#hogwartslegacy

╰┈── ⟡ ˙ ̟ prologue

In your seventh year, life at Hogwarts felt duller than ever. The castle still whispered with secrets, Peeves filling the empty silence with his maddening jests. At the same time, the staircases still shifted beneath unsuspecting feet, and portraits still bickered, thinking their gossip was life-changing. 

As magical as it was, you found that magical feeling had simmered away over the years. Characteristic of a Ravenclaw, your mind thrived on puzzles, on the thrill of solving what others couldn’t. Yet Hogwarts didn’t give you the challenge you desired. You could anticipate the riddles at the tower door, answer your professors’ questions before they’d asked them, and chart the shifting staircases in your head without a second thought.

There was one challenge that you could never get past. One puzzle you couldn't solve, and it ate at your brain on nights you couldn't sleep, amongst the silence and loneliness that the midnight brought. It had been rotting quietly in the back of your mind for years. Your parents' disappearance. Every riddle had an answer, but this was the one thing your mind had never been able to untangle. You had given up a few years ago on trying to unravel the mystery, accepting defeat. You had no family. Just you and your cat, Soul.

She had been with you the moment you lost them; she was practically a part of you. Hence, the name. She knew everything about you, could sense every energy shift and was by your side constantly unless you were in class or near a body of water (Merlin forbid). She grounded you, and you cherished her as your only family.

Anyways.

Your experience as a Hogwarts student had been so painfully typical, so mediocre, that you could predict the rhythm of each day before it even began. Since the third year, every term had blurred into the same cycle of lectures, repetitive homework, and meals in the Great Hall.

And now, you’re in your final year. It was going as expected, another loop in the same cycle you had been walking since you were thirteen. 

That evening, the bronze eagle knocker on Ravenclaw Tower asked its usual riddle, its grating voice echoing against the cold cobblestone. Your housemates groaned, some fumbling for guesses, making it a group effort, others simply waiting in silence, probably from exhaustion over studying and completing today’s O.W.L. exam. As you walked over, you didn’t even hesitate, as usual. The answer came to you instantly, as it always did. As expected.

With a click, the great door swung open. A few housemates muttered in admiration, and one even patted you on the shoulder as they all filed past. 

“She always knows,” claimed a student, followed by a small chuckle. 

You gave a tight smile, but inside there was that hollow tug again. Yearning for excitement, for a challenge. What others found remarkable had become routine to you. Lately, being “the one who always knew” wasn’t something to be proud of but just another reminder that nothing surprised you anymore. A reminder of how boring your life was. 

You never attended the dorm parties. While everyone else was living out their Hogwarts years, you were buried in books, mastering new charms, venturing into the Forbidden Forest, running the same tired quests for townspeople who'd forget your name by morning. There was satisfaction in it, sure—the smiles, the artifacts, the sense of accomplishment—but it had grown hollow. Repetitive. And somewhere along the way, you'd stopped noticing the world passing you by and started feeling it.

You weren't sure you had any real friends. There was Natty, and she meant something to you—you studied together, explored together, fought together—but she moved easily through crowds of people you'd never spoken to. She had a whole life outside of you. You were simply never the kind of person who made room for anyone else.

That was the problem, maybe. Not that you were some self-righteous rule-follower. You weren't. You just never got into any trouble worth remembering. Never let yourself be loud or reckless or present enough for anyone to notice. Your professors knew your name, but only because it sat at the top of every score sheet. Not because of anything you'd done. Not because of who you were.

You wanted to matter to someone. Not as a student. As a person. You didn’t want to be living such a predictable life, the usual good grades, clean slate, no scars. You even wanted to be an auror for Merlin’s sake. How fucking predictable could you get? Where was the individuality?

Regardless, the growing murmur of recognition was a strange phenomenon. Sure, you topped every class, but no one personally commended you for it. You hadn’t expected popularity, of all things, to sneak into your seventh year. 

Little did you know that was just what you needed.

╰┈── ⟡ ˙ ̟ act one, chapter 1

Later that weekend in Hogsmeade, you had promised to help the Flumes deliver their Honeyduke’s cinnamon & sugar stock to the kitchen elves in the castle. It was supposed to be an easy errand. Except for the fact that you had, unexpectedly, forgotten the charm Professor Ronen had taught you to carry heavy loads. That was the most basic first-year charm ever. That absence of memory left you with two overstuffed bags digging into your arms, each step sending puffs of sugar into your hair. 

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath as you tried to balance the weight of the two loads on your hips. Managing to plaster on a stiff smile to the Flumes, you left the store with a bell signalling your departure. 

By the time you reached the cobblestone street just outside the entrance to Hogwarts, you were half-convinced your arms might fall off. 

As you heaved along the path, drops of white crystal speckled your face, and you looked up—just for a moment—to admire. Winter had made its arrival. The chill of the air claimed its first victim, of many.

Yet, before your head dropped back down, it was already too late. 

You collided shoulder-first into a tall figure; the faint scent of sandalwood travelled up your nose before the bags lurched from your grasp. A white cloud of sugar and a brown puff of cinnamon burst around the two like fireworks, coating robes, hair and skin alike. 

The stranger blinked at you through the haze, brushing furiously at his sleeves. "Merlin’s beard! What on earth—” He exclaimed, sounding almost as shocked as you were. “Sorry— Oh no..” You stammered as you crouched down, scrambling to gather what you could, sifting your hands through the spilt powders. You were ready to scold whoever had walked into you—until you looked up, and your words dissolved entirely. The constellations above aligned themselves perfectly with the freckles on his face.

He didn't ask. He simply reached down, wrapped a hand around your wrist, and pulled, and the ground found your feet again before you'd even processed what had happened.

"Are you alright?" Sebastian Sallow's question sounded soft, almost amused. And his voice was easy and unhurried.

The kind that had no business being that charming.

You meant to answer it. You genuinely did. But somewhere between his tone and his smile, your legs decided they were done cooperating. He must have felt the shift, because his grip moved wordlessly up to your arm, fingers curling around it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was not helping.

Sebastian Sallow is in front of you, talking to you, touching you... Don’t freak out. Just be cool. Just be cool. Just be cool. 

You cleared your throat, trying to shut off the thoughts in your head. “Yep. Yes, I am. Are you?” You croaked as you tried your best to keep yourself composed. 

Sebastian’s smile didn’t waver, “Perfect.” Did he mean me? Did he mean it's "perfect, I'm okay," or does he mean he's perfect? I mean, he is. Your gaze began to drop down, snapping out of the trance as you laid eyes on the piles of powder beneath you. “Fuck’s sake. I was supposed to—oh, this is such a mess!” You tried scooping the powder back into your bags, as all knowledge of the proper charms had escaped you in the fluster of the moment and, honestly, the past hour.

“I am so sorry.” You blurted out, pausing just for a small moment as you looked up at him yet again. Before you could stop yourself, your hand impulsively rose and brushed away a streak of sugar that powdered his cheek. The contact was brief, too brief, but it sent a strange jolt through you. You snatched your hand back instantly, words tumbling out in a rush. “Sorry! Merlin. What has gotten into me?” You nervously chuckled and ducked your head, bashful (as you apologised for the third time).

A beat passed. You began to dust yourself off, absentmindedly. Definitely not the most Ravenclaw thing you’d ever done.

Sebastion huffed out a laugh, brushing cinnamon from his shoulders. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention. Think you missed a spot?” His grin lingered, teasing you, as his almond eyes met your hazel. 

Your laugh came out nervous and thin. Unsure of what the fuck you were doing or what you were supposed to say. “Genuinely, I am so…—” 

Crinkles formed on the bridge of your nose as a sudden tickle rose within your sinuses. Your mouth was slightly agape, paused mid-sentence. Before you could finish…

You sneezed. Right onto him. 

Your eyes went wide at the sudden realisation, “Oh, for crying out loud! I’m so sorry.”

Sebastian froze for a moment, his face anticipating laughter before his own nose twitched. With no warning, he sneezed right back at you. 

The silence that followed only lasted a heartbeat before both of you dissolved into helpless laughter, doubled over in the middle of the street, comforted by the darkness of night.

Coated head to toe in sugar and spice. 

Moments passed. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks blazing, trying to catch your breath. “I should really..” You let out a long exhale, shaking your head as the joy weared off. “I...—I have to get these to the kitchen elves.” You rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly excusing yourself, your brain coming back into control. 

With a flick of your wand, you gathered every grain of cinnamon and sugar back into the bags, muttering a quick thanks before you bolted off down the cobblestone road back to the castle. 

He watched you adamantly, his lips pursed from the quickness of her departure. 

He never even got her name. 

╰┈── ⟡ ˙ ̟ act two, chapter 1

“Natty, you’re seeing this too, right?” 

You both pinched your noses at the gut-wrenching stench of mould, complemented by the sight of bogeys dangling from its nostrils. A troll had managed to find its way into Hogsmeade Square. And obviously, you & Natty just happened to be strolling out of Honeydukes when it made its grand entrance.  After a split second of shock passed, both girls naturally whipped out their wands. With a few spells and snaps of their wrist, along with the occasional shout of ‘Protego!’, the poor troll had fallen to its knees and compressed into dust. The wind blew his remnants away, which called all the town-goers to cheer and celebrate your conjoined bravery. 

Shopkeepers poured out into the square, clapping and cheering, with some pressing free treats into your hands in gratitude. Within minutes, sharp cracks sounded at the edge of the square. Aurors. Your biggest aspiration was to be one. You had so much admiration for their work, the way they held themselves. It only felt right for someone as intelligent as you to fall into that line of work. They arrived in pairs, 4 groups in total. Cloaks snapping against the cold wind, eyes already assessing the scene with professional precision. One witch with long black curls knelt to examine the scattered residue of magic where the troll had fallen, while another fixed you and Natty with a look that was seeping with suspicion but also intrigue. 

“Well,” said a tall auror with silver-threaded hair, “good work, girls.” His expression was unreadable, his tone dismissive, almost disappointed. You and Natty exchanged a look, both sensing the strange tension. Regardless, you both beamed at the recognition. Your chests were still rising from the adrenaline of it all. “We couldn’t exactly wait for help,” Natty stated.

The auror’s gaze shifted to you, lingering a second longer. “What spell sequence did you use?” You answered almost immediately, listing the charms swiftly as if you were reading off a page. 

His brow lifted. “Seventh year, I assume?” 

“Yes, sir.” You proudly affirmed. Another auror snorted. “Keep any eye on these two, could use minds like those in a few years, ey?” 

And just like that, those words lodged themselves deep in your chest, sparking something bright and even a little dangerous within your heart. For the first time in a long while, your pulse raced. Yet, not from the frustration of predictability but with the whimsiness of possibility.

╰┈── ⟡ ˙ ̟ act three, chapter 1

The Headmaster found out before you’d even set foot on Hogwarts soil. 

Both of you were summoned the very next morning to her office, Your robe still dusted faintly with sugar and snow. Sunlight filtered through mosaic-encanted windows, landing on the red locks of Professor Weasley, who had her hands crossed on top of her desk. 

“Outstanding work from both of you.” She said. “Reckless, maybe—but necessary.” You and Natty held your heads high, wide grins plastered on your rosy faces. You had braced yourselves for reprimand, but instead the Headmaster met you both with a smile. 

“Hogwarts has a proud history of producing brilliant witches and wizards,” she continued. “But courage, intellect and the will to put yourself in danger to protect our people is rarer.” 

Her gaze sharpened, just for a moment. “You’ve both done the school proud.” 

Word spread like wildfire. By lunch, heads turned when you entered the Great Hall. Whispers followed you down the aisle, Ravenclaws nudged one another, Gryffindors raised goblets in your direction, Slytherins watched with calculated curiosity (maybe even sizing you up). Yet, you didn’t see the Slytherin you wanted to notice you. 

Commendations followed you through the corridors, from professors and students alike. All unexpected. Popularity chased you down; people really smiled at you, asked you questions, and walked beside you between classes. It was surreal, this sudden warmth, this recognition that went beyond knowing the right answers. Beyond topping your classes. 

And yet, through it all, you never saw him. 

Days passed. Then a week. Then two more.

You found yourself sitting on the stairs outside the Great Hall, where the faint trace of cinnamon carried itself from the kitchens, the elves loud at work. You found peace here. A familiar scent intertwined with the memory of sugar-dusted laughter with undertones of snow and a chilly evening. 

Now, this you expected. He didn’t know your name, lived in a separate house, and he was known to skip a few classes. But why was his absence torturing you? You told yourself it didn’t matter. You barely knew him. Why be hung up on him? 

Sebastian Sallow was nowhere to be found. 

Until Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

You found yourself shoving tables into uneven rows, students standing instead of sitting, wands up and ready. The air crackled with anticipation—this wasn’t going to be a proper lesson. It never was, not with Professor Hecat. 

She kept us on our toes. “Pair up,” she barked. “We’ll be revisiting controlled duelling. Emphasis on controlled, or you will be punished with sweeping the halls all evening.” 

You cracked your neck, eyes scanning the room. Natty caught your gaze from across the classroom and grinned, already being claimed by a Gryffindor with ginger curls. Before you could step toward anyone else—

“Delpine.” 

Your spine stiffened. 

Sebastian stood behind you, meeting your gaze as you turned yourself towards him. He lazily twirled his wand between his fingers, that boyish grin finding its way onto his face. He appeared far too pleased. 

“You don’t mind.” He said, not really asking. 

Before you could respond, Professor Hecat’s sharp gaze snapped toward them. “Sallow. Delpine. On the tables.” 

A murmur rippled through the room, and everyone stopped in their places. This was unexpected.

You blinked. “On the tables?”

But Sebastian was already stepping up, boots thudding against the polished floor as he climbed onto the long desk with practised ease. He offered you a hand again—deja vu—but this time something was daring in his grin. 

Something told you he was not to be trusted.

╰┈── ⟡ ˙ ̟ chapter 2

I HAD to commission an identification picture esque art of Liya and I can’t thank vienguinn enough for bringing my vision to life 💗 I will be spamming this art everywhere GAAAAH

Liya’s finally in her canon Hogwarts uniform…designed by yours truly

(she hates the og Hogwarts uniforms bc they r ugly…she won’t even look, let alone wear them)

Also, as a bonus, here’s Liya’s id picture in modern verse with her face claim hehe (and pretty accurate hair colour too)