#sallowgraces2.0

Sebastian sat on the same crate where they had shared the treacle tart, the scent of damp wood now inextricably linked to the sweetness of his dessert and the warmth of her hug. He found himself tracing the grain of the wood, thinking about the Middle Gaelic booklet she had found for him.

She had remembered. A rare, genuine warmth spread through his chest at the realization that she had seen him looking at that book months ago and had held onto the memory. She had seen him even when he was trying to hide, and she had brought him back.

It was a terrifying realization. Beneath the layers of Leander’s "polite" influence, beneath the crimson scarf and the talk of Ministry functions, his best friend was still there. She was buried under Prewett’s expectations, but the girl who knew his favorite flavors and his academic obsessions was still breathing.

But the warmth was quickly snuffed out by a familiar, biting frustration. He stood up abruptly, the crate let out a jagged, protesting scrape against the stone—a sound that matched the sudden, violent turn of his thoughts.

He growled at the thought of her allowing it—letting that coward rewrite her history simply because it felt "safe." It was a compromise he couldn't unnderstand, a surrender that made his blood boil as he wondered how she could possibly stand it.

The walls of the boathouse felt like they were closing in on him. He needed to move. He needed to be anywhere but in a room that smelled like her kindness. He shoved the door open and marched out into the cool air, his cloak snapping behind him.

The transition was a physical blow; he welcomed the biting wind off the Great Lake as it struck him with a sharp, clinical chill, using the cold to scour away the phantom warmth of the treacle and the shimmering echo of her presence until his expression was as frozen as the water. The rhythmic, hollow slap of the water against the wooden docks echoed in the quiet, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence he’d just left behind. He had barely cleared the boathouse, before reaching even the first set of stone stairs that led toward the castle, when he saw a figure sitting hunched by the water’s edge, peering intently into the black depths of the lake. It was Nerida Roberts.

The idea of her as another distraction hissed in his mind, but unlike Grace, Nerida didn't look bored or shallow. She looked focused.

He slowed his pace, smoothing his features into a look of casual, effortless charm. He approached her and dropped onto the stone at her side, leaving only a sliver of space between them—a bold move that forced her to acknowledge his presence immediately.

"Looking for something, Nerida? Or are you hoping the Giant Squid has a message for you?"

Nerida jolted, her head snapping toward him so quickly her quill skidded across her parchment, leaving a dark, jagged ink-blat over her notes. A heated blush swept up her neck, clashing with the cool lake air. Sebastian Sallow was, as every girl in Slytherin knew, remarkably handsome when he wasn't looking like he wanted to hex the entire world. His sudden, invasive proximity made her breath catch; her eyes darted between his smirk and the ruined diagrams in her lap, her academic focus dissolving into a sharp, electric thrill that left her thoughts as murky as the water she’d been studying.

"Sebastian," she said, her voice a little breathless. "I... I was just observing. I’m trying to track the migratory patterns of the merpeople near the northern docks. They’ve been uncharacteristically active since the last full moon."

Sebastian tilted his head, offering her a lopsided, flirty grin—the kind that suggested she was the most interesting person he’d met all day. "Merpeople? Now that’s a subject worth missing lunch for. I’ve always been curious about the glottal stops in their dialect, though I’ve never had much luck getting close enough to distinguish the tonal shifts in their song."

Nerida’s face lit up. "You’re interested in Mermish? Most people just think they’re... well, aggressive fish. But their social structures are incredibly complex!"

Sebastian leaned in even closer, tilting his head toward her and invading her personal space just enough to be suggestive. This felt significantly better; she had a sharp mind, and he wouldn't be forced to endure endless stories about tea parties or social etiquette.

"I find complexity much more rewarding than simplicity," Sebastian said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate purr. "Tell me more about these migratory patterns. It must be something truly fascinating to bring a girl like you out here in this chill just to watch the water."

Nerida laughed, a shy, genuinely happy sound. She began to talk, her words tumbling out in an excited rush about the underwater village and the artifacts she hoped to recover. Sebastian played along perfectly. He nodded, he asked leading questions, and he let his gaze linger on her just a second too long whenever she looked up.

He rationalized his focus as something purely academic while he watched her animated gestures. She was undeniably smart, and her genuine passion for the subject felt almost refreshing.

But even as he smiled at her and feigned interest in the nuances of Mermish culture, a cold part of his mind remained detached. He was using Nerida's intellect the same way he had used Grace's vanity—as a barrier. As long as he was discussing merpeople with Nerida, he wasn't thinking about the boathouse. He wasn't thinking about the Middle Gaelic book. And he definitely wasn't thinking about the way his best friend’s eyes had looked when she told him he wasn't alone.

"You're very knowledgeable, Nerida," Sebastian whispered, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Perhaps you could show me some of your research sometime? Somewhere a bit... warmer?"

Nerida’s blush deepened to a bright crimson. "I... I’d like that, Sebastian. Very much."