Chapter Text
Skin still raw after the blinding heat of the battle, you stumble after Sebastian in the wake of Solomon’s murder. Your mind is scattered, presumably understandably so, but you’ve got no time to flounder like an idiot. Through the jumble, at least, one phrase repeats itself over and over again: fix this. So you trip over brambles and rocks and disembodied spider limbs as you chase him, the one friend who’s ever understood you, even at his most moronic. Unfortunately, this may well be the final straw.
Whatever magical fire Solomon had conjured (something inherently Dark, given that even Sebastian could not combat it, and thus lowering your opinion of the dead ever so slightly) had caused the exposed skin of your arms to blister and ash to settle in your lungs. Really, it was your fault for wearing something so flimsy to visit the Feldcroft catacomb.
You burst out into the moonlight, only to find Sebastian pacing back and forth, clearly in panic mode. Yet, when you draw closer, you see a deep emptiness in his eyes, a nothingness behind them. It’s a feeling you’re not a stranger to, as the ‘extracurricular activities’, for lack of a better term, frequently turn nastily violent. You’ve got a healthy curiosity where the Dark Arts are concerned, but you still feel guilty when you slam Ashwinders to the ground, stepping over their unmoving bodies in your heeled boots. You’ve never once stopped to take their pulse. You’d rather live in blissful ignorance.
Still, your acts are entirely in self-defense, and carried out against disgusting criminals who’d signed on for battles like these. Disagreeable as Solomon may have been, he is - was - their last living family member, and the only one who’d taken them in.
“What is it?” Sebastian asks, still refusing to meet your gaze.
“Why wouldn’t you stop? I was calling after you.”
“Anne won’t survive this. She’s withering away - inside and out. Solomon’s never been there for us, not really. He gave up on Anne. I’ll never give up on her.” Sebastian pants, ignoring you entirely. You deem it wise not to mention that Solomon won’t be there for them ever again, not now that Sebastian’s murdered him.
“You saw him, didn’t you? He was going to ruin her life. He attacked us! I - I had to use the Killing Curse. You know I did, you saw what he did, what he was going to do to her, to me, to you! I had to take a step to protect her, I’m the only one who cares about her, and now I’ve gone and ruined everything. She’s never going to look at me, I’ve lost everything and everyone-” Sebastian’s voice breaks as he stops pacing to take a deep breath. Now’s your chance.
“Sebastian. Hey, Sebastian. It’ll be okay. I saw what happened. You are not alone, do you hear me? I’m here with you, I’m not going away,” you reassure him, voicing the words you wish someone would say to you every now and then. You grip his shoulders loosely, half afraid he’ll curse you and run off. But somehow he doesn’t. He stays.
“You’re not leaving me?” Sebastian asks pitifully, almost a wail.
“Of course not. I don’t know what that fire spell was, but we could have died! He should have known better than to cast it on two students.”
“It was F-fiendfyre,” he mumbles, always eager to share his knowledge of Dark Magic. “Cursed fire. Not Unforgivable, but definitely unsanctioned.”
“Goodness, it’s a wonder we survived that.”
“I should go, find Ominis. I’m sorry. I’m not myself right now. I’ll meet you in the Undercroft, I’m sorry.”
You never do quite have that conversation with Sebastian in the Undercroft, what with getting kidnapped by Rookwood (and discovering he was the one to curse Anne) and the subsequent battle for the repository.
And Fig’s death. That one can’t be forgotten.
At the memorial service, Sebastian catches your attention, waving you over from a corner of the Great Hall. You haven’t seen him since Feldcroft, as your time in the Hospital Wing lasted five and a half days. Professor Weasley was gracious enough to delay Fig’s memorial until you were awake again. You may not have seen Sebastian lately, but you did, however, catch Ominis on the way to the Great Hall, and the two of you agreed not to turn Sebastian in to the authorities. You hate feeling like a hypocrite.
“Hey, you,” Sebastian starts, nervously. His eyes don’t look quite so dead, not like the last time you saw him, but you’ve more than taken over for him in the emotional emptiness department, it seems.
“Sebastian,” you reply in a weird tone. You’d be upset for not correctly conveying your emotions, but right now being able to have any conversation at all is a win in your books.
“I can’t believe we lost Fig. I didn’t know him as well as you did, but I know he was a good man. Glad Weasley spoke for him. She honoured him well, Fig will be well-remembered. I… wish the same could have been done for my uncle…” Sebastian continues speaking, but Sharp’s words are twisting around in your head.
“Sebastian, there’s something you should know. It’s to do with Victor Rookwood.”
“I heard a rumour that he confronted you outside of Ollivanders. Sounds as if you faced quite a fight.”
“The rumours are true. And I did. But it’s not that - just before Rookwood attacked, he uttered something… familiar. Same words Anne heard before she was cursed. ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’” you admit. Sebastian does a double take.
“Wait, what? What are you saying?”
“It wasn’t one of Ranrok’s loyalists who cursed her, it was Rookwood. It was Rookwood all along.”
“This… this can’t be! It was the loyalists! It’s always been them! The night Anne was cursed, all she saw were goblins.”
“Once Rookwood allied with Ranrok, Isidora’s estate became of interest to them both. That’s why Rookwood was there the night Anne was cursed. He was working with Ranrok! When he saw your sister, well, he didn’t want anyone to know-”
“So he cursed her. And she’s never been the same. So cruel. Rookwood deserved what he got. Thank you for telling me, and for getting revenge on him.”
“Of course, but Sebastian, we’ve got another problem.”
“Huh?”
“We can’t talk here. Meet me on the seventh floor of the Astronomy Tower, near that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, right as dinner starts.”
“Not the Undercroft?”
“No.”