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Anne Sallow had learned, over the years, that it was easier to ignore Sebastian than to deal with him.

Or rather, ignore the idea of him. The real Sebastian - the one she’d grown up with, shared a womb with, and loved more than anything - had ceased to exist the day he chose the Dark Arts over their family.

The person left behind? That was someone Anne had no interest in knowing.

So she didn’t.

For years, she refused to acknowledge him. She didn’t write, didn’t visit, and certainly didn’t respond to the monthly letters that arrived like clockwork, tucked neatly between correspondence from her Healer and the sparse other mail she received.

At first, she hadn’t opened them out of principle. Then, out of spite. And then, eventually, because it had been too long, and she wasn’t sure how to start.

It was easier to let them pile up, a small unread monument to the brother she had lost.

Until this month.

This month, there had been no letter.

At first, she didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d finally given up. Maybe he’d realized, at long last, that she had no interest in reopening old wounds.

Except, Sebastian didn’t give up. Not on things that mattered.

Which meant one of two things:

1. He was dead.

2. He was finally in Azkaban where he belonged.

Either way, she needed to know.

Which was how she found herself standing on a quaint, absurdly domestic street on the outskirts of a sleepy little village, staring dumbly at the house her wayward brother had apparently been living in.

She had expected something moody and self-destructive - a rotting shack in Knockturn Alley, or a damp dungeon under some crumbling castle.

Not… this.

The house was warm and bright, with flower beds lining the cobbled walkway. A tidy front garden stretched out beyond the gate, deceptively charming for the former menace of Feldcroft.

And most jarring of all…

Sebastian himself was in the yard, chasing a little boy in circles around a tree.

Anne stopped dead.

The boy was laughing shrieking with delight as Sebastian lunged forward with over-the-top dramatics, catching him mid-run and flipping him upside down.

Anne could not reconcile the image with her memories.

Her murderer brother - the one who had spent so much time defending his actions, justifying himself, refusing to show a single ounce of remorse - was now… what? A doting father?

It had to be a joke. A prank. A particularly twisted hallucination brought on by the Healer’s continued treatments.

Then, in the background, because apparently she wasn’t suffering enough today, she caught sight of a jarringly familiar face standing in the open doorway, a newborn cradled against her chest. The very same witch who'd witnessed Sebastian's worst moments back when they were all fifteen. Who had pleaded her brother's case and begged to keep his atrocious crimes hidden from the authorities.

Anne’s stomach dropped.

Oh, she had missed everything.

Years of silence, years of refusing to even glance at the letters he sent her, and now she was standing here, watching a life unfold that she had never even known existed.

Sebastian had a family.

And she…

She hadn’t been there to see it.

Then, because self-reflection had never been her strong suit, she did what she did best - muttered something disdainful under her breath and scowled at the idyllic picture before her.

“Well, isn’t this just precious.”

-

Anne had imagined this moment before.

Not this moment, exactly; she’d never been delusional enough to picture her estranged brother frolicking in a front yard like some domesticated crup, but she’d certainly imagined seeing him again.

It usually involved a grave, a courtroom, or some dramatic family reckoning where she eviscerated him with words, and he finally understood the damage he had inflicted.

It did not involve him flinging a toddler into the air while his wife stood on the porch cradling their newborn.

Her stomach twisted, the weight of all the years lost settling heavily against her ribs.

Sebastian had a family, and she hadn’t been here for any of it. Not for the wedding. Not for the first child. Not for the second. Not for the version of him that had apparently, somehow, stopped being a reckless, self-destructive disaster of a man and started being this.

And that was the part that hit her the hardest.

The easy warmth in Sebastian’s expression was real.

And the life he had built, without her in it, was a happy one.

Anne was so caught up in her internal crisis that she didn’t notice when the toddler, still dizzy from whatever ridiculous game they’d been playing, turned and caught sight of her standing by the gate.

He blinked up at her, expression puzzled.

Then, without an ounce of hesitation, he turned back toward Sebastian and asked, “Who’s that?”

Sebastian, still grinning like an idiot, followed the kid’s gaze, and then froze. For the first time in years, Anne Sallow made direct eye contact with her twin. And for the first time in even longer, he looked anything but composed.

The silence stretched.

Anne tilted her head, watching as an entire war of emotions played out across Sebastian’s face.

And then, because she didn’t know what else to say, she gestured vaguely toward his offspring, raised a brow, and deadpanned.

“So, is now a bad time for a visit?”

Sebastian’s mouth opened and closed several times, like he was trying to restart his brain, before he finally settled on, “Anne.”

She regarded him in turn with a matching, “Sebastian.”

More silence.

Sebastian’s hand tightened around the child’s, his entire body tense and unmoving.

His wife, who had been standing on the porch impatiently observing, finally decided that someone needed to move this reunion along, because she sighed and called out, “Are you two going to stare at each other all day, or is my husband going to invite his sister inside?”

Anne turned her attention and narrowed her eyes at her. “Husband now, is it?”

Completely unbothered, she shrugged. “Seven years of marital bliss.”

Seven.

“Unfortunate choice for you.” Came Anne’s charming congratulations.

Sebastian let out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Of all the ways this conversation could have started…”

Even his voice was different now.

Sebastian grumbled something under his breath, but finally, he let go of his young son’s hand and stepped forward, eyes taking in her entire being.

She should have expected the sudden shift, the emotion bleeding into his features, the way his voice softened as he said, “I - fuck, Anne, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her throat tightened when the little boy petulantly chided him for language.

“Yes, well, I didn't think so either.”

Sebastian winced.

Then, hesitantly, he said, “Would it - would it help if I told you I became an Auror?”

Anne blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You?”

Sebastian sighed, already looking exhausted as he offered a wry smile. “Yes, me.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “As in, working for the Ministry?”

“Yes.”

“Under authority?”

“Yes.”

Anne tilted her head further like a confused pup. “Not against it?”

Sebastian groaned. “Anne.”

His bride who, to her credit, had been watching the exchange like it was the best entertainment she’d had in years, finally chimed in, “Oh, he’s positively upstanding now. Public servant, hero of the people, the whole bit.”

Sebastian shot her a glare. “I liked you better when you were pretending to be polite.”

She gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Marrying me was your mistake.”

Anne almost choked because Sebastian, for whatever reason, looked fondly at the witch's snark. And it was that, more than anything, that made Anne realize - he was genuinely happy.

And Anne, for the first time in years, felt some warm sense of sibling affection creep back into her chest.

Like maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be part of this.

-

Anne had expected this visit to be uncomfortable.

What she hadn’t expected was to be sitting at Sebastian’s kitchen table, with his wife handing her tea like she wasn’t an emotionally stunted wreck of a human being trying to process the fact that she had somehow acquired an entire family overnight.

It was surreal.

The cottage was warm, well-lived-in, and annoyingly cozy - not the kind of place she had ever pictured Sebastian settling down.

But then again, she had also never pictured him being a husband. Or a father. Or an upstanding member of society who did not require routine arrests.

And yet…

Sebastian had barely taken his eyes off her since she’d walked through the door, like he was afraid to blink and realize she wasn’t actually here. It was a lot. But maybe, after all this time, she owed him a bit of discomfort.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Sebastian said finally, breaking the silence.

Anne took a long sip of her tea. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian shot her a look.

His wife snorted into her own cup, but said nothing.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You knew about the letters.”

Anne answered, “You weren’t exactly subtle. The owls you sent kept flying into the window until someone let them in.”

Sebastian grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but before he could say anything else, a wail came from the next room over.

His wife sighed, setting down her tea. “That’ll be Eleanor ready to eat.”

Sebastian was already half-rising, but she just patted his arm. “I’ve got her, love. Sit.”

Sebastian hesitated, but finally sat back down, watching as she disappeared into the other room and left the twins in silence.

Anne raised a brow. “So... kept not one but two little ones alive?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “And intact. All their limbs and everything still attached.”

Anne hummed, skeptical. “You say that, but I have yet to see proof.”

Sebastian gave her a look, then stood. “Come on, then. You’re about to get some.”

Before she could protest, he guided her toward the other room, where the mother of his children was gently rocking a tiny pink bundle by the window, murmuring something softly under her breath. The baby was miniscule. Smaller than she’d expected. And when she turned, revealing a sleepy little girl with dark curls and big brown eyes, Anne stopped short.

“She looks just like you.” Anne muttered before she could stop herself.

Sebastian grinned, proud. “Yeah, she does.”

Anne cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of emotions she was feeling. “Well, that’s unfortunate for her.”

Sebastian’s wife chuckled, shifting Eleanor before glancing at Anne with a knowing expression. “Do you want to hold her?”

Absolutely not.

But before she could voice that opinion, she was already stepping closer, gently handing the baby over like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Anne stared down at her niece, rigid and unsure, her hands awkwardly positioned like she had just been handed an active dungbomb.

Eleanor, for her part, blinked up at her, entirely unimpressed like she knew her aunt was petrified of her.

Anne exhaled, adjusting her grip slightly so she wasn’t at risk of dropping the child. “Right, well then, I've held her. That's enough of that.”

Sebastian snorted. “Proud of you.”

Anne scowled. “Shut it.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, no doubt to say something insufferable, when Eleanor suddenly made a suspicious grunting noise.

Anne barely had time to process it before -

She was covered in baby spit-up.

Sebastian wheezed.

Her mother gasped and clasped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Eleanor.”

Anne froze.

Sebastian had to brace himself against the wall from laughing too hard. “Merlin’s beard, that was an incredible amount.”

Anne turned her head slowly, narrowing her eyes at her useless brother. “You have five seconds before I hand her back and orphan your children.”

Sebastian did not stop laughing.

His wife, still trying to be polite, bit her lip and took Eleanor back, reaching for a cloth to clean them both up.

Anne, meanwhile, was ready to be the last Sallow once and for all.

Sebastian finally managed to catch his breath, wiping at his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’ll be serious.” He gestured vaguely to her ruined robes. “Do you need-?”

Anne held up a hand. “If you hand me something of yours to wear, I’m leaving forever.”

Sebastian smirked. “You’re staying for supper, then?”

Anne sighed heavily, rubbing at her temples. “Against my better judgment.”

Sebastian’s expression softened, and somehow, that was worse, because he had missed her far too obviously for her liking.

Anne swallowed, looking anywhere but at him.

Once more sensing the shift, her sister-in-law offered gently, “There’s plenty of my spare clothing in the master bedroom closet if you want something clean. Please help yourself.”

Anne sighed, glancing at her.

And maybe it was because she wasn’t pushing, or maybe it was because she was still holding the baby with more care and warmth than Anne had ever thought possible from someone willing to marry her idiot brother, but for the first time, Anne didn’t feel like she was intruding.

She gave in. “Alright. But if any more bodily fluids hit me, it's back to lettered correspondence.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Duly noted.”

Anne paused, casting one last glance at the sleepy, chubby-cheeked baby in her mother's arms.

-

Anne had never particularly liked children.

Not in a cruel way - she didn’t wish ill upon them - but she had spent so much of her own childhood sick and frail that the energy of young ones had always been... a lot.

And yet, there she was, half-dry baby vomit on her sleeve because she had refused to change her clothing after all, sitting stiffly on Sebastian’s couch, while a wide-eyed little boy sat across from her, inspecting her like she was an exotic beast.

Oliver.

Her nephew.

Sebastian’s child.

She shifted uncomfortably against the cushion as Oliver kept staring.

“Alright.” She finally muttered, clearing her throat, “If I admit defeat in this staring contest I never signed up for, will you stop looking at me?”

Oliver squinted his little brown eyes at her. “Who are you?”

Anne raised a brow. “Who are you?”

“I’m Oliver.” He said, as if she were completely daft.

Anne smirked. “And I’m Anne.”

Oliver frowned slightly, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “You’re Dad’s sister.”

Anne huffed a laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Oliver scrunched his nose, glancing over toward where his parents were still cleaning up Eleanor in the other room. “I know mum's sister. I don't know you.”

Anne tried not to let that sting.

It wasn’t his fault.

He was... what, three? Four? Ten? However children's ages worked. Too young to remember a world where she and Sebastian had been inseparable.

Still, Sebastian had been a twin. For years, Anne had convinced herself that he wasn’t anymore. That she was the last Sallow.

And yet…

He had a wife and children and a life Anne had been too bitter to be a part of, and she didn’t know how to undo that.

“You look like dad.” Oliver continued, frowning thoughtfully now.

Anne snorted. “That’s very tragic for everyone involved.”

Oliver giggled.

Anne liked him.

Sebastian’s child wasn’t supposed to be charming. He was supposed to be a small, feral gremlin who terrorized the house and threw tantrums. Instead, he was smart and doe-eyed, looking at her with wonder.

“Why didn't you come see me before?” Oliver asked suddenly.

Anne blinked.

Sebastian’s kid, apparently, had zero sense of tact. Really did take after him.

She scrubbed a hand down her face, exhaling. “That’s a bit complicated.”

Oliver frowned then, clearly unsatisfied.

Anne sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Let’s just say I was cross with your dad.”

Oliver tilted his head. “Are you still mad?”

Anne hesitated because, honestly, that was an even hard question. Sebastian had done bad things. He had been reckless, obsessive, dangerous. He had killed, stolen, broken trust, lost everything.

But was he still bad?

She shook her head. “No. Your dad is a good man.”

For so long, she had been angry.

But sitting here, looking at Sebastian’s son - her nephew - staring at her with quiet curiosity and trust, she realized that anger had faded.

“Will you come to play more now?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted, her voice softer.

Oliver squinted at her. “Well, you should decide soon.”

Anne raised a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Oliver grinned. “Because mum makes cookies for company.”

Anne stared.

Then, before she could stop herself, she laughed.

-

Anne hadn’t planned to stay the night. Hell, she hadn’t even planned to step through the front door. She had expected - fully expected - to take one look at Sebastian’s so-called new life, find some reason to mock it, and then leave before anything could get under her skin.

But now she was standing in the guest bedroom, staring at a neatly made bed while Mrs. Sallow pulled an extra blanket from a small linen cupboard, chatting like it was perfectly normal to be offering her estranged sister-in-law a place to sleep.

“This room’s not used much.” She said over her shoulder. “It’s yours any time you come for a visit.”

“You’re assuming an awful lot.”

She smiled calmly before dropping the blanket onto the bed before turning to face Anne. “You'll be back to see Ollie's cute face - I know my kid's charm. He won you over even if you still want to throttle his dad.”

Anne hated that she had a point.

With an exasperated sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed, fingers idly picking at the stitching on the quilt. “You’re being very... accommodating.”

She tilted her head. “You say that like you expected me to chase you off.”

Anne scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s suspicious. You don’t even know me. We met all of three times before I tried to send my brother to Azkaban, and you're letting me stay over like we're all a cozy family.”

She sat beside her, voice calm as ever. “All I know that my husband spent years waiting for you to forgive him, and that he still hasn't forgiven himself.”

Anne didn’t respond to that.

“No one is asking for or expecting anything, Anne. You’re here, and that's more than enough. Stay the night. See how you feel in the morning. We'll take it one day at a time. We want to hear how you have been - though I can't lie and say Sebastian hasn't pulled some strings with his Ministry cohorts to check in on your welfare.”

Obnoxious, nosy bastard.

Anne nodded curtly, defeated, and gestured toward the door. “I better not wake up to a toddler jumping on me.”

Mother of said toddler simply snorted. “No promises.”

And just like that - it was decided.

Anne was staying.

-

She woke up to small fingers poking her cheek.

“Wake up.” Oliver whispered loudly.

Anne cracked an eye open. “It’s too early for this.”

Oliver grinned. “Dad says you’re staying for breakfast.”

Anne groaned, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “He does, does he?”

Oliver nodded enthusiastically, then tilted his head. “You should stay longer.”

“And why is that? I won't play with you.”

Oliver shrugged. “You’re family.”

Anne went still.

Family.

A concept she had spent so many years refusing to believe she had anymore.

But maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.

She reached out, ruffling his messy brown hair with a tired hand.

“We’ll see.”

Oliver grinned at the victory.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Anne rose to wish her brother a good morning.

Perhaps it was for the best she hadn't read all those letters - how much better would it be to hear it all for herself?