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It occurred to Sebastian somewhat belatedly that his plan may be a tad ambitious.
It had taken him months to begin to learn the castle’s winding passages and ever-changing stairs. In fact, upon entering his fifth-year at the school Sebastian had learned how to clean up a respectable amount of galleons by charging first-years a tidy fee for directions.
He wasn’t heartless . But it was a rite of passage to spend the first couple weeks miserably and pathetically lost. If the new students wanted to waste their coin, Sebastian certainly wouldn’t say no. Besides, no one could ever say he wasn’t fair –– He charged a fair percentage based on a terribly complicated mathematical equation that estimated time-saved contrasted to embarrassment-avoided. That is to say, his rates changed based on how pathetic the poor sod appeared.
If Sebastian let the delightfully confused and world-weary muggle-borns save a sickle or two, it was only because he knew Hogwarts would make them earn their keep soon enough. (Not to mention the ragging and hustling and undoubtable hazing one could expect from the Pure-Blood lot).
If Sebastian let a secret-passage or two slip for free into the ears of a ridiculously down-trodden Hufflepuff who was nearly beside herself with anxiety over being late to Potions class, well, he would never have done such a thing thank-you very-much. Nothing terribly exciting, mind you, like the One-Eyed Hag, you had to earn those stripes first.
And if Sebastian took a secret pleasure in watching some of his more haughty and high-handed fellow Slytherins whinge and whine about house unity and Pure-Blood camaraderie, going on and on and on , begging him for a dollop of mercy on the ever-changing stairs, well, what can a man say? He wasn’t cruel . Sebastian was honest . He would inform them with an expression of such soulful, impassioned honesty that he could have been mistaken for a house-elf, “I’m afraid I really can’t help you.”
And it was true – He can’t save anyone from being an absolute twat .
He loved his Slytherin compatriots, and Sebastian took great pride in his house. But a Slytherin never, ever begs. Being an absolute entitled nonce was not the Slytherin way. So if Sebastian’s business tactics brought down an iron fist on his fellow classmates, it was only because he was trying to help them in the long run, really. Sebastian was all for ambition, cunning, and power. High-handedness, bullying, entitlement, these were the things he loathed.
Some at Hogwarts might say that he exemplified all of these traits. On this subject, Sebastian would say the following:
Sebastian was as prideful and confident as the best and the worst of them. Of this, he refused to feel any shame. Unlike most of his peers, and even a handful of particularly loathsome Gryffindoors, insufferable Ravenclaws, and downright rage-inducing Hufflepuffs, Sebastian felt that he had earned the right to be a bit prideful.
He was the best duelist in his year – soon to be the best in the entire castle. He was on his way to breaking the Hogwarts record for most detentions earned in a single year (and it was only the first week!). Sebastian wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty in the name of knowledge. In this sense, he had a modest but growing fan-club of Ravenclaws. The Slytherins were not impressed – sacrifice for the sake of ambition was an expectation, not an exception. Plus, he thought privately, that his goals were far more noble than anyone in the school realized. The snotty Gryffindoors might even weep if they knew. And despite his trouble-making ways, Sebastian remained an ace-student. Professor Weasley, he knew, couldn’t stand the fact –– not because she begrudged his talent, but because, like most of their boring professors would, that he was wasting his potential through these antics.
That is to say, Sebastian felt no shame in turning his nose up at his fellow students because he had the walk to back up all his smart-mouthed talk.
On the discussion of inter-house unity, and much more importantly, inter-house division, Sebastian’s opinion was much the same. He despised students who rested on laurels they had not earned. He absolutely loathed when his classmates began to rely on their House stereotype, rather than strive to meet those expectations. There was nothing worse than a Ravenclaw who spent all their time on their homework, but never bothered to look up from their parchment long enough to notice the endless mysteries and puzzles surrounding them at Hogwarts. Sebastien could gag if he saw another stupidly noble Gryffindor waste their breath railing against injustice and cowardice, acting as stout defenders of the “weak,” only to turn their nose up at a desperate Slytherin first-year or be the first to run when Mr. Sharp came walking down the hall.
On that note – Sebastian grudgingly respected Gareth Weasley. As much of an idiot as the boy could be, Sebastian respected his drive to forgo the rules in the spirit of experimentation and adventure.
As for the Slytherin penchant for Pure-Blood prejudice? Sebastian couldn’t care less about the magic in your blood, so long as you weren’t a complete nonce. He didn’t quite know how he felt about squibs, he had never met any, but he would like to think he would get along with them just fine if they weren’t absolutely insufferable.
His professors might gasp in shock, but for Sebastian, hard-work, drive, and daring went a long way.
Which brings us back to his underhanded, illegal tour-guide hustle. Hogwarts, in short, was near-impossible to navigate on the best of days, and it was an absolute nightmare of the worst of days. Hoping that a fresh, flopping fish of a first-year turned fifth year would be able to find their way, after dark , to meet him by the Central Hall? Without being seen ?
It was a doomed plan from the start. Sebastian wasn’t an idiot like Prewitt, he could see the growing holes in the parchment.
Groaning in frustration, Sebastian allowed himself to slump bonelessly against the wall. Sparing a glance down the hall, he quietly watched the ambient glow from the wand-light of the Prefects on watch float across the hall.
She was never going to make it. All the way from Gryffindor tower? Oh please. If there was one thing Sebastian knew best, it was how to avoid getting caught… And if there was a second thing he knew best, it was about getting caught . “Oh, Merlin’s beard, Sebastian,” he muttered dejectedly to himself.
Then again, he considered, loosening his school tie as he slumped further down the cold stone of the castle’s walls, maybe things aren’t so dismal. She survived a dragon attack. She made it to Gringotts, presumably did something terribly exciting and dangerous –– Sebastian’s favorite kind of activity –– and then lived to tell the tale. Well, not quote tell-the-tale. She had been awfully tight-lipped about it all. Sebastian could understand the need to keep secrets. He had more than enough of them all on his own, and at least he had Ann and Ominus to share most of his burden with. This new student, however… No friends, no family, no prior connection to magic at all, he suspected.
When he asked her if she had dueled before, he noted the moment of hesitation before she declared with an impressive dose of absolutely bullshit confidence, “yes, I have.”
So far, he knew very little about this mysterious arrival to Hogwarts. Dragons, Goblins, Ranrock . And then, as if that wasn’t all exciting enough, she had promptly cut him to shreds in what must have been her very first and proper Wizard’s Duel.
Sebastian didn’t like very many people, and he truly respected even fewer, but Oh, he liked her.
Despite her innate skill with a wand, Sebastian had noticed the subtle tells that betrayed her as a beginner. Her wrist was too stiff when casting Protego , but her reflexes made up for the awkwardness of her casting. She lacked the intent to make her spells truly powerful –– a wand is a powerful thing to wield, and magic itself even more so. A spellcaster needed a razor-sharp mind and a clear picture of their goal in order to manifest the wisps of power they were commanding into an actual spell. But he recognized a twin-flame of competition in her eyes, the very same eagerness and ambition that drove Sebastian to the Undercroft.
She was ignorant, untrained, and an obvious novice. And she was magnificent.
He was eager to duel her again. A few weeks of training, some new spells added to her arsenal, and Sebastian could only imagine how much more powerful and dangerous she could grow to be.
Sebastian honestly couldn’t say what was more addicting –– dueling against her, or with her.
Oh, fighting against that troll in Hogsmeade. Sebastian felt his lips curl into a smile, remembering the sharp exhilaration of the fight. Even the underground dueling circuit at Hogwarts couldn’t come close to the lighting-bright thrill of real-world combat. It had been absolutely terrifying; It had been wonderful.
During their duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he had hesitated at the beginning. He had recognized the mixture of uncertainty, fascination, and the taste of fear that came with embracing your magic for the very first time. All first-years practically reeked of it. Sebastian had been no different. Even coming from a Wizard-family, where magic was freely practiced and as essential to his childhood as, hmmm, those strange electrical-steam thingys the muggle-borns always tried to explain to him might be to a non-magic household, embracing your magic totally and completely for the first time –– it was a feeling no magic-user ever forgot. That day in class, Sebastian saw that unmasked fear in her eyes. She couldn’t hide it. Salazar’s whiskers, she probably hadn’t even known or thought to hide it. She knew nothing of the houses, of their history, nothing of the Magic World, nothing of the how-things-are and what-should-be-done. Nothing pushing her to prove herself. Just the pure, unadulterated concoction of fear and joy that came with meeting your magic head on.
He could only imagine what that had felt like. His own introduction to magic hadn’t been so liberating.
Sebastian could still hear the deafening crash of the beast exploding through the cottage in the center of Hogsmeade. He had stood there, gaping like a ridiculous, pungent frog as the beast bellowed. And he had watched her take that first step, just like in their duel. The very same fear, the same brilliantly shining joy, as she moved past him to face the troll head on. Just as she had stepped past the fervent whispers and watching eyes of the classmates to meet him on their own battlefield. (Although Sebastian fancied himself slightly more enticing and intimidating than some snot-nosed troll).
She had raised her wand –– newly purchased, mind you, Oh Helga Hufflepuf’s Chomping Cabbages , I can’t believe she beat me with a borrowed wand –– and stood there like some kind of valiant, warrior-witch as the troll howled once more, sending spittle and troll-bogeys and little flecks of chewed up somethings past them. He wouldn’t do her the disservice of saying she didn’t flinch. Acknowledging fear in the face of something truly, deservingly fearsome is perfectly honorable and brave. Ugh, I sound like a Gryffindor . Only the foolish and those who die foolishly are too proud to offer the necessary respect to the dangers of the world. Sebastian is as prideful and foolish as they come, but he knows to respect power.
He certainly feels a great walloping something for Her – He’s confident it must be respect. It just feels a little awkward because he respects so few people truly and honestly and sincerely.
Sebastian clumsily yanks his tie a little loser, allowing his fingers to reach up and pop open a few extra buttons at the top of his collarbone. It’s a bit warm in the castle for this time of year, at this time of night. If he were a complete ninny like Prewitt or Duncan, he might say that his cheeks were a tad flushed. But he’s not a ninny.
Sebastian decides that it must be the echoing thrill of the troll duel.
And so she stood there, facing down a troll, her knuckles white with anxiety and shoulders tense as the unyielding yew of her wand. The troll had bellowed for a third and final time, and then she opened her mouth and yelled right back at it .
Sebastian would never ever say he loved anybody (except Ann, and maybe Ominus when he wasn’t being a complete arse) and he didn’t love some nobody Witch who had bested him in a duel and almost gotten him killed in a fight with a troll, and he most definitely couldn’t say he loved her because he couldn’t possibly love somehow he just met and he absolutely, definitely, most certainly doesn’t feel anything but resounding respect. But in an alternate universe where Sebastian was a bit less of a prat and less of a Boy, he might have the courage to admit that somewhere between staring up at her from the hard floor of the Defense classroom with a big, blooming bruise on his tailbone and on his ego, and watching her scream like a bloody Mandrake, he felt some kind of something. Maybe it was gas trapped under his ribs, or a lovely concussion from her masterfully executed Protego - Stupefy combo.
But Sebastian lives in this wonderful, confusing, dastardly universe where his sister is sick, he is still a bit of an arse (but a well-intentioned one as far as these things go), and the L-word, and feelings in general, are completely and totally omitted from the category of bad-boy, sixteen-year-old Slytherin rebels.
So the R-Word it is: Respect. And maybe a dash of the C-Word: Curisority. And the second C-Word: Competition. (Not that C-Word, Sebastian is still a gentleman , of a sort).
Sebastian Respects her power and daring –– really, Gryffindors are so over-the-top. He is also the king of Curiosity, and this troll-dueller and dragon-conqueror has almost as many secrets as Hogwarts itself. There is nothing Sebastian loves more than a good secret (and maybe a beautifully tailored suit). So Sebastian is going to stick around until he gets his answers. Finally, any good duelist and any good Wizard, Witch, and Magic-User knows to keep your friends close and your competition close. If anyone can usurp his position as the top-duelist at Hogwarts, it will be her. To stay ahead of the competition and defend his hard-earned title, Sebastian will need to keep an eye on her. Merlin’s pasty-arse, he won’t let a Gryffindor show him up.
Sebastian has no special hatred for Gryffindors per-say, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy a dash of inter-house competition.
These are the reasons, Sebastian decides, that he is sitting on the floor of the castle, just beyond Central Hall. He is sitting her waiting for someone that he thinks probably won’t show up, but it certainly wouldn’t be the most surprising thing to happen this week if she does manage to make it from one end of the castle to the other before the sun rises.
When he hears the harsh whisper of “Sebastian?” echo through the silence of the corridor, Sebastian Sallow does not jerk to his feet in surprise. He does not smooth the wrinkles of his shirt and messily button up his fitted vest (although he doesn’t even bother with the tie and shirt-collar). He certainly doesn’t take a deep breath in to steady his nerves and brush a hand through his hair when he sees ––
“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”
Evelyn Kingston blushed very prettily (which Sebastian does not notice, although if he did he would say it was an ironic shade of Gryffindor) and wrings her hands in a sheepish expression of embarrassment-and-defeat. In their week at Hogwarts, Sebastian had seen plenty of ridiculous outfits that made him fear for the future of Wizarding Society as a whole. Muggle fashion that would shock his dear grandmother from her grave; Gareth’s attempt at a cloak with infinite pockets in order to hide all his nefarious ingredients; Zenobia’s garish green cloak that had been an attempt to hide the color of gobstone juice, which worked rather well but did nothing for the putrid smell; Imelda’s ridiculous robes that she had sewn onto the sleeves of her elbows and legs like a Finnish Speckled Bat, which she promised would increase her flying speed and the “aerodynamics” of quidditch as a whole.
Sebastian would say Evelyn Kingston was no exception –– except she was . To a mind-bending degree. Where she managed to find the strange assortment of multi-colored cloaks and scarves that would make a hedgewitch jealous, he had no idea. The only thing of which anybody at Hogwarts could be certain of these days is: The Pumpkin Pasties were always delicious, Sebastian Sallow was the best duelist in the school (Ok, maybe that wasn’t a unanimous opinion), and Evelyn Kingston had one-week’s worth of reliability when it came to the most ridiculous, toad-spawn outfit one could find.
Although, Sebastian could admit that it had a certain charm, made it wonderfully easy to keep track of her (as a rival), and that, impossibly, the outfits were slowly improving from Ghastly to Only Fairly Awful.
In fact, the most normal outfit he had ever seen her in was her robes at the Sorting Ceremony, and her casual uniform during their trip to Hogsmeade. The trousers she wore were shocking to muggles and only slightly modern to wizards (after all, one couldn’t very well ride a broomstick in a proper dress, and robes allowed most Witches and Wizards to get away with all sorts of outfits while maintaining decorum in public). Paired with a rumbled white school shirt with suspicious singe marks on the cuffs (which Evelyn had hastily rolled up to hide) and a tailored vest hanging open (which Sebastian’s hands both itched to button up but also perhaps take-off entirely), Evelyn looked all very well and normal.
That is, if Very Well and Normal still smelled like trouble. Sebastian liked trouble. The matching, scarlet Gryffindor scarf was only a tad insufferable. Sebastian figured it was the obnoxious house spirit that Ms. Kingston was sporting which irked him (not that he felt his custom Slytherin-green suit was any issue). If Ann were here, she might have teased him about hating the scarf because no-one, not even Sebastian, could deny that as good as Evelyn Kingston looked in Gryffindor red, she would be breathtaking in Slytherin house colors. It would match her eyes – not that Sebastian has particularly noted her eyes. And it would compliment the red-hues in her brown hair, instead of being swallowed up in that overwhelming abundance of Gryffindor pride–– not that Sebastian noticed her hair. But he considered himself a rather fashionable fellow.
Evelyn Kingston, standing in nothing but her socks and underclothes and a flimsy, Hogwarts school robe was not what he was expecting.
That is not to say that she was dressed that vulgarly –– At a school for magic, mishaps were an everyday, every hour occurrence. Shirts and eyebrows sacrificed to Incendio charms; wet clothes and the odd-sight of bare legs or arms a common-enough occurrence in accidental bathroom run-ins, frequent dares to touch a tentacle of the Giant Squid in the lake; the occasional, frantic strip of clothes and shoes and socks after losing a game of Gobstones or being blasted with a stray dungbomb.
They were teenagers, not prudes.
But night-time romps to the Restricted Section of the library usually demanded a little more than thin white socks (Gosh, the castle floor must be freezing this time of night) and whatever girls called those frilly white pants (bloomers, he supposed?) and a thin white nightshirt with its wide, drooping collar that showed off far too much collarbone and skin for Sebastian’s liking. And by liking he meant that no rival of His should be caught in such discomposure. And no scarf? Merlin’s Beard , that robe does absolutely nothing to cover anything either.
While Sebastian’s mind was buzzing about a mile a minute attempting to process his increasingly frantic internal monologue, he realized the bane-of-his-existence-but-perhaps-his-purpose -for-living-aside-from-Ann-and-Ominus was speaking to him,
“–– so I couldn’t get away without being rude , and I had to get in bed and wait for a god-forsaken age for them all to fall asleep. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all very kind, but of course I was trying to come meet you ,” said Evelyn as she sighed dramatically, raising her eyes to the ceiling in an expression of exasperation, “then finally I was able to slip out, but I didn’t bother trying to change gain because I was worried I was late and I couldn’t risk waking the others.” In a funny show of propriety, Evelyn smoothed the fabric of her bloomers and straightened the collar of her robe as she cast her gaze awkwardly around the dim hall – anywhere but Sebastian.
“Well, hmm, yes I see how that could be a predicament,” he replied with a cough, trying separately not to think about Ms. Kingston in her underclothes and socks and her most likely very cold feet. If he were gallant, maybe he would have offered her his shoes; and if he were smart, which he usually is, he would have offered to cast a warming charm on her. But Sebastian is a bit of a prat, so what he said is “Alright then Evie, let’s get to work then, shall we?” and he watches her embarrassment melt away as she raises an eyebrow at her newly bestowed nickname.
“Yes, let’s,” Evie agrees, and the nervous, fretting first-year in her pajamas transforms into the troll-fighter from earlier. Sebastian likes both, he is surprised to find.
“Brilliant. First, let’s find a decent vantage point.” Glancing around the corner of the corridor, Sebastian points to the balcony at the center of the hall which overlooks the Central Landing.
He doesn’t need to softly cup her elbow and lead her silently across the room to crouch behind the bannister. The Prefects won’t be able to see them from up here. But his hands, it seems, have a mind of their own. He could be bothered by it –– Sebastian likes to be in control of every situation, particularly his own mind and his own hands –– but he figures that he made enough of a gamble trusting Evie to find her way here by herself. It is his solemn duty to guide her through their midnight escapade. After all, he can’t let his rival show him up every time, especially not on his tuf –– courting detention.
What he doesn’t expect is the easy, guileless way Evelyn allows herself to crowd him. She freely leans into his side, resting her shoulder against his own and letting one hand rest lightly on his knee as they both crouch behind the bannister, peering through the gaps in the spindles to watch the Prefects below. He also doesn’t expect the way his hand easily slides to rest on her back –– to steady her, his mind supplies, if she stumbles that Prefects will certainly hear that.
He definitely doesn’t let himself think about how warm her hand feels where it rests on his knee, burning through the lovely, thick wool of his trousers. Sebastian starts to feel a little sweaty and warm again. He figures that Evelyn must be some sort of human-heater –– maybe someone else cast a warming charm on her already. Yes, that’s certainly plausible. She’s friends with Nastai –– an incredibly talented Witch, Sebastian has no shame admitting. He’s been dying to learn some wandless magic from her. And a keen Witch like Nastai would absolutely be the caring, Gryffindor type to offer some sort of exciting, wandless warming charm to a new friend.
“Our first task will be getting past the Prefects,” Sebastian explains, leaning down more closely than he needs to in order to whisper softly in her ear. We can’t very well risk waking the portraits up with our nefarious planning, he reasons. “I’m going to teach you the disillusionment charm. This will be very handy for our trouble-making tonight. Using the charm, we’ll sneak past the Prefects and into the Library, as easy as stealing from a Puffskein.”
“Have you done this very often?” Evelyn asks warily, eying the winding path down the stairs, across the large hall, and past the Prefects.
“Hundreds!” Sebastian offers with exuberance. There’s nothing he loves more than an evening with the disillusionment charm.
“And how many of those times,” Evie asks with another one of her characteristic raised eyebrows, “have you been caught?” Evei’s eyebrows and Sebastian’s hands, what a vigilante team they could make.
He huffs in feigned offense, “almost every time,” and he watches her expression war between frustration and amusement, “the key word being almost . If you’re asking how many times I’ve had detention, well, let’s save that for after we successfully make it into the Restricted Section. Nerves won’t do any good here.”
“Sebastian,” Evie starts with a note of wariness. He rolls his eyes in a heavy, exaggerated motion that he knows Ann loves and Ominus despises. Just because I can’t see you, Ominus complained, doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re doing it .
And because he knows himself, and because he thinks Evelyn Kingston the duelist and secret-keeper and rebel-in-the-making might be cut from the same cloth as him, he drawsls “Why Evelyn Kingston, I had no idea you were scared.” He pulls his most insufferable, pompous Slytherin smirk that he can –– the one Poppy Sweeting once accused him of practicing in the mirror (he does) –– “I can hold you hand, if you’d like,” he offers.
He watches those fantastic eyebrows of hers furrow down in objection, but her lips twitch ever so slightly, and he knows that she knows he’s played her like a conjured fiddle.
“Alright then, teach me this charm and we’ll see who's scared.”
Evelyn pulls herself to her feet, raising her chin in a show of defiance. Sebastian smiles like a giddy idiot, and chooses to ignore it because he really just can’t be bothered.
“Watch my wand movement here,” he demonstrates, “make sure to watch out for flick of the wrist at the end –– it’s a bit similar to Wingardium Leviosa , but the incantation itself isn’t as stubborn on the wording.” He demonstrates a second time, this time repeating the incantation, and watches Evelyn’s eyes widen as she watches him “disappear.”
Unable to help himself, he circles as her head whips around searching for him in the dark. “The trick is the intent, you need to focus your mind on the illusion itself. It’s not an invisibility cloak, you’re using magic to bend the light to provide an illusion that confuses anyone who sees you. But get too close,” he whispers softly, stepping closely behind her to lean over her shoulder, “and the charm will lose its effect.”
Evie whips around, her long braid barely missing him and he quickly steps back. She stands before him, her gaze sharp and penetrating. Ever so carefully, she reaches out into the darkness, her fingers outstretched towards him. Quick as a snake, her hand grasps the end of his tie, dragging him forward with a hard tug that sends him stumbling into her as the disillusionment charm flickers and melts away. On instinct, his arms wrap around her, pulling her against him to stop them both from tumbling down the stairs and ending their evening before it has even begun.
“You have very keen eyes,” Sebastian says thickly. Up close, Sebastian finds to his horror, he can’t think of anything at all. Her left hand is gripping his tie, and her right hand rests heavy on his bicep, the handprint once again hot and burning even over the fabric of his clothing. While Sebastian separately tries to remember how to speak, Evie grins up at him in that wonderful exuberance that makes her so lovely and awful all at the same time. Lovely for obvious reasons; awful because Sebastian doesn’t have time to notice his rival idiotic smile with too many teeth.
“Oh,” Evie breathes softly, “that was brilliant. ” And then Sebastian thinks he is in real trouble. Not the fake kind with detentions that don’t count when your sister is gravely ill and needs you help. No, the kind of trouble he doesn’t understand but can recognize instinctively.
“It kind of was, wasn’t it?” He croaks weakly. Oh Merlin, what is happening to me?
And because Evelyn Kingston is unlike anyone he has ever met, instead of scoffing at his ridiculous pride and telling him he’s ridiculous and full of himself and such a Slytherin, she just smiles even wider, and it feels like someone has cast Lumos except the light is coming from within her smile and that’s just impossible.
If you could cast Lumos on someone like that, Sebastian would have done it by now and finally had the courage to explore the underground Herbology classroom everyone whispers about.
“Let me give it a try!” Like a child discovering magic for the first time, which, he admits, she really is, Evelyn steps away from him in excitement and draws her wand awkwardly, but with determination.
She waves her wand and disappears. The flourish is too dramatic, and she swept her wand in more of a U-shape than a C-shape, but the intent was there, because Sebastian finds himself staring at the empty space where Evie used to be.
“Unbelievable,” Sebastian shakes his head, unable and unwilling to cover his grin, “Of course you immediately master the disillusionment charm on your first attempt.” He hears her giggle from somewhere behind him, and then sputters indignantly when the end of his tie suddenly flops into his face. “Evelyn Kingston,” he says sternly, with only the barest wobble of laughter, “I’m afraid I’ll have to give you detention for the misuse of magic,” he shakes his finger in his best impression of Professor Weasley.”
She laughs again, and her joy causes the charm to flicker, allowing him to catch the briefest flicker of her red hair and ridiculous white bloomers. Not one to be upstaged, Sebastian quickly snakes his arm to the right, catching something solid in the curve of his elbow, dragging Evelyn bodily towards him to land with an amused “umph” against his chest.
She smiles wryly up at him, her back leaning against his chest and his arm hooked around her waist, her neck tilted uncomfortably to gaze up at what must be a mesmerizing view of the bottom of his chin.
“And that, my dear Evie,” and his heart gives a strange, disgusting little lurch at the term of endearment, “is why we must be careful not to get too close to the Prefects. Even with the charm, a keen Witch or Wizard can still spot you. If you bump into something, or say something, the charm does nothing to hide you.”
Her smile remains, but she nods seriously at him. Evelyn might not be above a bit of rule breaking and fun, but when it comes to magic, she’s like a sponge, soaking up any and all knowledge she can find. He’s noticed her more than once furiously writing notes down in the strange, beaten up little notebook of her. Waterlogged, stained with pumpkin juice and all sorts of other things –– Sebastian has a sneaking suspicion she even sleeps with it.
“Alright then, Master Sallow, show me the way to my first Hogwarts detention,” Evie steps away and bows dramatically, her arm bent in a flourish towards the stairs.
“Watch carefully, Ms. Kingston, not every Hogwarts student has the privilege to learn from Hogwarts’ very best Criminal Mastermind, Reigning Champion Duelist, and Voted Slytherin’s ‘Most-Handsome-and-Brilliant” three years running.”
Sebastian can’t remember the last time he let himself be so relaxed around another person since Ann left. Even with Ominus, the Undercroft had become a space devoted to his unceasing search for a cure. While he was friendly with a handful of students, and by no means a pariah (one might even say Sebastian Sallow was popular ), it had been a long time since Sebastian had any fun .
He turned to look at Evelyn one last time, then quietly cast the disillusionment charm once more. He heard the swish of her robes and she cast the charm herself. Alright Sebastian, it’s showtime.
He had made it halfway down the stairs when he felt something grab at his sleeve. He paused, waiting to see if she would say something, glancing around the room. Was something coming? Did he miss anything? He didn’t want to break the silence now that they were closer to the Prefects on guard.
He slipped his hand down to find Evelyn’s where it gripped the back of his robe. He squeezed her hand in a silent question, and felt her release his robes to slip her hand into his own, lacing their fingers together.
Sebastian quietly thanked the Forces of Magic for the disillusionment charm. He wasn’t blushing. But if he was, by some impossible chance, no one would ever know. He didn’t know why exactly he was now holding hands with a strange girl, hidden by a disillusionment charm, preparing to break into the Restricted Section of Hogwarts, all to help her with something .
Quietly, Sebastian wondered how long it had been since he had indulged in any kind of comfort like this. No mother, no Father, just him and Ann against the world. And now Ann was far away and depending on him to care for her… (When was the last time anyone had taken care of Sebastian Sallow? But this was a question Sebastian would never allow himself to ask, even in the safety of his own mind). He didn’t complain about Evie’s hand tightly clasped in his. He didn’t try to let go. If by chance he held her hand just as tightly, well, what did it really matter anyhow?
When he broke out of his reverie –– He really had to stop doing this –– he noticed they had already made it to the fountain in the center of the room. He had been pulling Evie along with him without even thinking about it. He paused here, squeezing her hand again as a signal to stop. Sebastian peered around the fountain to watch the Prefects by the Library’s doors when he suddenly felt Evie give a sharp tug on his arm. Glancing back, he noticed a Ravenclaw Prefect walking dangerously close to them.
Gripping Evie’s hand tightly, he quickly pulled them both to their feet, silently padding across the room away from the Library’s doors, down the stairway that led to the Herbology courtyard to find a hiding spot behind the curved bannister of the stairway.
Blast it, he vowed with frustration, watching the Prefect continue to follow them all the way down the stairs. It was Valaria Brookhouse, one of the fuel duelists who could give him any actual competition and the Ravenclaw Prefect notorious for her moods. Whether Valaria turned a blind eye to students’ shenanigans or decided to make your life a living hell entirely depended on how she was feeling at that particular moment.
And Sebastian, well, he wouldn’t say he was Valaria’s favorite . She despised the fact that he charged students for directions –– How very Slytherin of you , she always liked to say snidely –– and they had a fierce competition in the underground dueling circuit. He didn’t think Valaria had any love lost for him. She was, however, genial with Ann, and he suspected that in spite of her loathing, that she didn’t truly bear him any ill-will.
He had no doubt, however, that Valaria would love the chance to turn him into the headmaster for another detention.
Sebastian quickly considered his options. They could stay where they were and hope Valaria didn’t come close enough to spot them. But Evie, despite her talent, had only learned the disillusionment charm barely fifteen minutes ago. Even the barest lapse in focus –– especially from fear or anxiety –– could make her charm malfunction and reveal them. They could try a distraction – a carefully timed Accio or Wigardiam Leviosa would distract Valaria, but she wasn’t stupid, and Sebastian wasn’t so foolish to think he could outsmart a Ravenclaw, especially not a Prefect . Valaria was brilliant, he would give her that.
At best, she would be distracted and it would draw all the other Prefects attention as well. At worst, Valaria would immediately see through the ruse, and catch them anyway.
They could attempt to run away or slip through the Herbology doors, but it would mean they would have to try again another night. Sebastian hated giving up.
His mind was racing, Valaria was getting closer, and Sebastian was running out of time.
Evelyn squeezed his hand tightly, and he squeezed back, mistaking it for an expression of fear. He should really have known better. “Sebastian,” she whispered so softly it was barely an exhale, her breath hot against his ear, “do you trust me?” She was much, much closer than he realized. Sebastian did not swallow thickly in response.
No, he shouldn’t trust her. He had just met her. Already, he had nearly been killed twice, first by the Troll, then by Ranrock and his men, all by mere association. She was like an Accio charm for trouble. He absolutely shouldn’t trust her. Ominus would be the first to tell him that. But Ann… Ann would adore her.
He didn’t trust himself to answer without further alerting Valaria, so he squeezed Evelyn’s hand in answer, allowing his fingers to press firmly into each knuckle and for his palm to rest flush against her own.
It turns out, Sebastian later realized, he didn’t need to worry all that much about staying hidden .
He felt Evie squeeze his hand once more. Her other hand found their clasped grip, her fingers lightly running over his knuckles, then over his wrist ( Oh Merlin his pulse was quick, can she feel that?), her thumb brushing over the barest hint of his forearm from where his robes had scrunched up, before running up over his arm to his shoulder. He felt he gently brush over the collar of his shirt, warm fingers – slightly calloused already from who-knows-what she gets up to in between classes – tracing his collarbone, then up, up, up across his throat and (embarrassingly) quivering Adam’s Apple to brush gently across his chin, then across his jaw, before finally cupping his cheek oh so gently.
Sebastian’s mind is absolutely racing. He’s trying to remember that last time, if ever, that someone has touched him this gently. He’s trying to remember anything at all, because his mind is on the verge of completely blanking. Did Valaria find us and cast an Obliviate , he wonders wildly. Maybe if he were a bit less of a sodding idiot, as Ominus would say, or a big lug of stone without brains, as Ann would tease, Sebastian would have seen where this was going.
But all he could think about is that his hand felt awfully sweaty where Evie was holding it and that her hand against his cheek and jaw is oh so hot, and her thumb is lightly brushing across his lips, almost like she is mapping out his mouth in the dark; her thumb brushes across the bottom lip, tracing lightly over his cupid’s bow, moving slightly to the corner to frame his mouth, and Oh ––
Evelyn Kingston, Champion over Trolls and Dragons and Goblins, enemy of the nefarious Goblin Ranrock, master of spells, powerful duelist, questionable Hogwarts fashion icon and all around mystery is kissing him .
The first thing he thinks is oh, finally something she isn’t so good at. She misses his mouth completely at first, despite her careful, soft touches from before. Her mouth lands somewhere half over her thumb and a bit on his chin and a tiny bit on his mouth. In a funny, terrible way it is relieving, because here Sebastian was just starting to think there was no way Evie was human. It turns out she’s incredibly powerful and talented and lovely, but when it comes to normal things, like kissing, she’s just like the rest of them.
The second thing he thinks is that Evelyn must secretly be really stupid. It is not a kind thought, Sebastian knows. But here she is kissing him and he can feel the disillusionment charm fall away from both of them . Valaria is going to spot them at any moment and sound the alarm and toss him into detention while laughing maniacally, and then she’ll tell the entire school that Sebastian Sallow has lost his edge and was discovered because he couldn’t keep a simple disillusionment charm going.
He would be thinking, it’s not my fault! Evie kissed me . But Sebastian is still a tiny bit of a gentleman with some minor scraps of honor from what he remembers of his mother, a lot of what Ann has drilled into him, and a tiny bit from his secret admiration of Professor Weasley. And telling the entire school that it is Evie’s fault because she kissed him would not only be rude , he can hear Ann say, but also embarrassing, Ominus says with scorn. Besides, he’s not exactly unhappy with this entire development.
He’s standing there woodenly as Evie tries to kiss him in the dark and considering their impending doom and the death of his carefully won reputation, and then he feels Evie impatiently squeeze his hand –– rather hard, mind you, ow –– as if to say “Sebastian, pay attention you utter twat.”
Then Sebastian, who is only a little bit of an idiot, and really rather smart if he is allowed to say, has a dramatic epiphany in the alcove next to the stairs.
Oh, he realizes, Evie isn’t an idiot –– I am .
The puzzle pieces click into place and it occurs to Sebastian that Evie also noticed their predicament, and that rather than kissing him because of some secret undying love or because, as Gareth insists to anyone who listens with utter glee and admiration, she’s totally crazy, that Evie is probably kissing him as a part of some sort of strange plan to save the day. And in all honesty, kissing someone in the dark under a disillusionment charm is not the easiest thing to do, either. Sebastian can be gracious.
He can’t say he understands where this is going, but he certainly understands her impatient hand squeeze. Sebastian Sallow realizes in that moment –– not during the Troll fight or even the duel –– that he probably would follow Evelyn Kingston anywhere, and he would probably do almost anything she asked of him. It’s not because she’s kissing him badly and it’s making him feel all sorts of things that Sebastian Sallow is not supposed to feel. However, he can’t say what else it would be.
So Sebastian does what he does best, and that’s get himself into trouble.
He squeezes Evie’s hand back, as if to say “hang on, don’t be so impatient darling,” and brings his other hand up to rest warm and heavy on the back of her neck, his fingers threading into the underside of her thick braid, his thumb sliding up behind her ear, gently angling her head so that she’s no longer kissing his chin (a very lovely chin it is, mind you), and her lips slot gently between his own and then suddenly Sebastian Sallow is kissing Evelyn Kingston.
With a small pang of regret, he releases her hand, and quickly comforts the absence by sliding his hand under her school robe to wrap around her waist, pulling her tight against him. She feels like a furnace and for a brief moment, Sebastian wonders if he might pass out from all this excitement. But that wouldn’t be very gallant or rebellious or impressive of him, so he decides he absolutely will not , even if his entire body feels warm, and his clothes feel stifling.
It’s almost like Evie can read his mind –– and honestly, it wouldn’t even phase him if she could at this point –– and she slides her free hand up his chest to wrap around his tie, pulling it loose until it’s hanging limp and useless around his neck. He feels her fingers lightly dance over the skin of his neck and collarbone, before she flattens her hand to his chest and slides it under his shirt to rest over his heart. She presses her hand firmly, the touch of her skin as if someone has cast an Incendio charm, burning and hot and feeling oh so wonderful. His heart thumps like a Hippogriff’s, wild and bursting under her hand. It’s as if without his hand to hold, Evie seeks out a new connection to thread them together.
Sebastian would feel embarrassed about it, but he’s too busy kissing her, enjoying the feel of her hand moving from its place cupping her jaw to thread into his hair. He’s drowning in her. If Valaria finds them, he’s not even sure he could stop if he wants to. He hears Evelyn let out a quiet sigh of pleasure, and he feels the tension ebbing from her body, as if his touch eases all the worry that she’s been hiding behind her excitement and curiosity. Sebastian decides he would like nothing more than to spend every day, every hour, and every minute kissing Evelyn Kingston.
He feels her hands tug him closer as she presses her whole body against him, trapping the hand she has laid over his heart between them. He can’t help but groan into her mouth, clutching the fabric of her undershirt in his hand from where his arm anchors them together. He had laughed at her attire earlier, but now he can’t help but curse every possible entity or god out there for letting him decide to wear his suit and robe to go break into the library. There are a million too many layers separating Sebastian from feeling that addictive, burning heat of Evie’s skin on his. His mind feels wild with half-a-dozen desires he can hardly name.
Just when he think he really can’t take anymore, as if he’s ready to burst from his own skin, just as he’s thinking about how quickly he could yank his robe off and then vest off and his shirt off (and blast it, I’m never, ever wearing this many articles of clothing again ) and maybe even slip his hand under Evie’s shirt if she would let him, he feels her tongue brush against the seam of his lips and then Sebastian is really , absolutely and truly gone.
He opens his mouth to let her tongue swipe hesitantly into his mouth, and he somehow impossibly pulls her even tighter against him, lifting Evelyn slightly off her feet and his hand weaving into her braid and pulling it into a wild, half-tangled mess. She’s clutching tightly to him as well and he thinks he may have heard her make some sort of noise that drives him half-mad and he can’t help but moan into her mouth and ––
“Oh my god, Sebastian Sallow?!”
Evie abruptly breaks the kiss, leaning back to look at him with wide eyes, her chest heaving with every gasping breath, her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, her hair in utter disarray and her mouth bruised and swollen.
He can’t help it, he leans back in to kiss her again ––
“Oh no you don’t , I am not watching you stick your tongue down someone’s throat,” Valaria shrieks in a harsh whisper.
Sebastian groans, and lets his forehead drop to rest against Evie’s shoulder. He’s still holding her tightly, her toes barely touching the cold stone floor.
“Hullo’ Valaria,” and Sebastian would deny that utter defeat in his voice if anyone asked, because Sebastian doesn’t suffer defeat.
“ This is what you spend your time doing after hours? Not stealing supplies or breaking into the library or –– or literally anything else? Oh Merlin’s arse I think I need to go Obliviate myself. I don’t know if I’m excited or nauseous to tell Professor Weasley what you’ve been up to with –– Oh you have got to be kidding me. Evelyn Kingston?”
Evie blushed even deeper, the flush spreading from her checks across her neck and chest. Sebastian tightened his hold on her instinctively, and it took absolutely everything in him not to kiss her again.
“Hi Valaria,” she replied with a small, embarrassed smile. Sebastian hid his smirk in the crook of her neck – This was your idea, he thought in a mix of amusement and agony.
“Seriously, Evie?” Valaria’s shoulder dropped in a parody of grief, the anger and revulsion seeping from her body. “You couldn’t have chosen literally anyone else?”
Evie ponders for a moment, before a mischievous grin lights up her face. Sebastian groans in anticipation –– “Well,” Evie says slyly, “He just looked so adorably shocked after losing the duel.”
At this, Valaria laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be completely grossed out that competitive dueling is apparently Sebastian Sallow’s form of foreplay ,” she spits out the last word with barely concealed disgust, “but I guess it makes me happy I haven’t beaten Sebastian yet.”
“Valaria,” Evie begins with a pleading smile. A smile, which Sebastian muses, is probably not very convincing from Evelyn’s position still wrapped up in his arms. Here comes Valaria’s revenge, he thinks, and braces himself for the blow.
“Evelyn Kingston,” Valaria says with all the pompous, insufferable authority of a Prefect, “you both should get detention.” Then she pauses, seems to brace herself for something, and adds “but you’re lucky I like you, and I owe you for the favor from earlier.”
Evie grins like a maniac, and Sebastian once again considers that as much as he likes Evie, he really has absolutely no idea what she gets up to when he’s not around.
“I’ll distract the Prefects for a moment –– you two get out of here.” Sebastian’s jaw drops at Valaria’s concession, this can’t be happening. “Oh, Sebastian sod-off, don’t look at me like that. I’m not some evil bitch –– although if it wasn’t for Evelyn, I would toss you to the hounds. Now get out of here, and I swear, if you two make me watch you make-out like a couple of fourth-years again, I’ll lose my mind.” With that declaration, Valaria sweeps her long, dark hair over her shoulder and strides off.
Evie and Sebastian stand there silently for a moment. There are a lot of things they could say, a lot of things they probably should say, but instead:
“You’re friends with Valaria Brookhouse?” and “I hope you don’t mind that I ––” they both start at the same time. They smile softly for a moment.
“Oh well, it’s a bit of a long story,” Evelyn admits, a bit of shyness taking over, “but I think we might be friends. I hope so.”
“She hates me,” Sebastian groans, “but of course she likes you!”
Evie tilts her head for a moment, assessing him, before she says, “well, I like you.”
Sebastian feels like he should say something to that, but to be honest, he can’t remember the last time someone genuinely said they liked him. So he stares at Evie and thinks she might be the most wonderful thing to ever come to Hogwarts.
Quickly, barely more than a mumble, Sebastian finally says, “I didn’t mind.”
“Didn’t mind what?” Evie asks, because she’s a minx and possibly evil and maybe the worst thing to ever come to Hogwarts. Sebastian thinks about dropping her and striding off to salvage his reputation as a stone-cold loner. He thinks about kissing her again. Actually, that might be all he’ll ever think about again. But Evelyn Kingston apparently wants to possibly send him to an early grave, because she swoops in to kiss him one more time, striking him mute and dumb, and then slips away from his arms and grabs his hand once more, “come on, we can’t waste the time Valaria bought us.”
The time to talk –– and maybe, if he’s lucky, makeout –– is later. With twin waves of their wands, Sebastian and Evelyn fall under the cloak of the disillusionment charm again.
Later, after they’ve broken into the Restricted Section and made a total mess of things with Peeves, Sebastian doesn’t think twice about taking the fall for Evie. He tells her that he likes having friends who owe him favors. But really, he just likes having Evie.
As he watches her dash down the hall of the Restricted Section, disappearing into the darkness, Sebastian wonders if he’ll be able to follow whatever path Evelyn Kingstin has found herself embarking upon.