SentrySallow

It ain't much (yet), but it's honest work. Figured I get on it early so I don't have to go fishin' later:

An Honest Challenge - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader | AO3 Warnings: 18+, language, explicit sexual content Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 ;) | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Finale ;)

A Very Muggle Christmas - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader | AO3 Warnings: language, sexual allusions/tension Part 1 | Part 2

To Date a Wizard - Auror Sebastian Sallow x MuggleF!Reader | AO3 Warnings: 18+, language, explicit sexual content Tumblr

In the Shadow of the Arena - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader Warnings: violence, blood, minor character death, language Tumblr

Dream of Me - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader | AO3 Warnings: 18+, language, explicit sexual content Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Other Platforms: AO3

The Gallery

It has gotten to the point I could stock a small art gallery in a remote coastal village... so behold: The Gallery

Digital Art

The Exiled

well would'ya looky there

hot take

pretty kitty privilege

handsomely occupied

dracarys X || confringo ✓

"duality of man"

"just beat it"

"Sallow 101"

"sit"

"Izaya-art Challenge"

"Sleepy Sallow"

"Merlin have sweet mercy"

"Pearly Whites"

"Pose" | "Pose-edit"

"the baes"

"stfu"

"Lumos"

“The Damn Holster”

Hogwarts Legacy X Star Wars "Dark Side"

"In the Shadow of Two"

"after hours"

"our convoluted dance"

"Variant"

"hear me out"

"Something more interesting"

Hogwarts Legacy x Pride & Prejudice

"You dirty little minx"

Traditional Mediums

"nonchalant"

"Please hold"

"Specs"

"Red-handed"

"Book worm"

"Just a second"

"Found ya"

I fully realize they get increasingly chopped the further back you go... but so is progress and evidence there of.

me because I don’t have to draw Seb’s mop of hair:

References:

and look at this little guy:

“Y/n, wait!” Anne called, “Merlin, slow down!”

“Abso-lutely not!” You shouted.

Slowing down was a death wish. Slowing down meant you’d open your big mouth again, and considering the last time you’d done that you told Anne you’d dreamt about her twin brother… 

Yeah, no. Sitting behind a locked bathroom door was kilometers more enticing. You hung a hard right, barreling into the Gryffindor bathrooms like a bombarda spell gone awry, and made yourself comfortable in the stall labeled ‘out of order.’ 

To your dismay, however, the bathroom door swung open just as your foot drew up to settle atop the toilet seat. It was Anne, you knew it was. The silence settling afterward incriminating in the way only a Sallow could make it. 

“Go away, Anne,” you muttered into your sleeve, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what? How you just won? Beat the britches off Sebastian? Cause I think anyone, and frankly, everyone, would like to talk about it.”

She was right. Dethroning the Crossed Wands champion wasn’t an everyday thing— more like an every three years or so thing, and considering Sebastian had twirled the title between his fingers for just as much time, you should be in that Clock Tower celebrating, like a normal person, but no. What had you done? You’d run, a choice that had painted ‘guilty’ in bold letters down your back, and now that you were free from the boy’s searing stare, you realized as much with a giant's helping of regret. Still, despite this self reflection, that didn’t mean you had to come right out and say why you really ran.

You sighed, lifting your head out of your arms to peer at the scuffed heels beneath the door.

“I just loathe all the theatrics,” you mumbled.

Silence. Another helping of that damned, incriminating silence.

“Theatrics?” Anne snorted, “You ran from more than that.”

More than that. Her words were smug, entered without knocking, settled themselves in your living room, and kicked muddied boots atop your polished table. You pulled a mental wand to depulso the layered implication back out your door.

“Well he’s your brother,” you blurted, “You should know.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, ‘guilty’ was being painted once more over a coat that hadn’t yet dried. She hadn't said a thing about Sebastian. You retreated back into your arms, but your ears were subjected to Anne's pointed footsteps heading for the vanities where her wand latched onto one of the many woes of Narcissus to drag it behind her. It detested, clawing at the stone floor until it came to a stop outside your door.

“He is my brother,” she admitted, voice straining as her own feet disappeared from beneath the door, “And because he’s my brother…” the wooden legs wobbled as her head appeared over the top, eyes narrowed at her feet, “…I do know something.”

The vanity came to a compromising still, and Anne’s gaze landed on your’s atop a keening grin.

“I know he’s in love with you.”

-~- Sebastian -~-

Sebastian would have to wear a tie more often. 

He was late to class, as was the case most of the time, but this time he found his starched button-up, ironed trousers, and, dark, solid Slytherin-green tie seemed to part the sea of students before him. The last time he’d commanded this much respect was the beginning of sixth-year after he’d unknowingly grown ten or so centimeters in a single summer. Well, maybe ‘unknowingly’ was a stretch— no pun intended.

Sebastian straightened, robbing a single centimeter more from the hall as he smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction, but more than that, he couldn’t wait flirt to high heaven with you. His prior advances had always been of a veiled nature, one where he was careful not to spook you, but after last night, after a dream like that… he was going to wake the sleeping dragon if it was the last thing he did.

“Mr. Sallow, so nice of you to finally join us,” Professor Sharp intoned without so much as a glance up at the door. 

Sebastian didn’t afford him much in return. He took his place at his assigned cauldron while, discretely, but anxiously, searching the room for you. You weren’t next to Anne, nor speaking to Professor Sharp. Maybe you were in the storage closet? Or perhaps with Adelaide, no. Poppy? Not there. Natty--

“Merlin’s beard, Sebastian! Dressed to the nines, aren't we? Got a hot date tonight?” 

The sheer volume with which Garreth announced his attire forced the Slytherin to tuck his ear toward his shoulder, and only once he'd silenced the urge to flipendo the Gryffindor headfirst into his cauldron, he straightened slowly, eyes shut over a deep sigh as he played ignorant to the twenty heads turned in his direction.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Sebastian replied, turning to split open his textbook.

Garreth grinned and leaned an elbow against his station, intent on turning up the heat not knowing the brunet thrived in it.

“And with who? Do tell.”

The room grew silent, but Sebastian continued to turn to the proper chapter, licking his thumb to give it a bit more traction before he delivered the name “Matilda Weasley” without so much as missing a beat. 

Garreth’s hungry flame went limp, diminishing visibly until it was nothing but a charred candle wick below a wisp of smoke. Sebastian sank his molars into his cheek opposite the boy. Gagged, a response he was used to, but for some reason it was always sweeter with his redheaded peer.

Sebastian continued to feign normalcy, rolling up his sleeves as he turned to lean against his own station just in time to see your robes sweeping through the door. You hugged the wall, moving on light feet like a niffler with paws full of stolen treasure, but the ex-auror, with that profession-induced sixth sense, caught you red-handed.

“Miss y/l/n, you’re late.”

You froze, brows cringing.

“Apologies, professor,” you mumbled, scuttling toward your usual place by Anne in a bid to escape the twenty heads that had now turned toward you, but Sharp had other plans… plans that worked wondrously in Sebastian’s favor.

“Ah-,” Sharp tut, finally lifting his gaze from his desk to flick his fingers in Sebastian’s direction, “You’ll be working with the other Sallow today.”

You froze again, but this time a blush melted you from the top down. Sebastian kept his gaze on you, letting a grin settle comfortably on his features. 

Look up, love. Go ahead.

You did, slowly. You started at his shoes, climbed up his trousers, zigzagged around his button up, then, in a way that had Sebastian folding his bottom lip between his teeth, got caught on his tie like a bee in honey. You didn’t struggle, instead, your eyes widened slightly and your lashes fluttered, but in true ‘you’ fashion, you slammed your attention into the floor before he could find your gaze… and that was exactly what he’d spend the next two hours raising to meet his challenge. 

“Go on, ” the professor sighed, “He doesn't bite.”

Sebastian sided to his left with a softened grin, opting for a kinder, less heated expression as you settled next to him like a lamb next to a wolf.

Though the Slytherin was aware of infinitely more than you could hope to dread, and knew deep down you wanted to manhandle him by the tie that hung around his neck, he wanted to take his time. He was going into this with an ace up his sleeve, and he planned on setting the stage beautifully before its reveal. 

“Alright,” Sharp announced to the class, directing Garreth over toward Anne, “Thunderbrew, on my desk, no later than noon.”

The classroom descended into languid waves of conversation as all nestled in for the two hour period. The space had become awash with sighs, grumbles, and slumped shoulders, but Sebastian stood straighter. He turned back around, gathered a knife and cutting board, then slid them over to you like a peace offering.

“Wanna cut the shrivelfig?” He asked, figuring it was a far better preparation than leech juice or stench of the dead.

You nodded with a fleeting smile, “Sure, thanks.”

Sebastian smiled back and pulled out his wand to float one of the purple fruits toward him, but while it made its way over, he couldn’t help noticing your gaze was still tacked below even a house elf’s line of sight. That wouldn’t do.

“Y/n?” He voiced, as softly as possible, and still you jumped.

You acknowledged him with a glance. 

Alright, easy does it.

“I never got to congratulate you on your victory yesterday,” he said, brushing his fingers with yours when he handed you the fig.

“Oh, yeah, um, thanks… Wait— not thanks for the title, cause, you know, I took it from you, so maybe, uh, maybe sorry?”

Sebastian exhaled a mix of shock and amusement out of his system, “Sorry? Don’t be sorry! I had to best someone to earn it myself all that time ago. It was only inevitable someone would take it from me…” He paused, smiling over the measuring bowl of leech juice, “And I’m glad that someone was you.”

The knife in your hands faltered, slipping down the fig to give it a decidedly wonky cut, but Sebastian pretended not to notice. The ‘awake’ version of you really was affected a quidditch field and a half more than your sleeping self. Confidence. You needed confidence.

“Mind sharing where you learned that kick from?” He asked, still busying himself with the measuring bowl.

You chuckled, sliding the blade evenly through the center, “I dunno, it just kind of came to me in the moment.”

“Huh. Impulsive, but still impressive… and might I add, dirty,” he grinned, “Looks good on you.”

He readied himself for another slip of the knife given he’d practically purred the last part, but you only ticked a brow and kept dicing.

“Only for you,” you replied.

Sebastian donned a surprised frown and couldn’t stop himself from shooting you a coy smile. That was… new— a roll of distant thunder from a storm he was anxious to get caught in, one that had his very hyper-ecstatic brain somersaulting over and in on itself.

“So,” you started, scraping the contents from your cutting board into the boiling cauldron, “you were late too?”

“Yep,” he admitted as he poured his own ingredient in after yours.

“Mmm, why?” 

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. Why. The answer promised to accelerate things tenfold. He was usually quick with his words, but his wit was still in recovery.

“Uh, sorry, just a second,” he stalled, patting the last of the liquid out of the bowl.

As he did so, he was subjected to yet another pressure, a new pressure, a pleasant pressure: your eyes on him. You’d lifted them, fixed them to his ‘occupied’ gaze before they fell to inspect his forearms, then ticked up to his tie, and then below his waist. 

Sebastian swallowed, and suddenly the heat from every station in the room was palpable. You’d just checked him out, a fact that had blood rushing somewhere it shouldn’t be in Potions of all places. Sebastian had always thought himself an unbothered individual, one rarely ‘caught off guard’ or ‘blindsided’… ‘gagged’…

No, he reminded himself, clearing his throat as he set the measuring bowl down. You’ve got the ace here, not her. You were being far more forward than he’d expected, and in such little time too. He'd planned on drawing this out, but you were devouring his bait faster than he could lay it and had begun to set your hungry eyes on him. He'd have to usher in the final act now.

“Can’t do two things at once,” he fibbed, wiping his hands on a rag.

You nodded, gaze picking him apart.

“Why I was late?”

“Yeah. Party hard or something?” You struck smugly, like a bolt of lightning.

It was distant, but a storm nonetheless. You wanted to play, and caution, no longer a viable factor, had Sebastian sneering over his hand of cards, anxious to come out on top… or bottom, it didn’t much matter to him.

“Nah, just had trouble waking up... Or rather, didn’t want to wake up.” he finally answered, settling his backside against the work table as he crossed his arms, powerless to stop the smirk that snaked onto his features when he met your gaze, “Was having a good dream.”

Your complacency fractured in the form of a flinch, one that was likely accompanied by a slew of ‘there’s no way he knows,’ but he did know, and he tried his absolute best to exude that fact… not that that was a conclusion you’d ever come to naturally.

Still, you pondered for quite a while, even seemed to nearly lose yourself in the simmering concoction below, until you broke free with a shake of your head, “Sorry, stench of the dead,” you admitted, tossing a thumb at the group closest, “Messes with you head.” You took a deep breath, likely dispelling the ‘crazy,’ but unknowingly valid fear with a polite smile. “A dream? What was it about?”

Sebastian didn’t miss a beat. He needed to add further fuel to the fear before you could dismiss it, so he answered “You, actually,” tone informing like you’d asked him for the time.

You hiccuped, or maybe that had been a squeak? A cough? A squeak-cough. Whatever it was, he kept stirring the cauldron, let silence creep in and gather forebodingly in the stands, demanding a show.

“Me?” You clarified.

“Yep, in the common room,” he added.

You stilled at the incriminating detail, like one step in either direction would snap a twig beneath your feet and alert the monster in the woods, except deep down you knew it was already watching you. The question now, it seemed, was were you going to run or stand your ground. Sebastian watched you mull it over, your gaze bouncing about the station counter.

“By the fireplace?” You whispered, so quietly Sebastian almost didn’t hear it, but in the interest of playing his cards right, he pretended he hadn’t.

“Hmm?” He voiced

Your gaze unfocused. You didn’t answer. You were too busy battling impossibilities to acknowledge him. Instead, you shoved the part of you that wanted to fight down deep which left 'running' as your only option. You turned, fleeing into a small ingredient closet nearby. 

Not so fast.

Sebastian pushed off of the work station and followed after you, catching the closing door of the space so he could slide in after you. 

You'd been quick to busy yourself, distract yourself. You were reaching for a jar of inferi bones one shelf too high for you, the coverage of your skirt stressed to its limits, something that was doing little to tame the taller Slytherin’s intentions. 

“You need help with that?” He asked, his forced normalcy losing its edge.

You didn’t respond. You'd taken interest in pretending none of this was happening, so you committed to the bit, strained harder, finger tips brushing the base of the jar.

Sebastian watched you struggle stubbornly, keeping your back turned, because, in your defense, ignorance was the only sane response to what he was suggesting— that he’d shared your dreams, seen your darkest desires… and yet he had. You’d wished for them, conjured them, wanted them, wanted him, and that fact cornered his resolve to toss the ace on to the table face-up. He stepped forward, planting himself directly behind you so the fringes of your skirt brushed his hips as he mentally unfurled the nocturnal script.

“Use your words love,” he recited, looking down at you as he lifted his fingers to glide up the arm you’d extended.

You shuddered, lashes fluttering when his touch wrapped around your wrist and settled on your hip. He tugged you away from the shelf, lowering your arm as he did so he could guide it through Sectumsempra, just as he had the first night. 

“Tell me what you want.” He continued.

The combination flicked the switch in your mind. Realization poured over you like a waterfall, drenching your expression in rouge and parted your lips as you seemed to revisit fight or flight, only this time Sebastian had opted to take the latter out of the running -- no pun intended -- completely. He hovered behind you, watching realization welcome an eerily gentle breeze of acceptance. It was almost undetectable, but it rippled through your white veil all the same. It brushed it aside, gave him a glance at what he was asking for, warning him, and still he pierced his shovel into the earth and gripped you tighter.

You exhaled shakily, and the breath that poured from your lungs turned your veil black when you finally whispered, "You, Sebastian."

Sebastian sighed and his touch retreated up your arm to grace down the column of your neck.

“Me?” He smiled, following the same script as he dipped his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “What do you need from me?”

You swallowed. You knew what you’d said next beneath the guise of sleep, but your composure was fighting it, fighting a side of you he’d seen and wasn’t afraid of… a fact that eventually slipped the veil from your face and pooled it at his feet.

Sebastian watched it settle, possess you. You turned, found his gaze, and there it was: The Look. The silken, poisonous stare of a cobra, raised and lulled to dance by a melody he’d crafted and played… a look he could never forget. And then you played your part, brazenly.

“I need, gods,” you spoke in turn, taking on the tone you’d whimpered into his ear the previous night.

Sebastian’s heart pounded, desperate and terrified all at the same time. You'd given in, and suddenly he felt the part a hunter, bow trained, arrow nocked, only now his prey had locked eyes with him and hadn’t run. You’d seen the glint of your demise, and still you moved closer, dared him to ‘shoot.’

“Sebastian…” you called.

He leaned closer, entranced, bewitched.

“I need…” you continued, lifting your gaze in time to your electric touch, traveling up his thigh, “… your cock.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched and his frame stiffened when your fingers wrapped around him through his pants. They squeezed, and you, with a soul-eating smirk, found what had plagued him since he’d entered the space. You gave him a stroke and he choked on a groan. Then another. He released the breath he’d held with a trembling shudder.

"Fuck, love-" he started, but you stilled.

“The Astronomy Tower, tonight…”

He nodded, gaze pinned to the way the words looked falling from your lips as his hips chased your touch.

“… just after curfew. Meet me there.”

Another stroke and his vision trimmed with tears. You scoffed, somehow looking down at him despite your position beneath him, and slipped passed him. 

He stayed. Stuck to the floorboards beneath his feet. Heart hammering, throat closing. All at the behest of a sultry, spellbinding, soul-entrapping, set of eyes.

- - -

<<< Previous Chapter

A.N. I know I said this part would be published Friday at 8 PM PST like I was some professional or something... but the quality of this part at 8 PM PST was not up to by STANDARDS. Been workin' workin' day'n'night (literally just five additional hours) to give you a part 3 worth your time.

Ref:

Sebastian Sallow suffered from a chronic case of ‘being in the right place at the right time.’

Was he miffed about the diagnosis? Absolutely not. Not when it made him privy to a conversation like that, with, not to mention, the notable bonus of coming to understand the purpose of the strange, blue artifact. Sebastian chuckled to himself, thumbing over the star’s sanded edge.

Your words had played over and over in his head, loudest of all being the ever-important way you’d said them. Call him crazy, but it had almost sounded like you’d enjoyed the dream, because, hold on, hear him out— Anne’s ‘yuck’ from the depths of her soul had gone notably absent of an ‘I know, right?’ on your part.

You and Anne were close, like sisters close, so to hear — in a way — he hadn’t in fact been auto-sorted into the dreaded ‘like a brother’ category, he figured his chances wouldn’t get any better than this.

You were, by nature, a quiet observer. You were calm and composed, thought about what you said before you said it, and carried yourself like a doe grazing gently in a clearing— only now Sebastian was beginning to suspect something else lurked beneath your amber coat.

Within the sanctity of your dream, you’d guided him behind you like he belonged there, and had spoken to him like he ought to know that. It was a combination he’d never seen, and frankly wouldn’t see, the likes of during the waking hours, a realization that had him cornering his resolve to visit you again tonight— find out what was behind the ‘kiss him or pants him’ look you’d shot him.

Sebastian pulled the Dreamvisitor from his pocket. He didn’t want to part from it, but all of him had to admit it was far safer beneath his pillow than in his pocket during a duel. The last thing he needed was it tumbling out of said pocket and rolling to the feet of today’s opponent. You.

He sighed, staring at the dormant star. Dueling had always cleared his mind, but something about last night, and the confirmation he was anxious for it to serve, threatened to bring a side of him to the fight he wasn’t sure he could control.

-~- You -~-

Crushing on someone, you’d decided, was both the best and worst thing that could happen to a person.

On the one end of it, the word ‘bored’ no longer existed in your vocabulary. History of Magic with Boring Bins? Decidedly not. History of Magic with your best friend’s hot brother? Decidedly so.

Then there was the worser half of it all. The half where you acted a bumbling fool in front of said best friend’s hot brother. You’d see him from afar, down the hall, or even across the table, and before you could say ‘a pixie picked a pack of pickled poppies,’ your heart was hammering, your throat was closing, and most infuriating of all, you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

The eyes were the window to one’s soul. Narrowed and cold, distant and guarded, warm and comforting… ack. It didn’t matter. All were traitorous. You could always rely on them to give away your opponent's next move, always… unless it was Sebastian Sallow.

Sebastian stood before you, big, brown, doe eyes eating at your resolve like you were sugar in water. Damn him. He was too hot for his own good, and with that characteristic smirk painted along his lips, you’d swear he knew it. You tore your gaze from his, salvaging what was left of your composure, and took a deep breath, silencing the humdrum from a crowd that had gathered along the Clock Tower wall.

“By majority vote, and a landslide at that, the Crossed Wands have named their most-desired duel: y/l/n vs Sallow!” Lucan called.

You shook the tension from your wrist, letting the magic slow your breathing, tame your heart. If you couldn’t get a hold of yourself, banish this elementary avoidance of one stupidly gorgeous pair of eyes; you had no hope of winning this thing.

“Duelists, take your marks!”

You took another deep breath and the crowd quieted.

He’s just a boy.

A thrumming wand.

Just your best friend’s annoying brother.

One opponent.

Who wants absolutely nothing to do with you.

One target.

Your gaze snapped up in time to the small spark that shot from Lucan’s wand into the rafters. With a crack, it exploded, showering embers that fell like smoking stars. Game on.

The smirk Sebastian had flashed you earlier held true. He struck first, snapping his wand in an attempt to throw your wand from your grasp.

“Expelliarmus!”

You tucked and rolled, letting it sap into the stone wall behind you as you headed for the center of the room. Once there, you landed on a bent knee and swept your wand up and through Levioso.

The spell soared towards him like a swallow over a field, but Sebastian summoned Descendo. Yellow clashed with purple, and the colors tore each other apart in a fantastical display of opposing forces. The crowd ‘ooo’d’ and ‘ahh’d,’ but you didn’t have time for sightseeing, not when the boy was raising his wand for another attack. You had to find his eyes, and though it cut your heart short of a full beat, you found them. Mischief. Jinx.

You stood to your feet, blocking the Levicorpus he cast at your feet— a jinx, but Levicorpus? He was really going to hoist you into the air by your ankle? In front of at least thirty students?

You tilted your head, allowing the addictive burn of revenge to lace itself into your magic.

“Confringo.”

The incantation pushed through your clenched teeth and the emotion incarnate roared to life, but Sebastian kept his eyes on you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you froze, helpless to the grin etching its way into his features as he let the flame barrel toward him. A game of chicken with a blasting curse? Bold, and a notch too attractive for you.

At the last second, Sebastian side-stepped the assault like a curtain blown aside by a gust of wind. He watched the fire blacken the stone as it feasted on dust that lay atop it before it wilted, starving to death, then turned back to you.

“Confringo?” He mouthed over the amusement that poured from him like smoke. Or was that pride? Whatever it was, that gaze had no right pooling heat between your legs during a duel.

Damn it! He was trying to get into your head. Toss that, he was in your head. You lashed out, flicking your wand through Flipendo.

Sebastian blocked the jinx and sent an Accio of his own in return. You pulled a shield over your frame, bracing for its impact, but it was what he did next that rendered your seasoned experience near innate.

Sebastian wormed his wand to the side and spun it, and the spell you should’ve blocked pivoted left. Spells didn’t do that. They remained true, but it turned out your fellow Slytherin was the Top Duelist for a reason.

Before you could track its movement, your feet were lifted from the floor beneath you as the spell sank into your back. Caught in a force that cascaded over your shoulders and wrapped around your waist, you were pulled toward the boy who had summoned you. You kicked furiously, catching the grooves of the stone with the tips of your shoes, but it was a fruitless pursuit.

Though not nearly as insulting as being upended by your ankle, hovering helplessly before Sebastian Sallow in front of a crowd of now nearly fifty had its qualms. For one, hearing students snicker, followed by the rattle of monetary exchange, had you refusing to come to terms with this being the outcome. And secondly, the way he was looking at you, victorious, smug, like you were his to manipulate… had molten lava surging through your veins in one direction and one direction only.

“Haven’t seen that one yet, now have we?” He taunted, soft locks falling to gravity as he looked up at you.

His dark eyes settled on yours. He was close. Too close. A breath away from his chin brushing your abdomen. He’d only ever been this close in your dreams, dreams that often ended with distance being a long-forgotten stranger— dreams that often had him speaking to you as he did now.

“Want something, princess?” He slithered.

You avoided his gaze, an attempt to shut him out that also served to refuse him what he wanted. Still, he persisted, breath sailing over the part of your midrift that had been exposed in your airborne resistance.

“Be a good girl and ask.”

You shuddered. Sensual arrogance was pouring out of him, and though every nerve in your body wanted to swallow all he had to give, you noticed something. Plucking up the courage to peer once more into those damned brown eyes, you found something flickered beneath it all. Call you crazy, but it almost looked like Sebastian could see right through you, knew what he was doing to you, and either of those being even a slight possibility scared the living shit out of you.

With a sudden jolt, you flexed a knee forward. Sebastian dodged the physical attack with expected grace, but hadn’t accounted for your foot that made contact with his wand. It clattered to the floor and you caught yourself in a crouch as his hold on you was broken. The crowd went silent, transactions frozen beneath stolen conversations as all eyes were pinned to you, including Sebastian’s, but you avoided them all, focusing on his chest at the end of your wand, and then the Clock Tower erupted with cheers.

Sebastian stood before you disarmed, shocked, and was starting to extend a hand of congratulations, but you ran. You ran, because faster than you could say ‘a pixie picked a pack of pickled poppies,’ your heart was hammering, your throat was closing, and scariest of all, your best friend’s annoying brother might just want something to do with you.

-~- Sebastian -~-

Sebastian stood dumbfounded in the center of the Clock Tower, wand still at his feet, eyes trained on the corridor you’d fled down. Confused with a dash of existential crisis. That’s what he was. He thought he’d finally caught on, and if he hadn’t, just what had been that moment where he’d held you over him? He’d seen the look in your eye. It had been brief, but it had been the one and the same one you’d given him in the Undercroft… the one he would never forget… There was no misinterpreting that look.

“Just what did you do now?” Anne asked, arms folded tighter than a boa constrictor.

Sebastian shook his gaze loose only to get caught in Anne’s suspicious stare, “Gee, I dunno, lost?”

His twin blinked about twenty times in three seconds, “Don’t play dense, Sebastian.”

He pretended to rack his brain, even gave it a confused squint, but twin telepathy was real, and it was being exercised now.

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried, hiding from her scrutiny in the interest of picking up his wand.

He stood, scrubbing at a scratch on the handle, then just about jumped out of his skin when he caught the look his sister had fixed to him— one she’d one hundred percent inherited from their mom.

“What did you say to her?”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. He could share some of that information.

“Haven’t seen that one yet, now have we?” He repeated.

“That’s it?”

He threw her a stiff, but wounded toss of his head, “Yes, Anne, that’s it.” A beat. She wasn’t buying it. “Now, am I free to go mourn the loss of my crown?”

Anne didn’t respond verbally. Instead, she pivoted her gaze toward the same hall he’d gazed down, looked back toward him, narrowed her eyes, and then turned to leave.

“I’m gonna go ask y/n,” she disclosed, and once she’d carried herself a liberal distance from her brother, called over her shoulder, “And Sebastian, please wipe the drool from your mouth, you love-sick puppy.”

Sebastian frowned and practically smacked himself with the back of his hand. It wasn’t wet. He wasn’t drooling? Wait— love-sick? Puppy? And ‘I’m gonna go ask y/n?’

“Anne, wait! Don’t you dare!”

“No dare, just doing!” She exclaimed, then skipped around the corner and out of sight.

* * *

Anne wasn’t the type to sabotage, that much Sebastian knew, but having zero idea as to what she’d said about him was damn near torture. Against his wishes, his mind had run through all the possible ways the conversation could’ve gone, and that, in combination with his vital desire to sleep, had dragged the sun through the sky like a troll’s club behind a troll.

But now, with candles extinguished and curtains drawn, Sebastian, for the first time in his academic career, was going to bed early. He lay on his side, staring at the star that shone deeply. Now knowing its purpose, the Slytherin was faced with the burden of making a choice that teetered atop one assumed fact: your unconscious mind was more comfortable with him than your waking one.

Sebastian was fighting a two-pronged battle. In his right hand, he wrestled the ethics of it all, and in his left, his carnal desire to dip into what he’d been teased with the previous night. Part of him understood it was wrong, but a greater part of him knew that just as in the waking world, he wouldn’t try anything you didn’t want him to. Your dreams were of your own conscience— it was you, and if you really didn’t want him that close, he’d back off, pocket the star for a life-or-death situation, and go with plan B, that is, take you to the hidden library— even if that was just as friends.

He sighed, content with his reasoning, and finally shut his eyes.

* * *

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open over a languid intake of the cold, dungeon air. It was dark, and what he could see of his room was lit faintly by the blue glow that emanated from beneath his covers. He frowned. Had it not worked?

He felt for the star and pulled it out, but seconds before he could interrogate it, he noticed the empty side of the room that Ominis’ bed usually occupied. He was pretty sure that had been clear and present when he’d gone to sleep. Maybe it had worked. If so, where were you?

That’s when his attention was drawn to his open dorm room door, firelight spilling along the wall. Through there, likely.

He padded over to it, squinting against the orange light, and once his eyes adjusted, he found you sitting before the common room fireplace, the same one he’d met you in front of years ago. You were alone, wrapped inside what looked to be a bed sheet as you bit at your fingers nervously. This was a dream. It had to be, a fact made sure by the strange geography of the dorm, and because it was a dream, he needed to act like it wasn’t.

Sebastian knocked gently on a side table, “Y/n?”

You turned and met his eyes, “Hey, Sebastian.”

He smiled, enjoying the gaze he could never quite find, “Are you ok?”

A sigh, “Yeah, just missed you.”

Sebastian tied his brows down. Don’t react. Instead, he took that as a sign he could get closer. He rounded the sofa and joined you on the carpet a generous distance away, then remembered he could talk.

“Missed you too.” And he really did. He hadn’t been alone with you in Merlin knew how long.

You hummed, adjusting your grip on your bed sheet before you scooted closer to him and lay your head against his shoulder. While he was able to soften his shock, he was unable to stop the turn of his head. Your cover had slipped down the side of your arm, revealing the dark viridian top you wore. It was a lace of some sort, a single strap over your exposed shoulder that held up a small amount of silk over your bare chest. Sebastian swallowed, hard.

And then you caught him staring.

He snapped his head forward, burning his gaze in the flames for its crimes, but then your touch was turning his head back to you. It was soft, warm, and raised goosebumps where it landed. His lips parted over a shudder and his eyes fluttered in time to the chill that ran down his spine.

“Sebastian,” you called, and the velvet with which you’d said his name matched the look in your eyes.

It was The Look, and it rendered him mute. What was English? What was any language for that matter when the girl he'd fallen madly in love with was looking at him like this? Like she was going to kiss him.

He swallowed again, chancing a misdemeanor at your lips that earned him a smile, a gentle thumb along his cheek, and a look of your own at his. He leaned forward, hesitantly, mouth watering when your breath ghosted along his cheek, and then you kissed him.

Sebastian was unable to catch the voiceless whimper that escaped his throat. It was so real, and Salazar be damned that this was a dream. For all intents and purposes, you’d kissed him, wanted to kiss him, and were kissing him now. For how many years had he wanted this? Three? Three hundred? Three million? It felt like that latter, and that fact tethered dreams and reality into the one and only here and now.

Sebastian revelled in it, tangled his fingers in your hair, inhaled the scent that was distinctively you... and though he’d been trying maintain the purity of it, the fact that you too were dreaming of this, feeling all of this, a hall and a door down, had him hiding its effect on him with a bent knee.

Then you mumbled his name against his lips.

“Sebastian~” It was soft, so soft and wanting, and it hit him far too hard between the legs for him to keep quiet.

He voiced a gentle groan, pulling away to steady himself before whatever this was pulled him under. He looked down at you and found your gaze again, one you held poisonously as your touch sailed down his neck and coiled around his tie.

You didn’t say anything, but the want that had been laced in your tone now veiled over your eyes. You were asking for something… asking for him, and who was he to deny you that?

He leaned toward you, intent on giving you anything you wanted, but then you fell backward on an elbow, pulling him over you by your still present hold on his tie. Sebastian huffed with disbelief. This was you. This was the real you. The one that met his gaze with confidence and was comfortable in his presence. A version of you he was falling for all over again. Sebastian smiled, memorized what it was like to have you beneath him, wanting, then let his lips capture yours once again.

He kissed you gently, content with your earlier pace, but needed to let you know you had his full support in taking this further. He sighed, settling a hesitant hand against your side and you moaned. He squeezed his grip, letting the mix of your cool silk and warm skin untie his tongue so it could swipe along your bottom lip, begging to cradle your own.

A sigh, another moan, and you let him have his way, shuffling beneath him as you pulled your cover from your frame. He wandered everywhere he could, up and around your back, along your torso, and down your hips. You were perfect, so perfect. Sebastian loved you, every part of you, and decided he'd lay his confession your dreams.

“Gods, I love you,” he whispered between kisses, “So much.” And then he was mouthing at your throat.

You gasped, letting the sensation pull you into a quiet cry as you guided his touch to your breast. Sebastian obeyed and sank into the flesh with a faltering groan as his hips dipped toward you, but he caught himself with a knee. Kissing you was everything, touching you, a plane of existence he'd never hoped to reach, but that? Him? Between your legs? Because he loved you, he'd need you to ask for that specifically.

For now, he kept himself busy with your neck, sucking your skin between his teeth because he was positive his craftsmanship would remain a thing of only this world. The thought pulled him back. He wanted to see you marked by him, and was met with an agonizingly erotic sight. You lay beneath him, dazed by him, neck ravished by him, and the small top you’d worn had been pushed up, leaving your chest entirely exposed.

“Fucking hell,” he stuttered, and brushed his knuckles over you.

One caught the peak of your breast and you whimpered loudly. You’d liked that. Sebastian let a toothless grin settle onto his features and swiped a thumb over it. Another whimper. Gods, he loved those sounds, and so, lips parted, eyes blurring, he continued the ministration, drowning in your cries.

Your chest began to rise and fall in time to his attention, your eyes fighting to stay open as your lips parted perfectly over your melancholic distress.

“Does that feel good?”

He knew it did, but something about seeing you nod languidly at him felt more than right, and it seemed you felt the same. In addition to your response, you now rolled your hips toward him… and that… that had his cock twitching painfully between his legs. Still, he needed you to ask.

“Use your words, love,” he pleaded, “Tell me what you want.”

Your brows knit together at his request, “You, Sebastian.”

The Slytherin shuddered, but he needed more.

“Me? What do you need from me?"

He held his breath, watching you struggle for the words when he pinched and rolled the nub of your breast.

“I need, gods,” you whined, then lifted a heavy head to peer between him and you, “Sebastian, I need your cock.”

Your words hit him hard, but not as hard as your foot that kicked his knee out from beneath him. In one fell swoop, he landed between your legs, now a victim twice to that fatal kick of yours. All the oxygen in his being was punched from his lungs. Through trembling lips, he inhaled sharply, blinking through the stars in his vision as his hard cock pressed deliciously against your clothed cunt. You were warm, so warm, and when you adjusted beneath him so his length slipped past your near-nonexistent shorts and against your soaked heat, Sebastian shuddered.

“God fucking damn it,” he cursed.

He gave a hesitant roll of his hips, letting your slick coat his cock entirely. It felt good. He rolled his hips again. Too fucking good, and if this was how you felt outside... he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

Mind clouded with lust, he distracted himsel with what only felt natural. With a hand still on your breast, he let his lips attach to the other. He took the bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and earned himself a disastrous moan from you. You rounded your own hips into his, grinding against him to a rhythm that saw his climax approaching far too fast.

Gods, he was close. Embarrasingly so.

“Y/n, wait, I’m close,” he whimpered against your chest, hot breath fanning over the wet skin as he tried to hold back.

You didn’t stop. He looked up at you. The Look.

You were wrecked, intoxicated, pupils blown wide, drunk on him, and it seemed it was exactly what you wanted. You threw a leg over his hip and pulled him against you, then ground your hips harder.

“Come, Sebastian,” you hummed, tethering his gaze with yours, "Be a good boy and come."

It was too much. Too much for the boy that, outside of your dreams, was forced to beg for even an ounce of your attention, so, with a pathetic cry, Sebastian did as he was told. His shoulders shook, his arm trembled, and as his length pulsed and ecstasy rushed through his frame, he didn’t look away from you. You watched him fall apart, looked at him like he belonged between your legs and he should know that… and that took the ground right out from beneath him.

He collapsed on top of you, whimpering helplessly as your fingers threaded into his hair, and though he fought it nobly, in the end, he slipped from your world.

* * *

Sebastian shot up, chest heaving as a waning pleasure buzzed between his legs. He ripped his covers back, and as he’d expected, the dream had translated over into real life.

“Fuck.”

It was the perfect word, and he meant every version of it that existed. Gods, it had felt so real. So fucking real, and the best part? It technically had been. Your dream, your conscience, your choice. You’d kissed him, you’d pulled his fingers to your breast; you’d asked for his cock, and you had told him to come. Sebastian laughed softly. Never in a million years would he have thought that lay beneath a doe like you, but as he’d suspected — and now he knew — something downright sinister lurked beneath your coat. The challenge now was getting you to let it loose, to wreak havoc on him in the waking world.

With a sigh, he pulled his pajama pants from his legs and tossed them in his hamper, then rummaged quietly through his dresser for a new pair of underwear and sweatpants. He did his best, even dragged the Dreamvisitor over to provide a bit of light, but as he searched, a realization paused his digging.

He hadn’t been wearing his pajamas in your dream. He’d been wearing his uniform, with a tie, specifically— something he’d started going without because he couldn’t spare thirty seconds most mornings. Sebastian felt his lips tighten into a smirk. It seemed you had a favorite. He could spare thirty seconds. He continued his digging with newfound fervor, found the pair he was looking for, slipped into them and the new pair of underwear, then fell back into bed with a grin.

It was safe to say Sebastian Sallow knew what he was going to wear tomorrow.

- - -

“Who’s down here!?”

With a criminally loud thunk, Sebastian hit the back of his head against the bookshelf he was digging through. 

Shit. Madam Scribner. Did the damn woman ever sleep?

“Mr. Sallow, if that’s you…”

He needn’t hear the rest because it was him, and if her incoming threat was to come to fruition, he wouldn’t have a way out of it this time. He was the furthest into the Restricted Section he’d ever been, and given Scribner’s footsteps echoed from the direction his only exit lay in, he’d have to push deeper, hide inside a sarcophagus or something. 

Sebastian scrambled down the ladder he’d topped, landing on his feet with the practiced grace of stray cat. He darted left and down the stairs, the same stairs that had a nasty habit of resurrecting the evening Peeves had ripped from him— the evening he’d planned to kiss you. 

Now, was he sure he hadn’t been rushing into things? No, not entirely, but part of him then — and all of him now — knew you were someone he wanted to keep around. 

He couldn’t explain it in detail because he didn’t understand it ‘in detail.’ It was just a feeling. A feeling that made him feel ten times lighter when you were by his side, and a feeling that had him diving deeper into the Restricted Section night after night in search of anything that might give him an excuse to talk to you. 

If Sebastian hadn’t been currently running for his right to graduate, he would’ve kicked himself for the elementary stratagem, but seeing as Scribner had knocked her knickers into full pursuit, the Slytherin figured he should hide before he ran out of runway.

He paused and darted his eyes about his surroundings, but aside from a troll statue, it seemed his best option was still forward and down the last flight of stairs. With a ceding frown, he fled into the cold corridor. 

Tears from the Black Lake spilled down its walls, clueing Sebastian in on just how far down he’d found himself, but the damning realization was quickly forgotten with a gust of wind.

Sebastian paused at the foot of the stairs. Wind? How? This section of the castle was underwater. He shook his head. Why was he questioning his a way out of what might damn well near be a guaranteed expulsion?

He extended his hand and caught the icy current. Left. Two bookshelves. That had to be it. He traced his fingers gently over the sliver of space between them. His assumption had been correct, but how to open it? He pulled at a statue on one of the shelves. Nothing. Then a large, ornate book. Nothing. He pushed another book in that stuck out a smidge too far. Nothing.

Damn it! That's always how it worked in the novels.

He whirled around. His mind raced back to the sarcophagus option, but there were none in sight.

He backed against the bookshelves like a cornered animal. Scribner would cross that threshold any second, and thus would be the four-month, premature end to his Hogwarts career. With an exasperated sigh, he readied himself to face the woman's wrath, but then his heel landed against a different section of the stone floor beneath him, and he was falling backwards. 

The passageway had opened, revealing a slope one could definitely walkdown if they’d been expecting it. Instead, the boy practically somersaulted his way through it. He bumped his head there, knocked an elbow here, and by the time he’d recovered, he didn’t need the light from the closing bookshelves to know he was covered in cobwebs. 

Spiders. Sebastian ripped his wand from his side and cast the ‘save-all’ incendio. Flames swept in every direction, curling up and around him, but the orange glow soon revealed the only threat lay upstairs. The sliver of pale light was growing brighter and the wind that wrapped his robe around his legs threatened to clue the librarian in on the passage's exisistence too.

He flicked his wand toward the narrow hall, “Ventum obice.” 

The words weaved themselves into the breeze, reversing its path so it now blew his curls out of his face, and with a subsequent colloportus, the stone he’d unknowingly triggered locked into place. He held his breath, gaze pinned to his saving gateway until Scribner muttered something about being ‘too old for this’ as her footsteps retreated back up the stairs. 

Sebastian’s shoulders fell in time to the relief from his lips. 

Thanks dark, secret, ominous passageway.

He smiled, finally dusting the cobwebs from his frame. You’d liked that one, and speaking of you, there had to be something — aside from the passage itself — he could tell you about in here. 

"Lumos."

White light settled atop his wand, illuminating all he would ‘tell you about.’

Sebastian had found himself in the secret room of all secret rooms. Along either side of him, shelves upon shelves of books rooted themselves to the floorboards before they branched out overhead like trees. Tomes and objects held inside defied gravity, their spines and twisting shapes looking down on him like curious demiguise. The room was massive, so much so the upper section of the library was concealed in an enchanted night sky, and yet, despite the grandeur, what entranced him more than all of that was an object in the center of the cavernous room.

Reflecting in the boy’s dark brown irises was an eight-point star, awakened by the light it now drank from his wand. He padded towards it, and as he did so, it brightened, but not in the way he’d expected. It didn’t light the room, nor did he need to shield his eyes. No, its light deepened. It grew a fantastical blue, one that pulled him closer like a cold room and warm covers did after one too many hours spent awake. 

Sebastian tilted his head, coming to a stop at the foot of the pedestal it sat upon.

“What are you?” He whispered.

He reached for the star and placed a cautious finger atop it. Almost expectantly, it was cool to the touch, soothing, and quickly convinced him he should take it into his hand. 

With eyes fixed to it, Sebastian gently tossed the light on his wand toward the ceiling where it settled, and slumped into an arm chair nearby. 

Citing the pedestal in the center of the room, it was clear the space had been made for the artifact; what wasn’t clear, however, was what it was, and why it needed to be hidden in the Restricted Section— a double-dose of forbidden.

Almost reluctantly, he looked away from it and placed the star in his pocket. If there were answers anywhere, they had to be in here. 

For the next few hours, Sebastian scoured the shelves, skimming through and peering into books that piqued his interests — which was just about all of them — and the whole time he couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming. He was swimming through information, drowning in random facts, and his quest to discover the purpose of the star was long forgotten. He was a kid in the candy capital, and once he’d run his ‘sugar high,’ he crashed appropriately.

Against his will, the words on the pages began to blur. He fought it, even pulled the lumos from the center of the room to light the parchment, but eventually, inevitably, he lost the battle. His lashes fluttered shut, mind giving in to the lazy current that wound toward the isle of sleep, and along the way, he couldn’t help but think of you.

* * *

“Sebastian, come help me with this, would you?”

Sebastian frowned. Where— What—?

“Sebastian? Hello?” You called, waving your hand in front of his face, “Anyone home?”

He looked down at his feet. He was standing. Then up at you, over your shoulder. The Undercroft. 

“S-sorry,” he answered, tightening his slack jaw as he shuffled over to help you, apparently, move a couch.

What was going on? He’d just been— had it been— no, he’d fallen asleep there. No one wakes up standing. He looked at you to ask you what was going on, but considering he’d rather you fancy him than think him mad, he opted to figure it out on his own. 

With a huff you set down your end of the couch and he followed suit.

“That should be enough space, yeah?” You asked, knuckles planted against your hips.

He nodded fruitlessly, watching you make your way to the center of the Undercroft. Maybe you were practicing spells, or maybe wielding that Ancient Magic of yours he could never take his eyes off of, but judging by the way you cocked a brow at him, neither seemed to be correct.

“Sebastian? You ok?” A hand was back on your hip.

Ok? Not exactly. He had no idea what you were talking about or how he’d gotten here.

He shot you an embarrassed smile, “Nothing, just… thinking.”

You smiled back at him and his heart fluttered.

“You already do enough of that. Now get over here! You promised!”

Another embarrassed smile with a dash of fear. What had he promised that had you looking at him like that? Like you might kiss him, or pants him, or both? He shook the question off. Did it really matter? Who was he to deny you anything? 

He headed towards you, a cautious weight lugging around his ankles, but once he’d neared you enough, you grabbed him by the cuff of his robe and guided him behind you… centimeters behind you.

Sebastian swallowed as the cold heat of proximity prickled at his skin. What in Merlin’s name did you do, Sebastian?

You continued, moving his fingers so they wrapped around your wrist, then went to place his other hand on your thigh. Absolutely not. Sebastian tried to pull back, but you turned further into him and pouted.

“Seb, you said you’d help me.”

His wide gaze betrayed his inner turmoil, flattening your expression.

“Did you seriously forget?”

He wanted to answer, he did, but with your frame brushing against his inner thigh, it was a hopeless cause.

“Merlin, you did forget!” You shook your head, blurring the blush that crept along your soft features, “You said you’d help me nail the spell.”

He stared blankely. You huffed, then leaned further into him.

“Sectumsempra.” you whispered.

Sebastian looked down at you and practically melted. You were so close, and through dark lashes, you wore a shade of mischief that struck his composure harder than physical touch ever could.

What was going on? Just yesterday he’d worked up every nerve in his body to sit next to you at lunch, just for you to scoot an inch away from him once he’d done so— and he couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had been alone in the Undercroft. Trust Merlin, he’d tried, but you always had an excuse, a fact that had him wondering if perhaps this was the dream.

That’s when he saw it. Between his and your robes, a rich, blue light poured from his pocket. The star.

The hand still innocent of resting on your thigh dove into his robe and pulled it out, it cooling his touch as his features were bathed in blue.

He looked back to you.

“Alright Sebastian,” you declared, taking a step back, “What’s the matter with you.”

He scrunched his brow and parted his lips, ready to wave the gleaming artifact in front of you like a lollipop, but that’s when he noticed your complexion was immune to its glow. Your skin was still lit by the candelabras overhead and your gaze only reflected his empty hand. 

You couldn’t see it. 

He shoved it back in his pocket, the image of him presenting 'sod all' to a very confused you was enough to fuel his nightmares for a week straight. 

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, “Nothing’s the matter! Just uh, thought I— never mind.”

You were suspicious, gaze narrowed, head turned, but still you settled back against him. This time, he placed his hand on your thigh and positioned your stance, pulled you close, and tightened his grip on your wrist.

“Sectumsempra, right?”

You nodded slowly and pulled your attention off of him and onto your wand. 

Sebastian guided you through the invisible symbol over and over, and you eventually eased back into him. On any other day, under any other circumstances, he’d have leaned into you, mind racing through the thousands of ways he could take things one step further… but tonight… today? Gods, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, he needed to figure out just what it was he’d stuffed in his pocket. 

* * *

Sebastian had a habit of staying up late, glued to books he soon fell asleep with, so when his enchanted pocket watch began ringing like an alarm, he wasn’t surprised— but what did surprise him was where he woke up. 

He sat up, craning a sore shoulder to reach for the rattling timekeeper. He clicked it off and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He was surrounded by piles of books, and beyond them, an underground library with stars still settled overhead like the one in his pocket. 

His fingers brushed over its sharp edges.

It had been a dream? 

If it had been, it had been the realest dream he’d ever had. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but Sebastian had had plenty of dreams that had followed the plot of him being close to you— and often more… Be that as it may, none of them had ever felt so real. 

Sebastian dug the heels of his hands into his eyes with a sigh. The stale air of the Undercroft, the heat of your frame against his, the swell of your thigh— all of it as real as the thin carpet he sat on now and the chill that crept beneath his robe. 

He dropped his hands and peered at the star in his pocket.

"You’re guilty," he mumbled.

He couldn’t explain it. He just knew, and was absolutely going to find out why.

* * *

On his trek back to his room, Sebastian discovered something worth knowing. Madam Scribner was no where to be found, and that fact had the Slytherin rearranging his sleep schedule to fit such a timeline on his way to the dungeon restrooms. 

He didn’t have time to change. Besides, a wrinkly robe was more common than an ironed one these days, so a washed face and wet fingers through his hair would more than suffice. 

If Scribner is asleep now, she probably went to bed just after I discovered the room. So, if I sleep from ten to two, I can probably bring y/n down there about three and we can be out by five…

“Anne, I’m telling you, it was the craziest thing.”

You stepped from the girl's restroom, head turned toward who he naturally assumed was his twin, and Sebastian about tumbled over himself coming to a stop. He spun backward, punching the air out of his lungs when he slammed against the stone wall.

“Your dream?” Anne asked, her classic skepticism clear and present.

“Yes, my dream.” You replied.

A pause.

“You sure it wasn’t just a lucid one? Drink too much apple juice or something last night?”

“No, I didn’t. Not a lick of it. And I don’t think apple juice makes you feel dreams.”

“Oh, yuck!” Anne exclaimed, “Don't you dare tell me! I don’t want to know!”

You laughed, and though the sound of it always made him smile, the prospect of what Anne’s ‘yuck’ entailed kept him stone-still. 

“Stop it! Not like that! You really think I’d tell you about this if that’s what it involved?”  

“I’d hope not…” Anne chuckled.

“Look,” you started, “all we were doing was practicing a spell in the Undercroft, I swear— and I’m only sharing it with you because it was crazy real.”

A pause. Practicing a spell? The Undercroft? Sebastian's breath caught in his throat and he pulled the star out of his pocket to stare at it.

“Crazy real because what?" Anne snickered, "You felt my brother?”

“Oh never mind!” You exclaimed, “You're impossible!”

His twin laughed now, "Hey! You could always ask Professor Onai about it in Div!”

You didn't reply, only your footsteps could be heard echoing on the stone beneath you as you fled, forcing Sebastian to scramble around a corner and out of sight. 

His chest heaved, swallowing gallons of dank dungeon air in an attempt to let reality sink in. What in Salazar’s snively snake?

He’d been in your dream, but more than that, he’d been in your dream— and the star he held in his hand was to blame, no, to thank. He looked to it again, and suddenly its deep glow held an immeasurable sense of value as he turned it over in his hands. 

It was a Dreamvisitor.

- - -

A.N. I can confirm this is the one and same Dreamvisitor from the Wings of Fire series.

Your desk was empty, again, and it was with escalating curiosity Sebastian realized he hadn’t seen you since your last conversation in the Undercroft weeks ago.

He’d sent you his owl a couple of times, both of which you had yet to reply to, but any additional flights would only paint him as desperate— but the irony was he was, in fact, desperate. 

In the days following the incident in the tomb, Sebastian found himself thinking about you more and more. 

Ominis had been avoiding him, Anne wasn’t speaking to him, and both had been convinced he should ‘pay for what he’d done,’ until you had convinced them otherwise, saved him from a fate worse than death, and — above it all — hadn’t been angry with him. No, you’d been, dare he say, supportive. You’d extended your hand, thrown a rope to him even though he’d willingly walked the plank, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around why. 

Suffice it to say, if someone were to dunk Sebastian into a Pensieve, they’d be overwhelmed with his memories of you.

“Ay, Prewett,” Sebastian called, throwing his elbow over the back of his chair, “Don’t suppose you’ve seen y/n around, have you?”

“Haven’t,” the Gryffindor replied curtly, “I’d assume it has something to do with Professor Fig, but the lass hasn’t so much as stepped a toe into any classroom since the first day of school.”

Sebastian frowned. He hadn’t even noticed. He’d been too distracted by the tomes he’d slotted within his larger textbooks to realize this had been a year-long ordeal. Some friend he was.

Leander started again, “You know what, I did see her, come to think of it.”

Sebastian waited for him to elaborate, even rolled his wrist forward to spur him on, but the smug curl of his classmate’s lip told him there was a toll to be exacted. Oh, for crying out loud. 

“What?” His tone caught the snap of the whipping thought.

Leander shifted in his seat and folded his arms, brows wriggling, “I dunno… you tell me, Sallow.”

“Tell you what?” He wasn’t in the mood to play this game.

Leander deflated, “Why do you need to know where y/n is all of a sudden?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like that, Prewett. She just borrowed some old notes from fourth-year, and I need them back.”

Leander narrowed his eyes, but in the end, his white lie survived his peer’s inspection.

“Whatever you say, Sallow.” Leander said with a toss of his brow, “But if you must know, I’ve seen her trampin’ into the Forbidden Forest ‘bout nine o’clock every night.”

It was Sebastian’s turn to narrow his eyes, “You stalking her or something?”

“Oh, piss off.” He cursed, “No, I’m not. O.W.L.’s are kickin’ my arse, so I’ve been a regular at the Broomsticks. Just happened to see her crossing the Honkin’ Daffodil bridge a couple times.”

“The one with all the spider signs?”

Leander nodded with a suspicious frown.

“Thanks,” he said, ignoring whatever was mumbled under the boy’s breath, and turned to fiddle with his quill.

Just what could you be up to in the Forbidden Forest, at night? Though he, Ominis, and Anne had enjoyed their fair share of excursions into its depths, not even Anne dared to brave the biome without the light of the sun to guide them out. ‘Plain foolishness,’ is what she’d said when the Slytherin Quidditch team had entered the moonlit canopy at the hands of a post-match bet. Oh, how she had laughed when they’d come sprinting down the common room stairs covered in Shooter webs and Mongrel fur. 

The memory was bittersweet, as were all memories of their time together at Hogwarts, though most teetered towards bitter in the recent days. How could it all have gone so wrong?

Sebastian slammed his eyes shut, and a familiar feeling festered in his gut. He’d have said it was guilt, but all he’d done was act on instinct. Between fending off waves of inferi and dodging ruthless attacks from his own uncle, he hadn’t had a choice… and yet he’d made a decision. 

He shook his head.

I cast first, but Solomon struck me countless times before.

I cast Confringo, but Solomon cast Firestorm.

I took his life, but Solomon was trying to take Anne’s.

I took his life for her’s.

I took his life…

“Mr. Sallow, are you feeling alright?” Professor Weasley asked.

He met her gaze through a trim of frustrated tears, “Sorry, Professor. I just- please excuse me.”

She nodded, giving him a worried smile. He stood and shouldered his bookbag, quill shoved next to crumpled, unfinished assignments and overdue tomes. All eyes were on him, but Sebastian blocked them out with your voice.

‘You had no choice, Sebastian. I would have done the same.’

You were right, he’d done what needed to be done, and you were the only one who understood that.

He needed you— more than ever before, and in a way he couldn’t explain.

* * *

Sebastian stood on the metal grate outside your dorm room, the last place he wanted to be given your intolerable roommate, but he’d searched the entire castle for you to no avail. He kicked aimlessly at a divot, praying you would open it, but was soon vastly disappointed.

“Can I help you?” Imelda asked, hand on her hip.

Sebastian was tempted to mirror her demeanor, but he forced an apologetic smile for the time being. 

“Sorry to bother you,” he started, “I was wondering if y/n was here.”

“Nope, never is.” She replied without a glance back into the room.

“Oh, just needed to talk to her.”

“Did I ask?” 

“No, s’pose you didn’t.” Sebastian didn’t afford her a goodbye, just turned and walked back down the hall. The door slammed behind him, but he hardly cared, more concerned with what ‘never is’ meant. 

Sebastian had always assumed you led a normal student life outside of your and his adventures, but then again, after you’d transformed that goblin into a fucking barrel of explosives and hurled it into its fellow loyalists, maybe he’d have to rethink things.

Given he’d been convinced, up until about a week ago, that goblins had been the ones to curse Anne, he’d only had room to sneer at your capital punishment… now? Now it, in combination with your supposed ‘normal’ disappearances, forced him into a need-to-know basis that had him flying up the stairs, diving into the Floo Flame, and out into the moonlit ruins between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest.

His pocketwatch claimed it was nearly nine o’clock, and when Leander Prewett waltzed by, giving far too much attention to the Honking Daffodil bridge, he crouched behind a large pillar and waited for you. 

Sebastian would be lying to himself if he didn’t feel the part a downright git for literally stalking you, but he had a feeling that whatever you were up to was not for him to know, thus up to him to find out. 

This much spoke for itself when, sure enough, you emerged from the green smoke of the Floo Flame in an all-black ensemble he’d yet to see you in, but before he could get a good look, you inadvertently spooked a patch of nearby flowers to honk in cacophonous succession and fell into a light jog.

You were quick, disappearing into the trees before Sebastian had a chance to trail after you. Instead, he called his broom and whisked over the grassy hills, crossed the bubbling stream, and dove into the coniferous threshold.

He caught up to you, barely— just in time to see your figure hang a hard right before a sea of signs that gave weight to the ‘plain foolishness’ of your nocturnal activities, whatever those might be. 

Sebastian pulled back on the ashen handle of his broom, steadying it to a languid glide in the direction you’d gone while his heart hammered in his chest. Where were you going? Wherever it was, you’d been there often enough that you didn’t need the Lumos charm, something he was very tempted to cast given every low-hanging branch looked the part a large spider waiting to pounce. Luckily for him, though, the path you followed widened, allowing him to climb in altitude and watch from above with a clearer view.

His earlier observation had been correct. Everything from your gloves to your boots was black. The only hope of color was in the moonlight that reflected dimly off a metal mask that covered most of your face. It was sharp, tapering down and slightly forward like a beak. 

Why did you need a mask?

Suddenly, the profile of it snapped sideways. Sebastian pulled up, but whatever had drawn your attention had been on the forest floor. You scanned the treeline, quickly throwing your hood over your head before stealing forward. 

He followed you through hollow pockets within the branches, eyes flitting between what was ahead and what was below, a task made increasingly difficult when the path narrowed once more. The deeper you lured him in, the more the forest seemed to come alive. Sebastian could no longer hear the trickle of the stream nor feel the wind against his cheek. The atmosphere was dense, pulsing with the calls of insects that had abandoned their mindless drumming to mimic a beating heart. Trees grew impenetrable, and branches clawed at his robe, forcing Sebastian to watch you squeeze through two trees before a bed of fallen pine needles silenced his landing.

He crept after you, hiding behind the same two trees, and when he peered through them, his breath caught in his throat when his ‘escalating’ curiosity was rendered, well, fully escalated.

“What in Merlin’s name?” He whispered to himself.

You stood before the statue of a cloaked figure nestled in the jagged outcrop of a small ravine. It held out long arms in invitation, centering a bowed head that almost seemed to cry from a run off of water from above. Beside it, casting sentient shadows along the tree line, were two purple flames, writhing in time to the fabric of your coat he could now see clearly. 

You pulled your wand from your side, handle still the same green and black checkered marble as his, and without an ounce of hesitation, you stepped forward into the statue. To Sebastian’s shock, a lithic roll sounded as it lowered its head and crossed its arms, cloaked sleeves trapping you inside.

The breath he’d been consciously holding escaped as a mist into the cold, damp air. Cloaked in black, hiding behind a mask, stepping into a positively medieval statue? Sebastian had always known you hadn’t told him everything, but this? 

On careful feet, he approached the statue, soon standing where you had seconds ago. Like you, he pulled his wand from his side, and the statue opened its arms, mournful eyes boring into his soul. 

Wherever you’d gone, you’d deemed it necessary to conceal your identity. Sebastian didn’t have a serious mask like yours, nor a smoking black robe, but he did have that wolf mask from last year’s masquerade ball. He pulled his own school-affiliated robe from his frame, charming it away before he summoned the mask from the corner of his wardrobe. He snapped it over his head and was left in his dark button-up and darker trousers. Toss Leander, maybe he was stalking you or something.

With a semblance of hesitation more than you’d sported, Sebastian readied his wand, took a deep breath, and stepped into the stone.

* * *

The statue was a portkey. In a sickening flash, Sebastian was catapulted through a black nothingness until his feet slipped against a slick, mud-covered floor. He caught himself on an arm, bowing his frame just enough that he missed a crate flying at unnatural speed overhead. 

Sebastian ducked purposefully now, drawing a stuttered protego to shield himself from the impending debris, but the man the crate had struck hadn’t been as lucky. A large stake had been lodged in his chest, dark crimson staining the dirt-covered shirt he wore, and when he realized what had happened, his terror-stricken eyes met Sebastian’s.

“Help me!”

Sebastian, who’d been frozen in place, melted into action. He flashed forward, fishing in his pockets for Wiggenweld as he kept the man from pulling at the piece of wood.

“Don’t! You’ll bleed out!” He shouted, fingers cuffed around his tattooed wrist… an Ashwinder.

Still, he uncorked the green bottle and poured it into the man’s mouth. It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough, but it was all he could do. 

“More,” the man begged.

Sebastian rifled through his pockets again. He didn’t have any more. He looked to the man to apologize, but it was too late. 

“Levioso!”

Sebastian tucked and rolled, an instinct he owed to Crossed Wands, and the spell whizzed past him. It sapped into a piece of the broken crate instead, but his attacker shouted the levitation charm again. Another duck, another miss, and Sebastian set his sights on a makeshift tower.

Clambering up onto its platform, he whirled around just in time to block a reducto. He arched through expelliarmus, but his wand sparked, showering embers onto his arm as the spell backfired.

“New here, are ya boy?” The approaching Ashwinder smirked, “Appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not how things work around here.” His smirk turned into a sneer, “… Cruci-”

In the blink of an eye, the man was snatched up into the air, and Sebastian, scrambling back into the corner of the tower, watched him soar toward a figure donning the mask of what he now saw to be a raven. 

You cut your wand down, slamming the Ashwinder into the ground with a sickening crack, and spun around to block another attack. You hadn’t seen him.

Afforded a respite he wouldn’t have had otherwise, he gathered his surroundings. He was in an arena of sorts; there was no better way to describe it. Ashwinders littered the space, all actively attacking you. Through the damp mist and by the echo of incantations and explosions, he figured he was underground, an answer to the wet floor he’d slipped on despite the clear night he’d flown through. Walling the arena in were mine-like panels lined with lanterns of a similar nature, as well as two more towers like the one he’d taken refuge in. On one end of the chaos, he spotted a gate that had been drawn shut, but behind it all, there wasn’t a soul in sight— strange since arenas usually sported a healthy crowd. 

What was this place, but more importantly, what were you doing here?

He turned his attention back to you. You stood over the hauntingly still Ashwinder, shoulders rising and falling. Not far from his body was another, and next to that one, the man whose blood had stained Sebastian’s hands. Was it over?

He looked to the gate, hoping it would open and confirm his suspicion, but instead, a ball of shadow hurled over the closed gate and circled the arena before it landed behind you. It dissipated, revealing a figure cloaked in purple as other sentient shadows poured in from all sides. Like the first, the dozen landed around you, wands drawn as the bodies that had littered the floor turned to dust. 

“The infamous Raven,” the leader spoke, and when she stepped to her left to circle you, her followers did the same.

You didn’t reply. You left your head down and wand at your side.

“Grodbik tells us you’ve earned him quite the fortune; told us to go easy on ‘the witch that takes out his trash.’” She spun her wand and brought her vulture-esque brigade to a stop, “Too bad the word ain’t in my dictionary… Crucio!”

Blood-red lightning forked from her wand, but you disappeared in a whirl of white, and it struck another of your attackers behind you. They crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain, but the rest held their rank.

It was eleven to one. There was no way you were making it out alive without your ancient magic, and given your title, ‘the Raven,’ Sebastian assumed your use of it would only give away your identity. 

He stood to his feet and stepped into the firefight, wand gripped in his hand, as the fear that coursed through his veins resurrected the Ashwinder’s words. 

‘…that’s not how things work around here…”

One of the figures cloaked in purple turned towards him. She gritted her teeth and cast diffindo, an offensive spell. Sebastian took a dueling stance and deflected it before carving his wrist through confringo. It was her turn to deflect, and the flame that shot from his wand was redirected into the mud with a hiss.

She grinned, “Grodbik didn’t say anything about a wolf.”

He didn’t reply, only kept his eyes pinned to her wand.

“But I like the mask. Mind if I take it?”

She cast at his feet, and he swung through a protego, but she was too quick. With a flick of her wand, she slipped the mask from his face and hung it on her belt with a scornful pout.

“Oh, how I hate killing pretty boys,” she pouted, “but I’ll have this to remind me of ya.”

She patted her side and then struck like a snake, but just as the green from her wand blossomed forward, she and the spell were frozen in time. Before he had time to register what had happened, a ball of fire struck her in the chest and sent the spell intended for him into the wall. She fell to the floor, screaming as the flames wrapped around her torso and climbed up her neck. She shouted extinguishing charms, but her wand refused them, sparking and falling to the floor beside her.

Sebastian backpeddled, her thrashing frame reflected in his shocked gaze. What the hell is this place? 

“Accio!” Sebastian pivoted to his right, ready to block it, but the spell had sailed past him. It latched onto a barrel, hurdling it toward him far too fast for him to do anything about it. It swept him off his feet, and he hit the stone floor hard. Mud splattered in his eyes, blurring his throbbing vision to match the ringing in his ears. He swiped at it, trying to right himself until a heel dug painfully into his shoulder.

“Stay down!” It was you, “Stay down or- fuck!” You snapped your arm to the side and shouted diffindo, sending three of the attackers into the wooden wall. “Stay down or I’ll make you stay down!”

He nodded, collapsing, and his world turned sideways. He’d only made it a few steps from the tower, allowing him a full survey of what unfurled before him. The three you had hurled into the barrier had righted themselves. One clutched his side, another spat blood onto the floor, but the last readied her shaking wand toward you while you deflected an onslaught of spells and curses. 

Sebastian inched his fingers toward his wand— they wouldn’t see him coming, but right as its marble handle rolled into his grasp, you blocked a spell with such deadly precision that it rebounded the lot of it back at your assailants with a searing white explosion. 

Sebastian slammed his eyes shut, and when the blast scittered up the sides of the arena, he opened them just in time to see you whipping around to face the three. From behind the cold metal of your mask, you stared them down, your hood falling from your head as an underground breeze swept through the cavern.

It was a momentary calm that threatened two outcomes, but the choice you made was markedly opposite to what Sebastian had expected, and it burrowed itself deep in his heart.

“Imperio!” A green dart of light zipped through the air and struck the woman with the trembling wand. She stiffened, and the men on either side of her pulled their attention off you and onto her. 

They didn’t hesitate. They both struck, but their now green-eyed comrade let the spells sink into her flesh in the interest of hitting them both with a basic cast. They screamed, flexed fingers clawing at green X’s that carved into their foreheads with a sickly hiss. 

Bile climbed up Sebastian’s throat. The spell was putrid, an impenetrable smoke laced with burnt flesh that flickered the vision of Solomon’s corpse before his eyes. 

He looked away. You had bested the entirety of your attackers, and the one who had spoken to you at the start now knelt before you. Her purple robe was torn at the seam, revealing a marking he’d once seen on himself… the night after the sciptorium. 

“Heard another thing about ya,” the woman spat, “Heard the Raven always tells her last victim her name.” Maniacal laughter cracked through her lungs, barking against her rib cage as crimson stained her smile and painted her chin. “And I guess that would be me? What luck!”

Last victim? But the three next to Sebastian were still alive… he looked at you and found your gaze was fixed to his. He couldn’t see the expression you wore, but something inside him told him everything was about to change.

“I do,” you lowered your head, “but not this time.”

You snapped your attention back toward your victim and stabbed your wand forward. 

“Avada Kedavra.”

You said it quickly, every syllable callous, and a viridian bolt drove forward from your wand. 

Sebastian heard it. It screeched greedily and made its home in the woman’s chest. It hollowed her out, leaving but a shell of what once was before it jumped to the three beside him and did the same.