Chapter Text
August 31st, 1886
Sebastian awoke to the sound of turning pages, the smell of burning wood, and the sight of faint, flickering candlelight like he did each time he rose. His suitcase sat open below his bed, his trunk eagerly packed for his second school year. His door sat ajar, the clacking of his mum’s shoes soft on his ears. He got dressed in trousers and flattened a dark emerald vest over his crisp white button-up. He contemplated the whereabouts of his other half, his sister, hoping she was not too far. The start of term was tomorrow, and he hoped to join her for a spot of tea and to review their summer readings in preparation for their next year at Hogwarts.
He strolled down the stairs, the fourth and ninth wood steps creaking as they always did. He didn’t need to ask anyone in their home to know his parents were in the cellar library of their home, likely reading up on their scrolls and texts from past classes to do their own preparation for yet another year of teaching. He opened the back window of his home, leaning over the bright kitchen sink to spot the back of his sister’s head, tilted in concentration. A thick book sat in her pale hands, always a fascinating object that held more than met the eye, or at least, that was what the two had learned from such a knowledge thirsty witch and wizard for parents.
He got closer to the kitchen and saw the window wide open. He could smell the waft of honeysuckle and jasmine picked up from the wind, flowing into his lungs. He lifted his head high, leaning back from the counter and inhaling the sweet floral smell of their garden – his head abruptly hitting the rusted hanging pots and pans from the ceiling.
“There you are,” Anne called, a smile on her warm face. He could see the sun had made its summerly mark on her, her white cheeks and forehead pinkish and slightly tender.
“Argh,” Sebastian groaned, rubbing the throbbing spot on his head. He heard Anne’s laughter dancing through the kitchen window, making his tense shoulders lower slowly. Gaining a few inches of height since he first came to school was something Sebastian was still not used to. He wondered how much taller he’d get, he didn’t think much, though. His parents, and extended family at that, weren't very tall.
“Come out, I’ve got tea and some scones dad gave me a recipe for.”
Anne’s bangs were getting long, and her brother reminisced about last school year in April; rusted scissors in his freckled hands; His right hand shaking lightly as he opened the blades, his left one lightly holding her dull brown strands over the deserted sink in the girl’s lavatory on the 2nd floor of the castle.
Sebastian was eagerly anticipated for the school year to start, the crossed numbers on his calendar getting sloppier and harsher each time he picked up the quill by his bed. The boy was excited to learn spells he’d heard in passing from one parent’s ear to the other, their cupped hands hoping his young ears would not pick up on them. But alas, he had heard. He always did. He could not wait to learn the disarming charm in the brightly lit classroom with his mother instructing, how to brew a wiggenweld potion in the depths of Hogwarts, or to read up on trolls and hags in defence against the dark arts classroom he’d come to love in the days he spent his first year at the magic school.
Something he was very elated for was being able to finally try out for Quidditch. He’d saved up some money last year from his birthday as well as over the summer helping his father do work around the garden and helping his mum in their cellar. In early July he thought he’d never get the scent of dust and old book pages from his nose. By August, he was begging his parents for a trip to Hogsmeade to visit Spintwitches Sporting Goods to buy any type of broom he could get his hands on. The oldest, cheapest broom Mr. Weeks had was around 300 galleons, and Sebastian only had just scraped together 250, the bruise on his elbow from reaching under his bed to find a stray galleon still fresh on his arm. Like an angel from above, Anne had come to his aid like she always did, with 50 galleons in her hands from her own summer work.
Whenever the two were bored or even the slightest bit antsy, they bound to the shed deep in their garden, vines and branches covering it like a cloak as if it was their own secret place. The twins rode around the air at six in the morning when the sun had just begun to cast warmth on their flushed faces, and though cold winds at eleven at night during the quiet hours of darkness, their path lit only by the pale moonlight.
Sebastian came from his thoughts of summer, sitting gingerly next to Anne at the leaf shaded table in the middle of their family’s garden. He often forgot about how pretty their home was – a number of plants twisting and decorating the outside, a plethora of books making mountains on tables and chairs and hoarding dust down the stairs.
“Do you think we’ll learn Incendio, finally?” Anne leaned forward in her chair, her face resting in her hands looking dreamily at her father’s old spell book.
“I hope not. I don’t plan on burning my hair to a crisp just yet.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair lazily, the sun’s beams tickling his forehead.
“He wouldn’t let that happen,” she smiled.
Sebastian grinned over his charms book, the doodles and scribbled notes on the side from his mum’s past years teaching at Hogwarts illuminating in the light. Cursive decorated the thick pages, notes of, “Flick leftwards more than right,” and, “Can also be used on people – or rather, their clothing.”
“Here, try one.” Anne handed him a scone, a goldish glitter decorating the top of it. “Mum showed me how to give it an extra flare,” Anne avered.
Sebastian grabbed the baked good, the buttery sweetness melting in his mouth.
“Rose,” he muttered, mouth still a bit full. Anne nodded, tucking a loose strand from her tired bun behind her ear. “Amazing. Dad’s got to give us the rest of the recipes from that.”
Anne concurred, returning to her final book of the summer.
“Seb?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think we can have our birthday in the Undercroft again this year?”
He shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”
“13 is an important one, you know. We’re going to be teenagers soon,” Anne amused.
“All it really means to me is that we get to try out for team Quidditch,” Sebastian quipped.
Anne burst into laughter, “Who’s we?”
Sebastian slammed the book closed in his lap, “You’ve been flying with me nonstop all August!”
“Yes, for fun. You know I’m not a sports person, Sebastian.” He groaned as she spoke, his hand flying to his temple.
“You’d be good. Really.”
“I know. But I’d rather focus on other things. Flying is still amazing, though. That class will be tons of fun.”
They got back to reading, hours passing in the minutes they read. The late summer wind played with the hanging chimes around the two, taking them from their worlds they held in their hands.
“Shall we go back inside? I’m getting hungry,” Sebastian mumbled, his throat dry from the air. Anne nodded, her shoes clacking against the cobblestones deeply hugged by the dirt below.
Late day sunlight shone through the coloured glass windows from the front of their home, turning their kitchen into a colourful underwater-like scene. Sebastian grabbed a pot and skillet from the ceiling, Anne bending to grab a wood cutting board, both siblings rolling up their sleeves. She pulled carrots, swiss chard, and peas from their pantry and a sharp knife from the sturdy block on the counter. Sebastian heated water, bubbles dancing on the top of the pot as he dropped in a few eggs to boil. He stood next to Anne, cutting potatoes to her right, putting them gently on the pan, replacing the boiling eggs.
They combined their lunch items on four shining plates, silverware and clothes on the side. Sebastian put two on their dining table, lighting a few more candles around their home for added light.
“Thank you, sir,” Anne curtsied teasingly.
“Of course, madam,” he chaffed back. He then studio normally, his signature smirk gracing his features once more.
“I’ll bring the rest to mum and dad, be back in a moment.”
Sebastian made the descent to their cellar, the smell of old book pages, quill ink, and candle wax in his lungs. A flicker of remembrance flashed in his mind, reminding him he needed to ask his father for more tips on his broom before the new school year tomorrow.
He felt it before he heard it – a sudden crash that very obviously came from the room he was descending to. His hands flew to the railing, the hot food falling as their old china broke into tens of pieces on the stairs. His hands were not swift enough, and he tumbled into the room, a piece of quartz burrowing its way into his cheek.
“Sebastian!?” Anne shrieked, and he could already imagine her hands shaking as they did when she was nervous. He heard her footsteps before he could stop her.
Broken quartz lay like a taunting trail down to the cellar in front of Anne, leading into the darkness. A single lamp stayed alight, the rest knocked over, a dead stream of smoke dancing from them She could just barely make out the sight of a fallen bookshelf, pages and ink staining the family tapestry and rug their grandmother had made them. And in the centre of it all, her mother and father lay crumpled on the floor.