junie

samira’s pov:

your pov:

robby’s pov:

your pov:

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your pov:

samira’s pov:

robby’s pov:

your pov:

Romantics were the ones who sighed wistfully at poetry readings, who blushed at the sight of a well-crafted love letter, who spent Valentine’s Day clutching their hearts like some love-struck imbecile from an old novel.

She was not a romantic.

And yet, there she was.

Sitting in the Great Hall, not eating her breakfast, not reading her book, but instead watching - because everywhere she looked, it was there.

The soft, intimate moments she pretended not to care about. The day before Valentine's Day.

A Hufflepuff girl tucking a chocolate frog into her boyfriend’s pocket with a whispered, “For later.”

A Ravenclaw scribbling something in the margins of a letter, smiling absently to herself before sealing it with a wax stamp and charming it to flutter across the vast room.

A Gryffindor dramatically dropping to one knee in front of a giggling girl, presenting a questionably-made bouquet of half-wilted wildflowers to a simpering, blushing witch.

And herself?

Eating dry toast and definitely not pining.

“Why do you look like you’ve swallowed a lemon?”

She blinked, snapping out of it, and turned to see Poppy Sweeting watching her far too closely from across the table, arms folded neatly on the wood.

“I don’t.” She said flatly, reaching for her tea.

Poppy hummed in a way that implied otherwise. “You’re staring at people.”

She tore off a piece of toast and shoved it into her mouth, unladylike and unbothered. “I’m observing.”

Poppy snorted. “Observing what?”

She could lie. Say she was disgusted by all the romance, say that it was silly, useless, pointless.

Or…

She could tell the truth.

“…Nothing.” She muttered instead, stuffing the rest of the toast in her mouth before she could say anything else.

Evasion was neither truth nor lie, and thus, an acceptable third option. Poppy narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. Then, far too casual-

“This wouldn’t happen to be about a certain freckled menace, would it?”

She choked on her toast.

Poppy beamed.

“It is about him, isn’t it?”

Still coughing, she reached for her tea and muttered, “It is not.”

Poppy, clearly unconvinced, simply leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand. “Right. So, when you were observing just now, you definitely weren’t actually sulking over the fact that you spend every waking moment with a certain Slytherin, except, glaringly, on the one day of the year you'd most prefer?”

She froze.

Because.

Well.

That was entirely too true.

It wasn’t that she was sulking over not getting a Valentine in general. It was that, if she ever were to get one, she already knew exactly who she’d want it from. Except Sebastian Sallow had made precisely zero mention of doing anything even platonic on the impending day from cupid-pink hell.

And that thought?

That thought was dangerous.

Because Sebastian was not an option in the first place.

Sebastian was Sebastian - her best friend, her partner in literal crime, her closest companion, the one she could turn to for anything and everything.

And he was not hers.

He flirted with everyone. He charmed his way through life. He tossed out compliments like it was second nature, and none of it meant anything.

She knew that.

She did.

And yet…

The unspoken longing was starting to eat at her, and that unrequited feeling stung a little more than she cared to admit.

“…You should write him a letter.”

She blinked. “I should what?”

Poppy shrugged. “Write it all out. Not to give to him, just… to get it off your chest.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She scowled, heat creeping up to her cheeks at the mere notion.

“It’s practical.” Poppy gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been miserable for ages over this. It's not hard to see. Just write it all down, and then decide if you want to say it to him for real.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to shut it down, to dismiss it entirely…

But then, at that exact moment -

Sebastian strolled past, laughing about something with Ominis, his robes ruffled from sleep, his hair a careless, tousled mess, looking infuriatingly attractive in that effortless way of his…

And she sighed, smitten.

“…Fine.”

-

The letter was not supposed to be good.

It was just supposed to be words on a page. A venting session. A way to untangle her own thoughts.

But when she finally lifted her quill from the parchment, she realized, with horror, that she had somehow written the most disgustingly heartfelt confession imaginable.

The worst part?

She meant every word.

She stared at it, stomach twisting, and let out a groan of regret.

Why did she listen to Poppy?

Why did she ever think this was a good idea?

This thing needed to be burned. Immediately.

She folded it aggressively, shoved it into her school satchel, and made a mental note to destroy it later.

And then promptly forgot about it.

Because that night, she was half-asleep, shoving her books into her bag without a second thought, not realizing that the letter had slipped from its hiding place and fallen, unnoticed, to the castle floor.

Waiting.

For the wrong person to find it.

She realized far too late that the letter was missing. She had spent the morning of the damned frilly holiday blissfully unaware, going about her day as normal, utterly oblivious to the unforgivable mistake she had made.

It wasn’t until midday, when she went to retrieve her Transfiguration notes, that she noticed the folded parchment was gone.

Her heart plummeted.

She froze, still as stone, fingers digging through her satchel in mounting horror, books and parchment scattered on the table as she searched, and searched, and searched…

And found nothing.

The letter - the one letter she could not afford to lose - was gone.

Panic rushed through her, overwhelming, as she replayed every moment from the night before.

She had written it.

Folded it.

Shoved it into her satchel.

And then - what? Had it fallen out? Had someone taken it? Was it currently out there, somewhere in the castle, waiting to ruin her life?

Her stomach rolled violently.

She had to find it.

Step One: Enlist Every Trustworthy Person She Knows

This was not a one-person job.

She swallowed her pride, sought out her closest friends in each house, and told them the full, unfiltered truth - with the strict demand that they never speak of it again once the letter was found.

Natty was the first to respond, the voice of reason among the chaos.

“We should retrace your steps.” She suggested, calm and methodical as ever. “Where were you last night?”

She winced. “I don’t know. Everywhere?”

Natty sighed.

Poppy, hands clasped over her mouth in barely contained amusement, offered absolutely no helpful input whatsoever. Sick amusement from this whole debacle, that one got.

Garreth Weasley, on the other hand, lit up like Christmas had come early.

“This is brilliant!” He declared, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Thought today was going to be dull. I'll have you to thank for the entertainment!”

She shoved him off, scowling. “Garreth, I will brew you into a potion.”

Garreth held up his hands, mockingly placating. “Our leading lady is so high-strung.”

Natty pinched the bridge of her nose. “Focus.”

“Right, right.” Garreth sobering immediately, turning back with mock solemnity. “If I were your missing letter, where would I be?”

“It was in my bag last night, which means it could have fallen out anywhere between the common room and class this morning.”

Poppy perked up. “And you went outside to read before breakfast, didn’t you?”

She groaned. “Right. So now it could be anywhere in the entire castle or the bloody courtyard.”

They scattered.

Natty took the main halls. Poppy went to check the greenhouses. Garreth, horrifyingly, volunteered to go search the Great Hall, which she immediately regretted allowing, because if he so much as breathed a word of this to anyone, she was going to have to change schools.

Meanwhile, she scoured the rest of the castle.

She checked every hallway, every staircase, every possible place it could have fallen. She combed the courtyard, nearly tore apart the Undercroft, and spent far too long peeking under random benches, earning more than a few odd looks from passing students.

And yet…

Nothing.

By late afternoon, her nerves were shot.

The longer the letter was missing, the worse her paranoia became.

What if someone already had it?

What if it had been read aloud to a group of cackling classmates?

What if Peeves found it?

What if it had made its way to the Slytherin common room?

She groaned into her hands.

This was hell.

And then, as if fate had decided she had suffered enough, she saw it.

Or, at least, she thought she did.

A glimpse of parchment, lying half-hidden in the empty courtyard, crumpled and slightly smudged with dirt.

Her heart leapt. She moved immediately, nearly tripping over herself, relief flooding her system as she reached for it -

Only for another hand to grab it first.

Her stomach dropped.

Because, of course.

Of course.

It was Sebastian.

Sebastian, standing just a few feet away, held the letter in his hands, tilting his head curiously.

And her?

She panicked.

“Ah - oh, that’s not important. Just some old parchment -” She lunged, making a hasty attempt to snatch it back.

Sebastian sidestepped effortlessly, lifting the letter out of reach.

“Now, now!” He teased, grinning. “No need to be so hasty. I just want to see what’s got you racing around the castle all day like a headless diricawl.”

He had noticed?

Of course he had.

Sebastian watched her too closely, too often.

He had definitely noticed.

She swallowed hard, keeping her voice steady. “Sebastian, it’s really nothing.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “So if I read it aloud right now, you wouldn’t mind?”

Her eyes went wide.

Sebastian grinned.

“Oh, Merlin.” He said, delighted. “It is something, isn’t it?”

Her heart pounded. “Sebastian -”

But he was already unfolding the letter.

Already reading the first lines.

And already…

Smirking.

-

Sebastian had every intention of teasing.

He had caught her red-handed, after all - had seen her darting around the castle like a witch possessed, muttering under her breath, frantically scouring every inch of Hogwarts like a niffler who had misplaced her cache.

She had been so focused, so desperate that he had spent the entire day trying - and failing - to get her attention. She had brushed him off in the corridors, ignored him at lunch, even physically dodged him on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was a new level of avoidance, even for her.

And now, at long last, he finally had the answer to why.

So, of course, when he picked up the crumpled parchment in the courtyard and saw her entire soul drain from her face, he couldn’t help himself.

“Ah. So this is what’s had you so worked up?” He mused, turning the letter over in his hands, pretending to inspect it. “I must say, I’m intrigued.”

She lunged again.

“Sebastian!”

“I knew you were up to something,” he said, deliberately casual, letting his thumb skim the edge of the folded parchment. “But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting it to be a secret love letter.”

Her entire body seized.

Sebastian beamed.

“Is it really?” He laughed, delighted. “It is a love letter.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Sebastian. Give. It. Back.”

Sebastian tutted, clicking his tongue. “Now, now. I think it’s only fair I take a little peek, don’t you? Considering how rudely you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

Sebastian cleared his throat and unfolded it with great circumstance, smirking as he began to read aloud, voice deliberately dramatic.

“To the most insufferable, reckless, and endlessly arrogant prick I have ever met…”

He chuckled. “Oh, this is already off to an excellent start.”

She whimpered, burying her face in her hands.

Sebastian continued.

"You drive me to madness on a daily basis. I have never met someone more infuriatingly smug, more entirely frustrating -"

He snorted. “Flatter him more, love.”

"- and yet somehow, impossibly, against all logic and reason -"

Sebastian paused.

His grin faltered.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Sebastian’s breath caught as he took in the next lines, the way the handwriting shifted slightly, the way her usual slanted script had softened, like she had hesitated before writing it.

"I find myself drawn to you anyway, Sebastian."

Sebastian’s grip on the parchment tightened.

"I don’t know when it started, whether it was the first time you shielded me in a duel, or the hundredth time you made me laugh when I wanted to scream, or maybe it was always there, just in our day-to-day."

Sebastian swallowed.

"All I know is that I look for you before anyone else. That I miss you before you’re even gone. That the idea of you with someone else makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to acknowledge."

A slow, creeping warmth spread up Sebastian’s neck, his freckled face heating.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever say this aloud. Maybe this is the only time I’ll ever admit it, even to myself. But it’s there, no matter how much I try to ignore it. I am yours, and you don’t even know it."

Sebastian’s breath hitched.

He didn’t even realize he had stopped reading.

Didn’t realize he had gone completely still.

Didn’t realize she had been watching him the entire time, cheeks red, expression somewhere between horrified and resigned.

He felt her eyes on him, felt the weight of her gaze, the unspoken tension between them.

And suddenly -

Everything was different.

-

She was dying.

Actually, literally, physically dying.

Sebastian was silent.

And not in his usual, plotting, scheming way.

No.

Sebastian was silent in the way that meant his brilliant brain hadn't been able to quite wrap around the horrific monstrosity of emotional vomit which had been inflicted upon him.

Which was, frankly, more terrifying than anything else.

He just stood there, holding the letter, staring at it like it contained the secrets of the universe.

And she herself who had spent the entire day terrified of this exact moment, who had been dreading what his reaction would be, suddenly realized she had no idea what to do now that the very worst had actually happened.

She cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “I… um. That’s…”

Sebastian looked up.

Their eyes met.

Her stomach flipped.

And then -

Sebastian laughed.

It wasn’t his usual cocky, amused laugh.

It was nervous, breathless, and way too full of emotions he clearly didn’t know how to process.

“Oh.” He said, voice slightly unsteady. “So, um. That’s - wow.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands again. “Sebastian…”

“No, no, wait -” He laughed again, more to himself than anything, running a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly unmoored. “You… Merlin! You wrote me a love letter.”

She winced. “Shut up.”

“I mean, really!” He huffed out another disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You actually - you wrote me a love letter.”

She let out a strangled noise. “So we've determined! Now hurry it along so I can put in for my transfer to Durmstrang.”

Sebastian smirked, and for a brief, horrifying moment, she thought he was going to tease her , but then he glanced down at the letter again, eyes flicking over the last lines, and his smirk softened.

He hesitated.

Then, before she could stop him…

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and delicate.

A sprig of dittany, perfectly preserved, fastened to a silver hair clip.

And offered it to her.

Sebastian’s ears went pink as she stared blankly at it.

“I, um…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not - it’s not much. But I know how much you like dittany, so I thought…” He stopped himself, sighing in a bid to regain composure. “Look, I just - I didn’t know how to say it, either.”

Her heart stumbled and stopped.

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, glancing away, looking suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “But if you’re mine, then I’m yours, too.”

Warmth flooded her, and then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and kissed him in a moment of absolute insanity.

It was clumsy, awkward, entirely too soft.

They smiled against each other’s lips.

And for the first time all day, she was glad she lost the letter.

The kiss was nothing like the ones from the romance novels she squirreled away in her dorm. There was no perfectly choreographed moment of breathtaking passion, no swooning or instinctual spark.

It was clumsy - a little too eager, a little too uncertain, the way all first kisses tend to be.

She leaned in too quickly, and Sebastian, in his attempt to meet her halfway, nearly bumped their teeth together, and they pulled away just as swiftly.

They both froze for a half-second, faces inches apart, before quiet, nervous laughter bubbled up between them.

Sebastian let out a soft, breathless chuckle, shaking his head as his forehead brushed against hers. “We’re terrible at this.”

She grinned, biting her lip. “Truly awful.”

Sebastian hummed, still holding the dittany hair clip between them like some ridiculous peace offering.

“Maybe we should try again.” He murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain. “I'm a good study, you know.”

Her breath hitched.

Ah, there was the swooning.

And then - slowly this time - she tilted her chin up, closing the space between them once more. Sebastian met her gently, no more rushed movements, no hesitations; just the soft, uncertain press of lips, the quiet warmth of finally, finally knowing. He sighed against her mouth, content, and she felt his hand find her waist, the touch featherlight, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her yet.

So she grabbed his wrist and placed it there herself.

Sebastian smiled into the kiss, tilting his head just slightly, deepening it for a lingering moment before pulling away.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he bumped his nose against hers, deliberately this time, teasing, affectionate.

He spoke against her mouth, voice warm and endearingly unsteady, “I think we just got a little better at it.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, her cheeks aching from how hard she was smiling.

“I suppose we’ll have to keep practicing.” She mused.

Sebastian’s grin turned positively wolfish. “You do know how I like to tutor.”

She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder, but she didn’t let go of him.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t pull back.

She just stood there with him, forehead resting against his, her hands still tangled in his robes, his thumb brushing slow circles against her hip.

The lost letter forgotten.

The ridiculous day worth it after all.

And as Sebastian finally shyly tucked the enchanted dittany clip into her hair, she thought…