“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.

Refs:

and Draco’s uniform/broom (mwah, ty draco)

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.

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