#quillow

“I still can’t believe you’ve never shown me this place before.” Sebastian shook his head, leaning back. He placed his cup of tea on the side table, scoffing lightly at the sheer grandeur of the space.

The trio had settled in the main hall of the Room of Requirement an hour prior, nestling themselves into the sitting space Elizabeth had conjured months ago. 

Two large couches, knitted throws, embroidered cushions from her mother, two large armchairs and an ornate wooden coffee table sat atop a deep green carpet. Not one item matched—but it felt warm.

Anne sat curled into the corner of the couch, a dark blue blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders, a cup of tea cradled between both hands.

Elizabeth sat beside her.

The candle flames flickered, their light dancing across the walls as Sebastian leaned back on the opposite couch, one arm draped over the backrest. 

“Would you believe it though,” he continued his story from earlier, “I only had to find a healer twice.”

Elizabeth didn’t believe him for a second. After all he’d been through—and given how woeful his healing skills were—there was no way in hell… 

She let out a quiet laugh.

Anne did too—but it came a second too late. 

Too soft.

Anne cleared her throat. “You’re lying.”

Her chuckle sounded forced, her eyes fixated on the teacup in her hands.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not!” Sebastian defended himself. “Well—perhaps I am… underestimating the true number—but just a little!”

Elizabeth shook her head, smiling faintly despite herself. “And what number constitutes ‘a little’ for you, Sebastian? Two, ten? Twenty?” she teased.

“Thirty, more like.” Anne leaned forward, placing her cup onto the table. “When our mother asked why I was crying, I told her Sebastian wouldn’t stop poking me. He said he only did it a little. It was thirty times. I counted.”

“Traitor!” Sebastian choked on his tea. 

That earned a real laugh from Elizabeth this time.

Anne smiled. 

But she still didn’t look at him.

Elizabeth frowned, turning to Sebastian for the briefest moment.

He saw it too—she could tell.

It hurt him.

His gaze lingered on Anne for just a moment longer than necessary. 

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I am serious about one thing, though. There were places I didn’t think I’d make it out of.”

Anne scoffed, “You did always have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Only when it’s warranted.” He perked up, clearly pleased. 

“It rarely is,” Anne huffed.

Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to laugh at Anne’s comment this time—not when Sebastian’s smile was slowly fading.

Anne’s fingers tightened around her cup, still not looking up.

Sebastian’s voice filled the space again—more stories of ruins, of course, long days and even longer nights—but something about it had changed. Less performative now, more… desperate. Like he was searching for something—waiting.

A reaction?

A question?

Elizabeth wasn’t sure, but she knew who he needed it from.

Anne only gave half-laughs, small nods—the occasional quiet hum… But she never met his eyes.

Elizabeth felt it, the tension that curled around them—thick as smoke; a fire creeping toward them with every passing moment.

It had almost, almost, felt normal.

But no one could deny it anymore.

The candlelight continued to flicker. 

Sebastian spoke.

Elizabeth responded. 

Anne? Anne stayed quiet, watching her tea.

Elizabeth noticed how Sebastian’s voice faltered—just slightly—every time he would look at Anne. Like he was pausing just to let her respond. 

But she didn’t.

“Anne?” Sebastian asked gently. 

She stilled.

Anne looked up—just for a second—and their eyes met.

The moment was brief, but it was enough to make Elizabeth stop breathing.

Anne looked away, pulling the blanket from her shoulders. “I think,” she started, clearing her throat, “I think I should like to retire now.” She smiled weakly at Elizabeth, handing her the blanket as she stood.

“Awfully early, is it not?” Elizabeth tried to keep the mood light, but it didn’t work.

Her words hung there.

Elizabeth reached for Anne’s hand.

“Long day.” Anne moved around the couch, giving Elizabeth’s hand a quick squeeze. 

That—though an excuse—was an understatement.

Sebastian straightened, his expression uncertain. “Of course,” he said quietly, “get some rest.”

Anne hesitated.

Her gaze flickered back to Elizabeth, then away again. 

“Goodnigh,.” Anne murmured. 

“Goodnight, Anne.” Elizabeth turned in her seat, watching as she disappeared down the stairs.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, turning back to Sebastian. 

He hadn’t moved, though something shifted in his expression as he looked back at Elizabeth. Something quiet, but heavy.

“I suppose I deserved that.” He huffed, leaning back against the couch with a faint smile that wasn’t quite convincing enough.

The silence settled between them—not sharp—just… heavy.

Elizabeth glanced up at him. “She just needs time,” she said softly.

“I know.” 

His words came too quickly. 

He dragged a hand through his hair as he let out a slow breath. “I thought…” his words caught in his throat for a moment, “I thought if I found something—anything—that might fix this I could—”

He swallowed. Hard.

“I thought that if I found something, she’d want to see me again. That it might fix things before I had to see her again.”

Elizabeth tensed. 

“She didn’t want you to fix anything, Sebastian. She just needed her brother and… well—” Elizabeth knew she didn’t need to finish her sentence. 

Sebastian fidgeted with his hands over his lap. 

“You don’t need to fix everything, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched—something close to a smile forming on his face.

“That’s a shame,” he tilted his head, “I was rather hoping I would.”

She almost smiled. 

Almost.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Sebastian shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze drifting around her—but never quite meeting her eyes.

“You though…” he started, “you, as it happens, have fixed things. Again.”

Elizabeth stilled.

That tone. 

Curious, focused—familiar.

His eyes flickered to hers then—sharp—searching.

“When I saw her I—” Sebastian’s eyes were wide, like he could see Anne before him, “she looked…”

He trailed off, like he didn’t quite trust his own words. 

“Better?” Elizabeth offered quietly. 

“Better is not nearly enough.”

There was no hesitation as he spoke anymore:

“She didn’t just look better, she looked whole. She looked like herself.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught.

Sebastian’s gaze held her captive—steady and unrelenting.

“You didn’t just take the pain, did you?” Sebastian shook his head, just once, like he already knew. “How did you do it?”

There it was. 

The question she’d been waiting for.

The one she’d been avoiding.

Elizabeth’s fingers tightened in the blanket.

“Anne said you’ve been studying for months—Isidora’s notes. I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“I couldn’t.” Elizabeth said firmly. “I couldn’t take the pain like Isidora. You know what happened to Mr Morganach—to Isidora’s students. I could never do that to Anne.”

“So how?” Sebastian pressed, leaning forward over the coffee table.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, calming herself. “This entire time we were only focusing on taking Anne’s pain away—just her pain—just as Isidora had done with her father.”

“Right…” Sebastian’s eyes thinned, “go on?”

“But that wasn’t…” Elizabeth trailed off, trying to think of the right words, tapping her hand against the blanket, “it wasn’t specific enough. The ancient magic just latched onto anything it could—any emotion.”

Sebastian nodded, though he seemed unsatisfied to say the least. “That still doesn’t tell me how you did it.” 

Impatient little—

“That’s not—” Elizabeth let out a sharp breath through her nose, “just listen, would you?”

Silence. 

Good.

“I didn’t take the pain. Not like Isidora did.” Elizabeth’s eyes locked onto Sebastian’s, “I took the curse.”

“What?” Sebastian straightened, his eyes widened. “What do you mean you took the curse?”

His tone wasn’t sharp—but it wasn’t soft either.

“I mean,” she echoed, “that I took the curse.”

Sebastian just stared.

He wasn’t following. 

“Instead of focusing on the pain, I focused on the curse itself. I thought—if Isidora can take pain, why can’t I take a curse too?”

Sebastian’s expression shifted, his lips parting, “Of course,” he breathed, “of course it was that bloody simple.”

His brows furrowed again as he continued to think—to calculate. “That shouldn’t—” his breath hitched. “How is that even possible?”

“I never said it was easy.” Elizabeth scoffed.

A beat passed. 

Then another. 

His gaze sharpened. 

“Where is it?”

Elizabeth’s head snapped up. “Where is what?”

“The curse. Where is the curse?” he asked sharply. 

Not relief. 

Not gratitude. 

Not understanding.

No… that patented Sallow curiosity. Morbid curiosity.

That relentless need to understand, to push further, to control.

“It’s contained.” Elizabeth said quickly, clenching her fists in her lap.

Sebastian leaned back again. “Contained,” he repeated, scoffing.

The word lingered in the air.

He didn’t look convinced—but for once… he didn’t push.

Not yet, anyway. 

Instead, his gaze finally softened as it drifted back to her.

“You did it.” He breathed. “You actually did it.”

Elizabeth held his gaze, her thoughts catching somewhere in her throat. Especially not now… 

Not when Sebastian’s expression eased in a way she’d never seen before.

Was it pride? Awe? 

Something warmer?

And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone again.

“I- I wish I—” Sebastian stopped himself, looking back at his hands. “I wish I’d thought of it sooner…” 

Oh. 

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop—an anchor in deep water.

The silence lingered for another moment.

“I do too.” 

The words slipped out before Elizabeth could stop them. 

Sebastian’s head snapped up. 

“I keep thinking that, had I thought of it sooner, you never would have—” the words died in her throat.

She sighed, unable to meet his gaze. “Maybe if you thought there was a chance I could do it—maybe if I hadn’t—”

“Stop.” 

Elizabeth met his gaze again.

“That,” his fists clenched, “is not your fault.” 

Sebastian turned his head to the side, dragging a sharp breath through his nose. “I asked far too much of you.”

Elizabeth didn’t move. She couldn’t.

The silence felt suffocating.

“Is that why you looked at me like that?” Sebastian asked, turning back to her with narrowed eyes. “When Anne told me what you did, you looked… terrified.”

Elizabeth let out a soft huff. “I was.” She admitted. “I thought you’d hate me.” 

Sebastian’s expression softened, a small laugh escaping his lips. “No,” he shook his head. “How could I hate the person responsible for saving my sister?” 

His words sounded like amused reassurance—but there was something else in his tone. Something deep and hurt. 

“I don’t hate you,” he affirmed. “Maybe in the beginning of our friendship—it would have made things easier.” 

“Made what easier?” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t answer.

“In any case…” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Rest assured, I do not hate you—and I don’t blame you for what happened to Solomon. My only regret is that you were hurt in the process.” 

“He was just trying to stop—”

“But he attacked you.”

Sebastian’s words were sharp, final.

He looked away again.

The pause seemed to stretch far too long. 

“Have you heard anything more about your parents?” Sebastian leaned forward again.

Not this.

“No.” Elizabeth looked down at her hands, her voice weak—almost broken.

She’d known the question was coming—it didn’t make it any easier.

“The ministry has been no help. The Aurors don’t take muggle disappearances seriously.” Her voice hardened—frustrated and tired. “The police have tried, so they tell me—but there’s no trace of them. Nobody in the village heard or saw anything.”

Elizabeth’s eyes drifted to Anne’s empty teacup.

I wonder how many dirty teacups are in the sink…

“We’ll find them.” 

Sebastian’s voice pulled Elizabeth from her thoughts, her eyes snapping back to his.

She blinked.

Not they’ll find them. 

Not I’ll find them. 

No. 

We’ll find them.

She smiled to herself—soft and genuine. 

Of course it would be him to say it. 

“Thank you.”

Their eyes met again. 

He smiled back.

Something in the air shifted around them—not dramatic or sudden, just… enough.

The space between them felt smaller somehow.

Closer.

In an instant, everything else melted away—the soft flicker of candlelight against the walls, the beams of moonlight seeping through the enchanted skylight, the distant crash of waves from the vivarium… 

Everything was gone except him. 

Him, and the way his gaze hadn’t shifted from hers. 

Her breath caught. 

Sebastian shifted—just slightly—leaning forward.

She did too.

Closer. 

For a moment, it almost felt like—

Creak. 

The soft pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed through the room. 

“Hello, Deek!” Elizabeth pushed herself back, hoping to Merlin Sebastian hadn’t noticed.

Her voice was entirely too loud. 

It made Sebastian chuckle under his breath.

Elizabeth didn’t dare look at him.

Deek sucked in a sharp breath, looking like he was about to greet Elizabeth, when his eyes landed on Sebastian.

“Mr Sallow!” Deek said excitedly, hurrying toward Sebastian to shake his hand. “A pleasure it is to meet you, at last.” 

Sebastian smiled, shaking Deek’s hand. 

“Deek has heard many great things about you!” Deek nodded in Elizabeth’s direction. 

Her eyes widened in sheer horror.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. A smug smirk formed on his lips. “Is that so?”

She was never living this down. 

Deek released Sebastian’s hand, still beaming. “Deek would like to apologise for such a late return—”

He reached for the teacups, but Elizabeth gently pushed his hand away.

“Deek,” she giggled, “it’s alright, I promise. I am quite capable of cleaning up after myself.” 

Deek didn’t like that one bit. 

“No, no—Deek will tend to the dishes.” He deftly dodged her hands.

“Deek—” Elizabeth protested, but he was already halfway down the stairs to the potions room—to the sink below. 

Sebastian’s head turned, watching Deek leave. 

Elizabeth almost wished Sebastian hadn’t turned back around. 

But he did. Slow, measured… Teasing. 

“Great things, eh?” Sebastian smirked, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment too long.

“Don’t start!” A bright, unforgiving blush crept onto Elizabeth’s cheeks as Sebastian leaned back onto the couch—both hands tucked behind his head.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you admired me,” he said smugly. 

Elizabeth scoffed. “Strong words coming from a boy who so desperately needed my help last year.” 

His eyebrows raised, that smirk of his slowly turning into a smile at her jab.

He laughed it off. “So,” he started, “what else do you have hidden in this place?”

Too much. She huffed a quiet laugh to herself. 

“Well, I brew my potions here of course—there are always at least two cauldrons of Wiggenweld brewing at any given time. I grow plants here; the ingredients for my potions, but the most important thing I do here…” Elizabeth’s eyes wandered over to her vivariums. “I take care of the beasts here.”

Sebastian followed her gaze, nodding slowly. 

“Ah,” he breathed, “so this is where you keep all those beasts you rescue? I honestly thought you just sent them off to Brook and Peck.” He laughed. 

Elizabeth’s head snapped back to him, an offended look painted on her face. “So that the poachers can buy them back the very next day? I don’t think so.” She scoffed.

He laughed.

“So you mean to tell me, you risk life and limb sneaking into poacher camps… For pets?” Sebastian leaned back on the couch.

“They are not ‘pets’.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “What are they then?”

“They’re… Companions! Living creatures with lives of their own that I happen to…” she looked off into the distance, trying to find her words, “house and feed!”

“Like pets?”

“No!”

Elizabeth was sure nothing would wipe that smug grin off his face… except, perhaps—

“Would you like to meet them?” Elizabeth suggested, a small smile brightening her face.

“Meet them?” Sebastian considered it for a moment. “How many are there?”

Elizabeth didn't actually know the answer to that question. “Thirty-six? No. Forty—wait—fifty-two!” 

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “You lost count? I thought you were with them every day?” 

“You try counting baby nifflers while you’re in there. Tell me how well you do.”

Sebastian chuckled at that. “Challenge accepted.”

He rose from the couch, offering Elizabeth a hand. 

She rolled her eyes at the gesture and scoffed despite the flutter in her chest.

Sebastian was about to chuckle triumphantly when:

“Woah—Merlin, Quinn!” He stumbled as Elizabeth yanked his arm toward the forest vivarium. “Gods above—slow down, would you? I almost tripped on a—”

Elizabeth heard the exact moment Sebastian’s voice died in his throat—the moment she pulled him inside.

For a moment, the light was completely blinding, but then:

A family of Nifflers darted across their path, playing in the flowery open field. The air was fresh, the trees surrounding the clearing dancing in the enchanted breeze as Puffskeins leapt across blades of bright green grass. 

The sunshine felt warm, inviting, real.

Elizabeth turned to him, smiling brightly—but he wasn’t looking at her, no.

Sebastian was still.

For a moment, he said nothing, he just… looked.

It was like he’d forgotten how to speak.

Her smile softened at that, but then, she felt tiny little paws clawing up her leg—

“Hey, hey! One at a time, please!” Elizabeth laughed, trying to pull baby nifflers out of her pockets. “I don’t have any—Oi!” 

She couldn’t keep up with them.

“One, two, three—” Sebastian started counting, taunting her. 

“Oh, shut it.”

Elizabeth stepped towards him, creating a bridge between them with her arms. 

The nifflers leapt for Sebastian.

“Oi—wha—” Sebastian tried (and failed) to pry the tiny blue creatures away from him.

There was one in particular that continued to evade Sebastian’s reach—even as their siblings ran back for Elizabeth.

This one was cheeky, fast, almost… calculating…

“What in Merlin’s name—”

“He,” Elizabeth started, “takes after the person he was named after.” 

She knelt to the ground, lifting the adult nifflers onto her shoulders—how she adored them.

Puffskeins gathered around her feet as the Kneazles slowly made their way over. 

Food. 

“And who might he be named after?” Sebastian still tried to catch the small creature—to no avail.

“You.” Elizabeth laughed.

He froze.

“Me?” His face twisted. “You mean to tell me that you named a niffler after me when I know damn well you have Hippogriffs and Graphorns in here?” 

Elizabeth laughed.

“Well, once Anne suggested he had some of your…” she gestured to the tiny beast running across his chest in search of something—anything—shiny, “traits,” she continued, “I simply couldn’t resist.”

Sebastian huffed through his nose. “So you mean to tell me, this tiny little thief is named Sebastian?” 

“Even better,” Elizabeth grinned. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“His name… is Sebby.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. He looked crazed. “You, ” he said sharply, “I despise that name and you know it.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, trying desperately to hold in her laughter.

The beasts didn’t find his face as funny, no… they fled. Even Sebby.

And then—

Elizabeth bolted—running toward the treeline in a mad sprint.

Sebastian followed.

She couldn’t stop laughing—even as Sebastian chased her with an expression that promised revenge.

She kept running for the trees when suddenly, she saw it—a sight she’d never grow tired of. 

Sebastian was close behind, shouting something—she didn’t know what—but it didn’t matter.

Her hand planted itself firmly on his chest, stopping him. One hand was over her lips. 

She pointed.

Just beyond the treeline—nestled in the smallest of clearings—were two Diricawls circling a nest, inspecting a small, quivering egg.

It was about to hatch.

“Is that—”

“Shh!” 

Elizabeth didn’t even look at him when she shushed him. Her eyes were fixed on the scene ahead. 

One small crack of the egg—then another.

Elizabeth leaned forward slightly, her breath catching as the shell trembled under the Diricawl’s careful watch.

Another crack.

A tiny beak pushed through.

She smiled. Soft and awed.

It was incredible… But she couldn’t help but feel like—

Her head turned. 

Sebastian wasn’t watching the Diricawls. 

He was looking at her.

Not curious or calculating, no, just… looking.

Her eyes widened as that smile slowly faded.

For a moment, neither of them dared move—stuck in each other's gaze as the world carried on around them.

The soft rustle of leaves, the sound of paws traipsing through the grass, the purrs of the Kneazles…

Sebastian cleared his throat, turning away like he’d been caught.

Elizabeth blinked.

It took her a moment, but she finally looked back at the nest, though her mind was elsewhere.

In her mind, she was still caught in Sebastian’s gaze—unable to look away.

・☽・✧・☾・

Elizabeth wasn’t sure when the hours had slipped by—but by the time they’d returned to the main hall after visiting the last vivarium, it was far beyond midnight.

“The Mooncalves seemed to adore you,” Elizabeth smiled, slowly walking toward the passage between the swamp and coastal vivariums. “And the Thestrals—I don’t think I’ve ever seen them take to someone so quickly.”

Sebastian walked slowly beside her, chuckling under his breath. “I don’t think Highwing liked me though.” 

“That’s because you barely bowed.”

“I—”

“Didn’t even try,” she teased him.

He shook his head.

“I still cannot believe you named a Niffler after me, but a Unicorn after Ominis!” He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly offended. “How is that fair?” 

“Think about it,” Elizabeth said with a cheeky grin, “Sebby is fast, impulsive, calculating… Ominis is—”

“Judgemental?”

“I was going to say direct—”

“Judgemental,” he cut her off again, coaxing yet another smile out of her.

They reached the quiet corridor between the vivariums.

Elizabeth slowed, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at a stray twig—freeing it from her braid. 

She hadn’t even noticed it was there.

Elizabeth winced as it snagged on another ringlet before finally slipping free.

“Here!” she exhaled joyfully, glancing at him over her shoulder, “this is my second favourite room.”

Sebastian’s gaze drifted past her to the walls lined with bookshelves, the tall windows and their seated nooks.

He stepped forward—awestruck. “Second only to your four vivariums, of course,” he said under his breath, still staring at shelves lined with what must have been hundreds of books. 

Elizabeth had never counted.

She smiled faintly as he explored, dropping into the cushioned nook between bookcases.

He huffed a quiet laugh, lingering a moment longer before joining her. “I don’t think I’d ever leave this place.”

“That,” Elizabeth said lightly, “is precisely why I kept it a secret for so long. Now that you know of its existence, I fear I may never have peace again.”

Sebastian’s lips curled. “You wound me.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered—as did the quiet. 

Not uncomfortable this time, not tense—just… peaceful.

“Thank you,” Sebastian broke their silence, “for letting me stay.”

Elizabeth suddenly became aware of just how close he was—closer than before.

Her fingers twisted into her sleeve.

“Oh—of course—wouldn’t want to leave you alone in that dark dungeon you call a common room,” she teased. 

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head, but his eyes never left hers.

She could feel it again—that pull—that gravity that seemed to exist only around him.

Her breath caught—

“Well,” she breathed, forcing herself to shift slightly, “I should be getting some sleep.”

She pushed herself up—

Sebastian did too. 

Thump.

They collided.

Elizabeth jumped back with a nervous laugh, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

Sebastian only smiled—that soft, knowing look. 

The same one she remembered from her first Herbology class.

It made her crumble—even now.

“Sorry,” she tried to make her breathlessness sound like laughter. 

It didn’t work. 

She reached for a nearby pile of blankets, pressing them into his hands—something else to focus on besides that damnable smirk.

He’s still smirking. He’s still not talking!

“You can sleep anywhere you’d like,” she said, a little too fast, “I’m sure the room will adjust.”

She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly, still smiling—like he knew something she didn’t. 

Quiet. 

Elizabeth took another step back, her hand resting against the frame of the archway.

She looked down to the stairs, then back at Sebastian, nodding once. “Goodnight, Sebastian.” 

She turned again, slipping down the stairs before the moment could linger any longer. 

Though, she froze when she heard him call back:

“Goodnight, Elizabeth.”