Chapter Text
Whoever said chivalry is dead can go jump in a vat of rancid Bubotuber pus, as far as Sebastian is concerned.
He huffs up the cliffside behind her, increasingly aware of just how loud his breathing is getting and bloody hell, it hasn’t even been a full term without Quidditch.
When did he get so out of shape?
“I told you I could go alone.” She calls from over her shoulder and her breathing is even and regular, and how is it that she doesn’t sound even remotely winded? “You didn’t have to come.”
“And let you face an entire keep of Ashwinders by yourself? Ominis would never let me hear the end of it.”
Actually, all Ominis had done was give Sebastian a knowing if-you-don’t-tell-this-girl- how-you-feel-immediately-I’ll-do-it-for-you-you-idiot look, which was both irritating (because he had nothing to tell, thank you very much) and impressive (because Ominis really had honed his ability to communicate with Sebastian using no words at all).
“I’m just going to finish my star charts, Sebastian, please stop being so dramatic.”
And anyone else might think her annoyed by his theatrics.
But Sebastian knows her voice - has spent hours analyzing every sentence she has said to him -
Which he keeps strictly to himself, because Ominis would definitely file that in the ‘Lovestruck Idiot’ category.
- and he knows, he knows, the amusement he hears in her words is not a product of his own imagination; he might as well be staring directly at her for how clearly he can see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“I distinctly remember you coming back more than a little bruised and battered after you were ‘just purchasing some supplies, Sebastian', so let’s just call it a safe bet.”
This makes her pause and Sebastian jumps at the opportunity to rest his rather aching legs.
Honestly, he needs to spend less time in the library and more training on the Quidditch pitch.
Outwardly, however, he’s the picture of calm and collected - though he does make more than a small effort to curb his gasping breaths as she turns to face him.
“That was… different.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t”
“It won’t happen this time.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
“Are you finished?”
“I- ”
“I get it.” She says wearily - she must have picked that up from Ominis - and they continue onwards, despite the muscles screaming in protest in Sebastian’s legs.
They finally arrive at a plateau of what Sebastian can only imagine has to be the largest, steepest mountain in the highlands, and he collapses heavily onto a large, stone slab of concrete - not even bothering to control his ragged breathing.
She, he notices with slight satisfaction, is looking rather flushed and out of breath herself and he feels a warmth pooling in his stomach.
He’s not an idiot; he knows what the feelings stirring inside him are. He knows why his heart races every time he catches a glimpse of her smile; why he can’t seem to think straight any time she gives him her full attention. He understands why he’s so damned anxious every time she disappears for hours on end and reappears at the castle with brand new cuts and bruises.
But he's not the type of person who's able to share himself with someone; to protect someone, no matter how much he might want to be that person - and he does, very much, want to be that person.
But he wasn’t built for it.
His parents.
Anne.
Hell - he even struggles to keep those blasted mandrakes alive and healthy, much to Professor Garlick’s neverending dismay.
And he’ll be the first to acknowledge that she doesn’t need someone to protect her, that much is certain, but she certainly deserves it.
If anything happened to her.
If anything happened to her.
He’d never forgive himself.
So he tells himself that the tight, too-warm feeling twisting just below his belt line has everything to do the increased blood flow from the copious exercise, and absolutely nothing to do with the images popping into his mind at the sight of her rather pleasantly dishevelled appearance.
Damn Ominis for getting in his head.
As the night wears on, Sebastian - who would be the first to tell you that he does not fare well stuck inside the confines of his own mind - finds his attention drifting to her.
The moon is bright tonight, bright enough that he can very easily see every detail of her features if he wanted - which he does not - despite his eyes finding their way to her moonlit form of their own accord.
How did he end up here?
This girl makes him feel alive again.
She makes him feel like himself again.
And isn’t that just the cherry on top of the damned cake.
Because he can’t be the man she deserves but, even more so, he can’t stay away.
He can see the focused crease of her brow; the tendrils of hair falling against her cheekbones; the way she chews her lip as she works to make sense of the jumbled dots on her worksheet. He can see her eyes light up with excitement when she pulls him over to point out her discovery in the stars above.
He doesn’t see it - whatever she’s pointing at - but he nods enthusiastically for her anyway because Merlin, that brilliant smile is worth the whole damned climb here.
Because they’re friends, and he likes to see his friends happy.
“Remind me again why you couldn’t use the astronomy tower for your charts?”
“It’s busy,” She replies, not bothering to look at him.
Which is lucky for Sebastian, otherwise she'd have caught his eyes (definitely not) grazing over the length of her body as she reached to fiddle with the end of her telescope.
And despite the extra fabric of her cloak, he can still make out the tight curve of her -
“And Shah is always looking over our shoulders.”
“Yes," he agrees politely, eyes darting skyward as he leans against the concrete next to her. "But the tower is heated.”
Her hand brushes against his thigh as she jots something onto her chart.
“Sebastian Sallow, don't you dare tell me you're cold."
No, not cold.
"I'm just not sure constellations are worth dying of hypothermia over"
"Well lucky for you," she says, throwing him a rather sly grin that has him thinking all sorts of inappropriate things. "I can help with that."
Definitely not cold.
"I - uh, what?"
His brain has quite clearly been addled by a Confundus charm.
She shifts closer, reaching across his frame, and her mouth opens - likely some teasing comment or other on the tip of her tongue - but her ankle twists on the uneven stone ground and she stumbles right into him.
Which is probably the worst (but really, best) thing Sebastian could think to have happened in that moment, because he reaches out instinctively to catch her (chivalry, remember) and he gets an inhale of her perfume which makes his brain all muddled and he can feel the length of her body, the gentle swell of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her breath on his neck as her chin tilts and he can’t focus, but he’s sure he can hear his blood rushing down, down and straight to - Merlin, is this girl half veela? Get a hold of yourself, Sallow -
And she’s looking up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted -
Her hand holding up a small blanket from the pack that had held her telescope.
"Right." He almost cringes at the hoarse croak of his voice as he twists carefully away. "Thanks."
Because he's nothing if not eloquent.
Another one for the ‘Lovestruck Idiot’ category.
She turns her attention back to her star charts and Sebastian takes a moment to think of some particularly unarousing thoughts before tossing the blanket over their shoulders and very specifically leaving distance between them while trying not to think about the curves of her body -
“Sebastian”
- the way her back arched and her lips parted and he thinks they’d be so soft to -
“Sebastian!”
“Hmm?”
“Listen!” Her words are a harsh whisper and she pulls him down so they’re crouched behind the concrete. And then he hears it.
The rumble of conversation coming through the forest and, from the sound of it, relatively close and heading toward them.
“Well what do you know,” Sebastian muses, a smug grin forming as the source of the noise comes into view because he loves when he’s right. “Ashwinders. Good thing you aren’t alone , isn’t it?
“Strictly speaking, I think they’re poachers. You never mentioned anything about poachers.”
“What do you want to do?”
She points to a large cage being carried between two of the wizards, where a large kneazle prowls anxiously. “They’ve been hunting, we can’t just leave the poor thing to suffer.”
Sebastian eyes the group resolutely because she’s right of course; as she so often is.
They’re largely outnumbered - and the poachers likely know the land better than them - but if there’s one thing he knows about poachers, it’s that they’re just not very bright, and not very talented. If they work together (and they do; they work so, so well together) he’s certain they can handle this.
“Well then, let’s go” Sebastian agrees and, knowing full well that she can out-duel him any day, adds “Do try to keep up, won’t you?”
His wand moves almost of its own accord - he’s cast this spell what feels like a thousand times before - and the final flourish of its movement causes the blast of flames to burn hotter, brighter than even he is used to. The flames engulf the two rangers nearby and, in the blinding light of the flames in the night, he sees her make quick work of a tracker with the swift slice of her severing charm.
It’s just like any other duel.
Except with higher stakes.
They play well off one another, and Sebastian’s veins are pumping with adrenaline as they dance through the curses, and hexes, and jinxes being fired one after another, sending their own barrage of attacks shooting right back.
“Diffindo!”
“Protego! Stupefy!”
“Confringo!”
“Glacius! Diffindo!”
“Depulso!”
Slowly, they wheedle down the poacher's numbers until only one remains. Sebastian watches as her lithe body twists and darts out of the way of a curse and she spins, using her momentum to pull the poacher toward her at a dazzling speed while simultaneously sending a Confringo directly at them.
The spell explodes on impact, and the fight is over.
Sebastian can see her eyes as they find his, still bright from the thrill of the duel and glittering in the dying flames. Adrenaline is still coursing through him and seeing her cast that spell - his spell - well, it does things to him.
Things that make him think about that moment at the astronomy table; about the heat of her breath on his neck, the feel of her body pressed against his, the way her mouth parted and he swears her eyes lingered - just for a moment - on his lips.
So when she closes the distance between them in the aftermath of that duel, he finds himself clenching his fists to keep from tangling them in her loose hair; gritting his teeth to keep from taking her lips in his and tasting her kiss; trying in vain to focus his attention anywhere else to keep himself from acting on the urges threatening to overwhelm him with each step she takes.
She makes him feel like himself again.
She makes him feel alive.
But he can’t be that person for her.
So Sebastian will fester in his own misery and just be her friend and keep making poor life choices that continue to put him in her presence because his world just seems brighter and better when she's in it and he can’t help himself.
Ominis would tell him this sounds more like self-sabotage than any reasonable, logical course of action but really, what does he know.
Bloody Hell, Ominis would be right.
Because friends don’t think of each other like that.