#gwnwrites

“And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in.” - Jane Austen.

Every member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit has known evil, and the shadow it casts over the lives of many. It doesn’t take a profiler to see another’s troubles, whether it is work-related or financial.

It doesn’t always take a profiler, but profilers themselves tend to hide their own a little better than others. 

But you notice, you always have. 

You see the signs in Gideon. He hasn’t been the same since returning to the bureau, even after his medical leave, the weight of the deaths of those agents is heavy.

You see it in the ever-composed Hotch. Fragments of the horrors he has witnessed rarely reveal themselves in the cracks in his facade, but they are there.

You saw it in Elle, how she spiralled after being shot in her own home, how she left the bureau without saying goodbye.

Morgan’s arrest, and the BAU’s involvement in the case, revealed the traumas he endured in his past. 

Now, you see the signs in Spencer.

Some like to say that time heals all wounds. The team knows how misleading that statement is. Time and again as profilers, you are all reminded how time is not always guaranteed to heal a person’s soul. Time is more akin to a scab that forms over an open wound. It makes the pain and memories easier to bear, but never fully goes away. 

While the others in the BAU have had time to form scabs over their pasts, it seems time finds joy in prolonging even the tiniest relief for Spencer.

He is back in the bullpen after four months of medical leave. He has been back for a few days now, and you wish he wasn’t. This week has been unbearable. These statements may seem harsh, but Spencer’s been different.

He has been quiet, fidgety, only contributing facts to briefings and no longer sharing anything that would usually earn a “Focus, Reid” from Hotch.

The strangest thing of all is that he hasn’t spoken to you. Not at all.

Of course, in the initial period following the Hankel case, you tried to visit Spencer as often as you could, after work, on weekends, and even during lunch breaks when you could. 

But even then, he’d been different, withdrawn. Eventually, you stopped visiting altogether.

The last time you saw Spencer before his return to work was two months ago. In the three years of working together, this has been the longest the two of you have gone without speaking.

But it makes sense - Spencer wants to be alone. If not, he would tell you, right? For now, he is keeping his distance and you are keeping yours. 

-

“Staring will get you caught, Sugar,” announces a voice to the whole bureau as she stops beside your desk. Your gaze snaps away from Spencer, who’s currently at his desk and too engrossed in case files, to Penelope, who has just betrayed you. Well, that’s how you imagined she said it. Talking seems really loud after minutes of silence while willing your crush friend to look your way. 

“I’m not staring.”

“Right, and I’m not your favourite technical analyst.” She grins and turns back toward her office down the hall. You follow closely. 

“Pen, do you think he’s mad at me?” you blurt as she settles back down in her chair.

“Who, Boy Wonder? Mad at the sweetest agent in the BAU? Whatever for?”

You shrug, folding your arms over your chest. “He won’t talk to me, won’t engage in any conversations that I start and barely looks at me during briefings. He is either mad or… I don’t know why else he would be doing these things if he wasn’t mad.”

Penelope’s lips press together and she gives you a sympathetic look, but before any advice can be shared, Hotch appears in the door.

“Briefing in five.”

-

The case went as well as it could have. Terrance Wakeland was arrested for several homicides, and will be held accountable. The families of the victims have closure, and no more young girls will be targeted by the killer.

In the jet, the team has finally started to unwind.

JJ is on the couch, reading. Gideon in his usual seat is too. Morgan and Prentiss sit opposite each other, bonding over shared things they loved as children, while Hotch has a faint smile on his lips when he glances in her direction.

Spencer, however, is quiet. Not present. Cards are frozen in his hands. He does not look around at the others or even out of the window at the passing world below.

So, you slide into the seat across from him. “Spencer, you okay? Spence?” You have to repeat yourself before he hears you.

His gaze lifts. He blinks, startled.  “Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for broadcasting it.”

You pause. His gaze has shifted back to the cards in his hands. They shake slightly, but you’re sure it’s just from the movement of the jet. “Spencer. I can tell something’s up with you. Talk to me… Are you mad?”

“What? No. I just don’t have anything to tell you,” is all he replies. These are the kinds of answers you received right after Tobias Hankel kidnapped him. I’m fine. There’s nothing to tell. I’m still here.

You murmur, “You forget I can tell when you’re lying, Spencer. I know you.” You do know him. Three years ago, you moved to Virginia, joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and everything changed. It may sound cliche, but you really did find your family in the team. And Spence is so much more.

“I can still do my job, all right?” He says, “I’m not gonna freak out.”

It’s the look you give him - the silent words that pass between you. He cannot lie to you, not for long, anyway. He has always felt this way, felt this need to tell the truth, to tell you everything and anything. 

Spencer tells a lot of facts, and sometimes the others give him a look or say ‘Reid’ in that dismissive tone to make him stop. He knows why. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming when they are tired, stressed or on a case. He doesn’t hold it against them.

But you always listen. Maybe that’s why he answers you now. “It’s the crime scene photos.”

“...What about them?”

“It’s the dead girls in the leaves. And I know. I know we’ve seen worse, but for the first time, I know. I look at them and… I look at them, and I know what they were thinking, and I know what they were feeling right before…”

His gaze shifts between you, the cards he set on the table, and his empty hands. “It’s got me all messed up. I don’t know how to focus. I can’t do my job as well. So what do I do?”

You haven’t been through anything like what he went through. Haven’t been kidnapped, beaten or drugged because of your job.

What you do have is an understanding of your own experience. You understand what it’s like to imagine what happened, to picture what horrific things a person has experienced because that’s what you did when Spencer was taken. From the moment you were informed he had been kidnapped to the moment he was in your line of sight, you worried, thinking about what he was going through. Was he scared? Was he conscious? Was he alive?

You can’t imagine what it must be like for Spencer to be haunted by what happened, but you do know what it’s like to be haunted by the feeling of hopelessness, unable to undo another’s suffering.

You take a breath before answering. “That’s empathy, Spencer. We can’t change what happened to the victims who are already gone, but what we can do is do our jobs. We can be better profilers. Catch the UnSub responsible. Prevent what happened to victims from happening to others.”

Spencer remains silent, brown eyes looking into yours.

“And most importantly, you need to take care of yourself, Spence,” you murmur. “and don’t keep secrets.”

To that, Spencer appears surprised. You pick up the deck of cards on the table between you, and begin reshuffling them.

“For a genius, you’re not as subtle as you think.” You deal the cards for the two of you, and say, “I will find out what you’re keeping secret, even if it takes a while.”

—

Oliver was nervous before the Quidditch match. He usually was. So after years of being friends with him, you knew all of his tells.

The first one was pacing.

The second one was running his hands through his hair.

The third one was rambling, which resulted in your extensive knowledge of Quidditch.

Oliver was usually consistent with his tells. However, today was different.

Oliver was oddly silent as the two of you sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He rarely looked up at you, and when he did, it was because you weren’t looking directly at him.

You weren’t the only one who noticed Oliver’s strange behaviour. Throughout breakfast, a few students sent worried looks toward Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain.

“Oliver,” you said. He looked up from his untouched porridge. He noticed that your bowl was empty.

“Are you okay? You seem awfully quiet today.” You paused, “Is it because I asked you last week to stop talking about Quidditch? I didn’t mean it. I was only trying to finish my Herbology essay.”

“It’s not that,” he sighed. His gaze traveled up to the ceiling, which mimicked the stormy weather outside. After a moment, he looked back at you.

“It’s Gryffindor’s last chance to win the Quidditch cup while I’m still at Hogwarts. I’ll never have another chance.”

Oliver had always wanted to win the Quidditch cup. And ever since he became the captain in fourth year, he had been working harder than ever. Practices took place regularly during the school year, and during the summer, while everyone rested, Oliver spent his time devising Quidditch plays.

“Oliver,” you began, “you’re an amazing Quidditch player, and the best captain that Gryffindor has ever had. You’ve got an amazing team, and that’s because of your leadership.”

He smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

—

The rain. Of course, rain was not usually a problem during Quidditch matches. But with the fact that there were hundreds of Dementors roaming the school grounds, you knew ‘calm’ wouldn’t be the word to describe Oliver.

As you sat among other students in the Quidditch Stands, you hoped Oliver was ok. You wanted to stay in the Gryffindor team’s tent before the match began, but Madam Hooch said it was best not to distract the captain. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought back. Why would you ‘distract’ him? You never-

“I’m sure he’s fine,” a voice beside you said. You jumped slightly, before realising it was Percy.

“You think?” You clung tightly to your jacket’s hood to prevent it from flapping around in the wind. You turned to the side to get a better look at Percy.

“He puts too much pressure on himself. And still, Gryffindor wins the matches. Harry’s great, he’ll get the snitch in no time.” His gaze remained on the field. He held onto the hood of his own jacket.

“I hope so. This weather is awful,” you said. You looked up at the sky. The dark clouds gave no indication of sunny weather any time soon. You looked at Percy. Despite the rain his glasses were dry. He must have used the Impervius charm, you thought.

“I thought you said you didn’t watch Quidditch matches,” you said.

“I don’t.”

—

The stands filled up with students as the minutes passed. You were beginning to wonder if the match was actually going to begin, but then you heard the commentator’s voice.

“Starting off the first Quidditch match of the season is Gryffindor against Hufflepuff,” Lee Jordan said into the microphone.

“I’m sure all of us are excited to see what happens today, especially after last year’s match was cancelled due to the Basilisk attacks. Although, I think- Oh, sorry, Professor. I’ll just stick to commenting on the current match.”

Specks of red walked onto the field. Six of them mounted their brooms and flew up. A few did tricks as they passed the stands. The crowd supporting Gryffindor began to cheer.

“Here they are!” Lee exclaimed. “Gryffindor flies onto the field. Gryffindor’s captain, Wood, must be feeling intense pressure, after all, this his last year at Hogwarts.”

“Someone really needs to take that microphone away from him,” Percy said.

The only remaining Gryffindor -who was Oliver- stood on the ground near the tent.

The other team emerged from the neighbouring tent. Like the Gryffindors, six of the Hufflepuff got onto their brooms. They flew toward their positions, while their captain walked toward Oliver.

“The opposing team, Hufflepuff, makes their way onto the field.” Lee said as the crowd supporting Hufflepuff burst into applause. “Their newest captain is Cedric Diggory.”

You watched closely as the cloaked Madam Hooch walked toward the captains. The box, containing the Quidditch balls, was already on the field. The captains quickly shook hands, and got onto their brooms. Oliver, being Gryffindor’s keeper, flew toward his goal post, and Cedric darted to the middle of the field. As the Hufflepuff seeker, his job was to look for the snitch.

Madam Hooch’s whistle was blown.

“The match begins!” Lee said. The crowd cheered louder.

—

As the match went on, the storm became worse, and eventually Lee’s commentary couldn’t be heard over the wind. You and Percy watched as the specks of red and yellow flew back and forth across the field, again and again.

The weather made it hard to tell who was who. When either of you thought you saw Oliver, the speck of red flew in the direction of the bludgers, meaning it was either Fred or George.

About 10 minutes into that game, you heard the whistle blow. The Gryffindor team huddled under an umbrella in one of the far corners of the field.

“Harry’s a good seeker, but I don’t think he’ll be able to see the snitch in this weather,” you said loudly so Percy would be able to hear.

Percy sighed, “I just hope he catches it soon, otherwise the match will continue all night.”

Soon after, Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, and the match resumed.

The crowd stood in the rain as they watched the match. A few lightning strikes were seen in the sky, causing some of the younger students to scream.

“I think Diggory’s spotted the snitch!” A Slytherin boy called out. He had been sitting a few seats to the right of you and Percy.

You looked for the Hufflepuff seeker, and eventually saw a yellow speck darting up into the sky. A red speck, who you suspected was Harry, followed him closely. They flew so high up that the crowd was unable to see them.

Chatter erupted among the crowd.

One of them became visible. Falling. Gryffindor’s seeker, Harry, had fallen off his broom and was plummeting toward the ground. You pushed past the people in the stands, and hurried to the stairs leading to the field. Percy followed close behind you. By the time you reached the bottom, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team were gone.

“They must have already gone to the Hospital Wing,” he stated. You nodded, and rushed off in the direction of Hogwarts.

—

The corridor outside the Hospital Wing was crowded. Everyone was worried about Harry. A Ravenclaw prefect stood in the doorway.

“Madam Pomfrey says no one is to enter the Hospital Wing until she says so,” he grumbled. He didnt seem in a good mood. A few surrounding students mumbled, and left.

“The Gryffindor team is in there, aren’t they?” You asked, standing in front of him, and trying to peak inside.

“They are, but you’re-” he was interrupted. George appeared next to the prefect in the doorway.

“There you are.” He said, “Thought you’d arrive soon.”

You ignored his comment. Whatever it meant. “Is Harry ok? That fall was pretty high.”

George’s face was pale, he nodded. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Hufflepuff-” He hesitated, “They won the match.”

“How? Harry fell off his broom. There should be a rematch.” You frowned slightly.

He sighed, “Diggory caught the snitch before Harry fell. Hufflepuff won fair and square. Even Oliver says so.”

Oliver. You tried to look over George’s shoulder. “Can I talk to him? Is he in there with the team?”

“Oliver isn’t here. You don’t know where he is?”

You shook your head, “No. Where is he?”

—

You knocked on the boy’s changeroom door. George had told you that it was only occupied by Oliver, but you didn’t want to barge in.

“Oliver, can I come in?”

There was no answer, the only noise was the running water in a shower.

“Oliver.” You stood outside for a moment before sighing. You pushed the door open.

The boy’s shower room appeared to be empty. Then you saw Oliver’s bag and Quidditch broom on one of the benches against the right wall.

“Oliver?” You said, looking toward the showers.

“Mo ghràdh?”

You looked toward where his voice came from. He sat with his legs to his chest in one of the shower cubes. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes. The shower tap was turned on, and the water caused his clothes to cling to him.

You approached him, and turned off the shower tap as you stepped inside the shower. You sat beside him.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You knew how much this match meant to him.

He lifted his head, “How’d you know where I was?”

“I went to the Hospital Wing first. I thought you were there since the team was. George told me you were here.”

He nodded. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Oliver, I know this is about the Cup,” you said, looking at him. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

He sighed, “It’s just- I’ve always wanted to win the Quidditch Cup. It’s been *years* since we have, and not while I’ve been apart of the team.”

“But this wasn’t the Quidditch Cup final, Oliver. This was the first match. Gryffindor still has a shot to win the Cup,” you said.

You paused, “You put too much pressure on yourself. Even Percy says so, and he rarely leaves the library.”

Oliver looked at you, raising his eyebrows. “Percy said that? When?”

“Right before the match started. We were already seated.”

“Is Harry alright?”

“He’ll be alright. The team’s with him.”

Oliver was silent for a moment. “George told you I’m trying to drown myself, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Of course he did.”

“You’re not?” You said, “Trying to drown yourself, I mean.”

He laughed softly. “No, I’m not. If I wanted to, I think I would’ve gone to the Black Lake.”

“You had the shower on.”

“I was cold. The shower was warm,” he said. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Being a good friend. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

-

-

During the beginning of your sixth year, most of the your fellow Hogwarts students believed that you and Sebastian were a couple. The belief was kept quiet, but not as well as it could have been.

“You see that student over there. Yes, well, they’re the one who saved Hogwarts last year. My brother seems to fancy them, but they’re dating that Sallow boy.” This came from a third year who didn’t seem to realise how loud she actually spoke.

You gave a small nod as she said ‘hi’ and continued to walk to Potions. Did everyone think that you and Sebastian were dating?

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you did not hear Sebastian call out to you. “Hey, darling. Slow down-”

He breathed heavily as he caught up to you. ‘Darling,’ is that why everyone thought the two of you were dating?

He noticed the slight frown on your face on your face and gently grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking. “Hey. Are you alright?” You gave him a nod and forced a smile. “I’m fine.” You knew he didn’t believe you, but the two of you continued to walk to Potions in silence.

You tried to ignore the rumour over the next few days, but one morning you couldn’t.

You were sat beside Sebastian under a tree near the black lake. The two of you usually sat there, either completing homework or just enjoying each other’s company.

This particular Saturday was the latter.

“You know, people seem to think that we’re dating.” You confessed, your eyes fixed on the fifth years that swam in the black lake.

“Oh.” Even though Sebastian tried to make his word sound like a question, it came across as a statement.

“You’ve heard the rumors too?”

He shrugged, “Well, yes.” The copy of Advanced Potions that he had been locking through was open in his hands, even after he had stopped reading.

“When?”

“Halfway through our fifth year.”

“Halfway through our fifth year?” You sat up straighter to get a better look at his face.

“When did you hear about it?” Sebastian said as he set aside his textbook.

“A few days ago,” you said. “I overheard a third year before our Potions class.”

His face was blank. After a few seconds, he shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t bother me. If it bothers you, I can ask someone else to accompany me to Hogsmeade. That will stop the rumours about us.”

“No,” you said quickly. “It doesn’t bother me.”He smirked. “Oh, really?”

The corners of your lip tugged up to form a smile.

“How about we attend Hogsmeade together, not like we used to.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr Sallow.”

—

It took some persuading to get Ominis to take the three of you to Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium. “I see what you’ve done here, and I confess, you’ve convinced me. I didn’t think it possible. Very well, I shall tell you what I know. Fetch Sebastian, I’ll wait,” said Ominis, “I hope I- we don’t regret this.”

You called out to Sebastian, and he made his way toward you and Ominis. “These braziers grant access to the Scriptorium,” Ominis explained.

“Now you’ll share? You wouldn’t tell me when I practically begged,” Sebastian said.

“It wasn’t you who told me what I needed to hear,” replied Ominis as he paced. “Opening the entrance has something to do with three’s.”

Sebastian leaned against a wall. “Well, three heads are better than one.”

“It’s two heads are better than one,” the other boy corrected. A grin appeared on Sebastian’s face.

“And by that logic, three is better than two. Simple mathematics, Ominis.”

The three of you looked around. The corridor was mostly empty, except for two pillars to the left and another to the right. Opening the entrance has something to do with three’s, Ominis’ words repeated in your head. “Sebastian, Ominis, there’s three braziers. Cast Confingo when I give the word,” you said. You, Sebastian and Ominis each stood in front of a brazier. “Now! Confingo.” A red beam emerged from your wand and ignited a fire on the top of the brazier. The same happened with the other two.

“Something’s happening,” Sebastian observed as you heard bricks shuffling. A doorway, in the place of an ordinary wall, opened. Ominis sighed, “I hope we’re ready for this.” You hoped so too.

A stairway led down into a corridor. Broken bricks were scattered across the floor, and there was a large door on the back wall. You heard bricks shuffle again, and you knew that you were locked in.

“A journal entry. Signed by Noctua Gaunt,” you said.

“Gaunt? Your family was here,” Sebastian said, looking at ominis. “I know. She was my aunt,” Ominis replied. You had just the right spell for the rubble. “Reparo.” It gathered and formed on the wall to the left. “The rubble formed a relief of a person facing a snake,” Sebastian explained to Ominis. “That must be the voice I hear.” Voice? You weren’t sure what Ominis was talking about.

Sebastian continued staring at the relief, while Ominis stood facing the door. You stood next to him, “You hear a voice?” He sighed, “It started when you repaired that relief. I- I hear a whisper saying speak to me.” He paused, “I am a Parselmouth. I can hear, and speak to snakes. Nearly all known Parselmouths are descended from Salazar Slytherin.”

He continued, “It’s often associated with… dark wizards. I haven’t spoken it in ages, but I wager that if I speak it now, the door will open. I’m hoping you have second thoughts.”

Sebastian interrupted, “I don’t think we can have second thoughts. We’re locked in, remember?”

Ominis shook his head. “It’s ironic, when I left home, I vowed to leave the Dark Arts behind, yet here I am.” He sighed, “Stand back.” You and Sebastian moved away. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Ominis mumbled to himself.

He stood opposite the door, and began to speak in Parseltounge. As he did, two snakes that were depicted on the door slithered up, opening the door.

You grinned, “It worked! Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

“Between the two of you, I’m starting to feel left out,” Sebastian mumbled. Ominis looked at him, and Sebastian avoided eye contact. “Between the two of us?” Ominis was beyond confused. “I- never mind.”

—

After completing the snake puzzles, a door opened to another corridor. That corridor had a door at the end.

“I spotted something ahead, looks troubling,” Sebastian admitted. Ominis continued to walk forward. “This whole place is troubling, but for my aunt’s sake, we cannot stop now.”

The gate behind the three of you closed. “The gate! I think we’re locked in again,” Sebastian said. Ominis sighed, “Then Salazar Slytherin is not yet finished with us.” The door at the end of the passage was different from the first one. Instead of the snakes, there were distorted faces. As if they were in pain, you thought. You saw a single page on the floor, and picked it up. “Ominis, a skeleton- And Noctua’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here, blocked by an unforgivable curse.” Ominis drew in a breath, “This is where she died. This is where we’ll die. I shouldn’t have listened to either of you.” He began pacing near the back of the room.

“Ominis, I’m truly sorry about your aunt,” Sebastian said, “but I know what to do. It’s going to be difficult.” You looked at sebastian, who stood to your right, “You know what to do?” He nodded, “Tortured faces on the door, and ‘Crucio’ etched into the stone. My guess is that if we cast the Cruciatus curse, the door will open. That’s why Noctua died, she had no one to cast the curse on.” He drew in a deep breath, “Ominis has the most experience with this, he should cast it.”

“I won’t do it. The Cruciatus curse is pure torture, and I would know,” Ominis said from across the room. Sebastian spoke again, “Ominis that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t have a choice.” Ominis came closer, “One always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain, and for that I shall never forgive myself. That spell is the reason why I have no family left. You two will have to sought out another solution. If you cast crucio, you will forget it forever.”

Ominis moved further away from the two of you. You felt sorry for him, truly. You couldn’t have ever imagine being in this situation. You could feel your heart beat faster. “What do we do now?” Sebastian said quietly as he frowned at Ominis. “Ridiculous. As if dying in here is a better option than casting a damn spell.” Deep down he understood why Ominis couldn’t, but right now his thoughts were clouded. He was scared, but he wouldn’t ever confess that to you, or ominis. He knew what he had to do.

He sighed, “It’s up to us. I can teach you Crucio or i can cast it on you-”

“Wait- you didn’t say you knew how to cast Crucio,” you said. You wouldn’t admit it either, but you were scared too.

“Because i’m not sure i do. Ominis knows that, yet he’s left us no choice. I don’t yearn to follow in Noctua Gaunt’s footsteps. I think I can cast it if I have to.”

You stared at him for a moment. You thought of casting the curse on him. That’s something you would never want to do. “I won’t cast it on you,” you said. “You have to cast it on me.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched. He started to doubt himself. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. He hesitantly nodded. You backed away from each other, and he could see that you were scared, even thought you tried to hide it.

“I’m ready,” your whispered, closing your eyes tightly. He raised his wand, but the words died on his tongue. After a few moments you opened your eyes. “Sebastian?” He looked at the ground.

“I can’t,” he confessed. You frowned, “Seb?”

His eyes found yours. “It won’t work. I could never mean it.”

Your heart sank. If neither Ominis nor Sebastian could cast the curse, you would have to. You nodded.

“To preform the curse, raise your wand, point it at me and firmly declare crucio. Hold on as long as you can.”

“Ready?”

He nodded, “I’m ready.”

You pointed your wand at him, and whispered, “Crucio.” A red beam hit sebastian, and his knees buckled. He yelled in pain. “Sebastian!” You kneeled in front him. You could see the pain on his face. After a minute, the corridor was silent. You had been so focused on Sebastian that you hadn’t noticed the open door to the Scriptorium.

“Seb?” you said softly. Your hands cupped his face. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. You looked away, guilt filled you.

“Look at me,” he said. You couldn’t. “Please,” he whispered. You looked at him. “Don’t blame yourself. There was no other way.”

“sebastian, are you alright?” ominis’ worried voice filled the room. “i’ll live,” he said. you helped him up. “shall we?” he said, gesturing to salazar slytherin’s scriptorium.

“seb?” you said softly, your hands cupping his face, “i’m sorry.” he shook his head, he wanted to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t speak. you couldn’t look at him, guilt filled you. “look at me,” he said. you couldn’t. “please,” he whispered. you looked at him. “don’t blame yourself. there was no other way.”