and began to write on it. And that act alone made his stomach explode: flies, maggots, moths and all sorts of insects were probably feasting on it; perhaps the Billywigs had come back to retrieve their stings.

Sebastian shivered and watched as you carefully drew a circle on the back of his hand. And the pen tickled his skin, and your touch tickled his whole body. He couldn't bear you touching him for a second longer, and yet the mere idea of you letting go of his hand was too much for his brain.

You had drawn two parallel dots, smiling at your artwork as if you had just painted a picture worthy of being exhibited in the Louvre, and he thought that maybe the Louvre was stupid for not considering this a masterpiece, because he was sure that he would get Stendhal Syndrome at the mere sight of the finished work (and maybe you could have taken care of him while he was out cold).

But it wasn't the drawing that brought him to the brink of collapse, it was what you did after .

You drew what looked like a semicircle under the dots, and then blew gently on his hand, and his heart beat so loudly he was sure you could feel it under his fingertips, and his body burned, and your cold breath felt like a breeze in summer, and it felt like wind, so strong and deadly that it rushed through his insides. And it hurt, really hurt, but it was… peaceful, like a brisk.

And then there was a weight on his chest, like he was being dropped from the Astronomy tower, free-falling onto the cold, hard ground.

You had let go of his hand and he choked. He desperately needed someone to teach him to breathe again, or he would end up like Professor Binns.

"What do you think?" you asked, smiling gently up at him. Vixen, he thought, as if you didn't know the effect you were having on him. As if you hadn't just seen, sensed, how hopeless he was, how barely holding his hand was enough to plunge him over the edge. "It's a smiley face." You beamed proudly, and the storm was back, or maybe it was calm. Pure, utter calm he was not accustomed and his anxious brain battled against.

Sebastian uttered a sound — a pathetic, choked, desperate sound in his throat. He tried to disguise it by coughing once.

"It's... good," he nodded, and let a small, teasing smile play on his lips. It was indeed piquant for his standards: a smiley face, he could see it now, or sort of. It was almost adorable and uncanny all the same. He mustered all the nonchalance left in his wretched body and smiled, admiring his hand and putting on the most genteel, aristocratic accent he could muster. After all, it took one to know one. "It's a remarkable piece of impressive value. You should be a painter, Miss. I'd buy one of your works, for it must be exhibited in the finest museums."

It took one to know one, indeed. You curled up an eyebrow with a small grin, and cleared your throat, straightening your back and assuming an elegant and regal poise. "I'm most grateful for your appreciation. You're truly a young man of great knowledge in the field of the arts. I shan't forget your fostering."

You pretended to bow slightly to him before handing him the pen again, with a playful twinkle in your eye that Sebastian was sure would scorch him one of these days. Your back and forth had turned from that battle of accusation to a breath of fresh air he was starting to get addicted to, like oxygen. "I will personally see to it that your career is funded, young lady. Please allow me the honour of sharing in this wonderful affair."

"You are very kind indeed. And how could I ever refuse the offer when it comes from such a respectable gentleman as yourself."

His cheeks reddened and he was sure he was grinning from ear to ear. It was friendly and a bit more, or perhaps he was just delusional. But he liked it like he had seldom liked anything. You let out a breathy laugh in return, before gathering your things, and nudged him lightly on the shoulder. His body burned again.

"Well? Shan't this gentleman lead the way?"

Sebastian suppressed a grin. "Ladies first." He gestured and moved gracefully to the side. And maybe there was a benevolent Supreme Being involved, because you blushed unexpectedly, and he might have actually floated off the ground in pure glee.

He followed you, giddier than ever, thinking that he had two more hours of Potions he could spend sitting next to you; the promise long forgotten, buried under the Billywigs stings in his stomach.

Dolores Umbridge, or rather, Toad-face, was exactly as Ron and Hermione had described her.

"Wands away!" was the first command that sprang from her flabby lips, and it made Sebastian's whole body shrivel with something that felt a lot like nausea and a tad more like a foggy and totally reasonable instinct to throw his chair and desk to the ground in protest.

(Was this a magic school or a playground?)

Daphne sat next to him, and as if she could read his mind — which she often seemed to do — she pinched his arm just as he was about to complain.

"Please," she said simply.

Sebastian stared at his book, fuming at the absolute bollocks in ink in front of him.

Conservancy idiocy and nothing more, and not even the kind that sidled between carefully reasonable words. He stared in shock, eyes glazing over the pages without even processing them.

"Mr Sallow, I assume your classmates have informed you of the direction your studies will take from now on," said Umbridge in that sickeningly sweet voice, giving him a smile that made her look more like a starving tortoise.

"Yes, they had." Sebastian forced himself to smile back as his gaze flickered first to Ron, and then to Hermione, trying to hang onto the memory of Daphne’s pinch in order not to let any untoward phrase leave his lips.

"I'm sure you understand that an injudicious use of magic is forbidden in this class. I will not allow you to use anything that could harm others or yourself. You are to learn as all your classmates do, in a safe environment as approved by the Ministry."

Sebastian would argue that safety and childishness went hand in hand according to Umbridge's standards.

"Of course." His eye twitched uncontrollably and his eyes met yours — searched them, found them, held them. You gave him a sheepish smile and, oddly enough, that was enough to put him at ease.

Umbridge only smiled at him before sitting down at her desk and drinking from her cup of tea, and Sebastian found himself bitterly hoping that she would choke on it.

And the class fell silent.

At the end of the lesson, Sebastian approached you. You were talking to the two Prefects and the other boy. He still hadn't asked for his name.

"How do you handle it?" he asked curtly, almost shaking in annoyance. One can only handle a certain amount of repressed glares before they start overflowing in waterfalls thicker than blood.

You smiled and glanced at the bespectacled black-haired boy with a knowing smile. Sebastian's eyes narrowed at the mutual understanding between the two of you, trying not to make it his final string. "We manage," you simply said, smirking at said boy.

"Some with more detention than others," added Ron, chuckling.

"Thanks, Ron," said the boy curtly, before turning to Sebastian. He seemed to ponder for a moment, as if he wasn't quite all there. "I don't believe we've met," he finally said, with a polite but uninterested countenance. "Are you the new student?"

Sebastian nodded, deciding to ignore it for his own good. He already had cognitive bias against him for being apparently so close to you. "Me neither. I'm Sebastian Sallow."

"Harry," he replied in the same, almost tired voice. "Harry Potter."

'I don't know any fifth-year aside from Potter,' Michael Robinson's voice came back to him.

He must've been famous, or something along those lines. Harry turned his head and that was when Sebastian noticed the peculiar scar on his forehead, outlined like a lightning bolt. But not quite like lightning, more like a shape.

A very recognisable shape.

It must be a coincidence.

But before Sebastian could ask, that nauseating voice reached his ears again.

"Mr Potter, this isn't the time to be chatting with your friends. I would ask you to follow me and begin detention, or I will be forced to extend your punishment."

Harry rolled his eyes behind his glasses and said nothing as he turned and climbed the stairs to Umbridge's office.

' She probably went with someone like Potter, now he's the deal ,' he recalled Daphne's words.

What had he done to deserve detention? And with her?

Good luck.

"Alright, let's go," you sighed, and Sebastian followed the three of you to the Great Hall.

"No spell casting. In a school of magic ?" Sebastian complained. "All we have to do is read that damn useless book."

"I thought you liked books," you joked.

He shot you a glare.

"I mean..." you started, as if to say something to him. But then your eyes met Hermione's and you decided against it.

His heart broke a little. Didn't you trust him? Or was it a secret? He felt a twinge of curiosity at your words.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing. Let's just go have dinner. There's Daphne waiting for you," you dismissed his question.

His eyes followed the direction you had pointed, and he met Daphne's smug gaze.

"Of course;" Sebastian separated from the group and walked toward his friend.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," she said with a grin.

"Noticed what?"

"I sat next to you in History of Magic, and even though I fell asleep the first five minutes, I still saw how comfortable you both looked today," her grin widened. "Not to mention..." she sniffed his uniform jokingly, "is that a new perfume?"

He blushed as he remembered the feeling of your hands on his chest, of your breath on his ear.

Of your body pressed against his.

It had happened hours before and yet it was as if your warmth had just left him.

"It's... It's not what you're thinking," he replied frantically.

" Oh ?" Daphne's eyes narrowed playfully. "And what exactly am I thinking?"

Sebastian took a deep breath. "I'll tell you everything, just ... Please , stop."

Her smile widened. "Perfect. And don't leave out any details."

He rolled his eyes and was about to reply, "we–"

"Sebastian Sallow!" Shouted an angry voice from the Slytherin table, and a hand forcibly pulled him away. "Where the hell are my Skiving Snackboxes? I was supposed to use them to skip Transfiguration today!" Tracey Nettlebed hissed.

Oh.

He had completely forgotten about the girl.

Damn.

"I'm sorry, Tracey, I've forgotten. A lot of things have happened and–"

"Oh, I know ," she gave him a sinister smirk. "Pay your price, or I'll snitch on you and your nice adventure in the Restricted Section with your little crush."

And with that, she pulled away and walked back to her seat, leaving him stunned.

His eyes met your shocked ones across the room, before he turned to Daphne.

"Restricted Section? With...?" asked Daphne with wide eyes.

He was screwed.