Work Text:
Hello, you,
I wonder how my letter shall find you. Will it surprise you when an owl deposits it upon your table at breakfast, leaving you wondering who I could possibly be? Will you consult your friends on the matter, or resolve to solve this mystery on your own? As you carry me with you throughout your day, will you glance at other gents in passing, the gears in your mind turning over each one as a possible culprit? Likely, none of them will be me, though I’ve no doubt you will figure that out soon enough.
I suppose I should confess to you my reason for writing, and “confess” I shall. I must admit that I’ve greatly admired you for some time — taken a fancy to you, as they say — and I’ve succumbed to the foolish hope that I may not be alone in my sentiments. You are kind to those around you, firm in your resolve, clever in your wit, and bold in the face of danger; not to mention you’re really bloody pretty. What’s a bloke like me to do but fall for you?
Until next time.
Love,
Your Secret Admirer
You scanned the letter, over and over, admittedly unsure what to make of it.
“I haven’t seen you look this stumped since the last History of Magic exam,” said Samantha Dale, giggling at you from her seat across the Ravenclaw table.
You glanced up at her, huffing a bewildered laugh. “I must admit, I’m rather at a loss.”
“Well, what is it? A letter from a secret admirer confessing his undying love?” Samantha teased, turning her attention to the half-eaten breakfast on her plate.
“Actually, yes, I rather think it is,” you replied, and you stifled a laugh when Samantha’s brows shot up into her hairline.
“You’re pulling my leg,” the raven-haired girl deadpanned, her eyes wide and disbelieving. She stretched her hand across the table. “Might I see it?”
“Sure,” you shrugged, handing her the letter. Samantha snatched it from you, eyes roving eagerly over the scrawling ink as her smile grew ever wider.
“This is hilarious!” Samantha exclaimed. “I was wondering when our Hero of Hogwarts was going to win the heart of some poor sap.”
“Merlin, if I have to hear ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ one more time, I fear I’ll be wont to throw myself in front of a charging Graphorn,” you groaned. The sound of rustling fabric caught your attention as a weight settled itself on the bench to your left. You glanced over and were unsurprised to see the mischievous freckled face of one Sebastian Sallow smirking back at you.
“What’s all this fuss about?” Sebastian asked, snatching a pastry from the array before you.
“Haven’t you got those at your own table?” you drawled, poking teasingly at his shoulder.
The Slytherin boy shrugged, taking a bite and not bothering to chew or swallow before he spoke. “They taste better from here.”
You rolled your eyes, and Samantha handed your letter back to you. Sebastian nudged your shoulder with his own.
“Whatcha got there?” he inquired.
“None of your business,” you shot back with a smirk, stuffing the letter into your robe pocket.
Sebastian’s grin turned Cheshire. “It’s a love note, isn’t it?”
“So what if it is?” you replied snootily. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly desirable, you needn’t sound so amused.”
“I never thought you weren’t,” Sebastian smiled, and you couldn’t help the way your brows quirked up in surprise at the unusual…something in his tone. Bashfulness, perhaps? “So who’s the lucky sod?”
“We don’t know,” Samantha supplied, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Seems she’s got a secret admirer.”
“A secret admirer, eh?” Sebastian echoed, turning his devious smirk back on you.
You felt your cheeks flush a violent hue. “There’s no need to make such a fuss about it,” you said as you tried your best to focus on finishing the remainder of your breakfast. “It’s just one little note — it’s not like he’s proposed.”
“You never know,” Sebastian countered with a shrug before taking another bite of his pastry. The clock tower chimed to signal the end of breakfast and the beginning of the class schedule. Sebastian feigned confusion, bringing a hand to his ear as if straining to listen. “What’s that? Are those wedding bells I hear?”
You smacked his shoulder, earning a cackle and a faint ouch! in return. You and Samantha moved to gather your things for class as Sebastian rose from his seat.
“Suppose I’ll see you in class, Juliet,” he drawled as he marched back towards the Slytherin table where he’d left his satchel next to Anne, who had been watching your interaction with an amused curiosity that she didn’t bother to hide. “Good luck finding your Romeo.”
***
The following day had brought with it yet another letter. Seated upon the stool at your potting table, you scanned over it with Poppy and Natty hovering over your shoulders in the few minutes you had before Herbology class.
Hello again,
Have you figured me out yet? Certainly not. If you had, I wouldn’t be writing this to you, now would I? I must confess, and let this be a hint to you: I’ve never been one for patience, I’m afraid, so do try your very best to find me soon.
So sweet is your disposition, my darling. And so fair is your countenance. Look, now, you’ve made a poet out of me. Lest I die a man full of regrets, I fear I must make my affections known to you. Often I have sat and wondered if I should be so lucky as to have charmed you in the same way you’ve done so to me. With this flower as my offering, might I ask you to be mine?
Love,
Your Secret Admirer
“It’s awfully romantic,” Poppy sighed. “Whoever it is, he must certainly be someone with a known talent for writing, though I can’t say I know of anyone like that who would be writing such letters to you.”
“No one comes to my mind,” Natty shrugged.
“As much as I hate to say it,” you muttered, “I’m afraid he’s got me just as stumped as you lot.” You folded the letter, putting it back in your pocket. You hummed contemplatively, twirling the small flower you’d found in the note between your fingers. It was a delicate little thing, with rounded purplish-blue petals and a circular center outfitted with dozens of little filaments that gave it a soft, fuzzy appearance.
You were still deep in thought when Sebastian came sauntering past your table.
“Still pondering over your mystery lover?” he inquired with a cocky grin as he settled himself at the potting table next to yours.
You shot him a smirk. “And why are you so keen to know? You’re not jealous, are you?”
“I needn’t be jealous of a boy who hides behind ink and parchment to confess his love,” he replied haughtily, setting his textbook upon the table with a resounding thud. “If I were to confess, I’d say doing so face-to-face is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I wouldn’t be so assured if I were you,” Poppy shot back. “You haven’t read it; he’s somewhat of a poetic mastermind.”
Sebastian’s grin widened. “A mastermind, you say?” He quirked a brow at you. “Might I have a look at what this Shakespeare has been writing you? Nothing unseemly, I hope.”
Rolling your eyes, you obliged him, fishing the letter back out of your pocket and extending it to him. You caught him glancing up at you for just a split second as your fingers brushed during the exchanging of the note, and you couldn’t be sure what had caused you to notice it. You curiously logged the subtle pinkening of his cheeks in the back of your mind as he scanned over the note, the corners of his lips quirked in the ghost of a smile.
“Rubbish,” he proclaimed when he’d finished reading, tossing the letter onto your table and crossing his arms assuredly over his chest. “I could’ve done better.”
“You always think you could’ve done better,” you deadpanned, stowing the letter once more. “It doesn’t even matter what it is.”
“Because with enough study and practice, I could always do better,” he retorted matter-of-factly.
You, Poppy, and Natty all expressed varying degrees of exasperated amusement in reply to Sebastian’s comment. A flash of strawberry and spring green in your peripheral signaled the arrival of Professor Garlick as she swept into the classroom. She offered various greetings to her students, pausing at your table to bid you and your friends good afternoon.
“What have you got there, seedling?” Professor Garlick inquired, pointing curiously to the flower you still held.
“It was a gift,” you replied, raising it toward her so that she could get a better look.
“Ah, the language of flowers!” gushed Professor Garlick as she inspected the bloom. She traced a gentle finger along one of the petals. “Such a thrilling means of correspondence, should you have the inclination to learn it. What you have here, darling, is a blue anemone. Commonly prized for their rich history and versatile symbolism, the blue anemone is often known to be a tiding of good luck or protection, as well as a symbol of eager anticipation for new beginnings. In courtship, they may represent homage to the purity of the recipients heart, or — hopefully not so in your case — the inevitability and fleeting nature of lost or tragic love. The interpretation really depends upon the context in which it was given, but I’d say it was a very nice gift indeed.”
You nodded in understanding, offering Professor Garlick a smile before she took to the back of the room to begin class. Poppy and Natty dismissed themselves to make their way to their own potting tables, and you obliged Poppy with a giggle when she made you promise to talk more after class. You spared a glance at Sebastian, who was busying himself with procuring a quill and parchment from his satchel. You did not, however, miss the hint of a proud smile on his face as you observed him, and you found a grin tugging at your own lips as you considered the little thought that had meandered its way into your mind.
Professor Garlick’s beckoning voice put an abrupt end to the musings you’d begun to entertain, and you shook your head at yourself with a small laugh. Your admirer had been right, you supposed; you were already considering the boys around you as potential suspects, though you wondered at the warning your first letter had contained.
Likely, none of them will be me, though I’ve no doubt you will figure that out soon enough.
Sebastian glanced up and caught your eye. He offered you a boyish smile, and you returned it, feeling a slight warmth blooming on your cheeks as you tucked the anemone behind your ear for safekeeping.
You’d need more evidence, you decided, but you couldn’t entirely rule out such a possibility.
***
The following evening, you were embarrassed to admit that you found yourself awake in spite of the moonlight pooling in through the lofty window of your Ravenclaw dormitory, agonizing over the letters you’d received thus far. You scrutinized every detail, as you sat tucked beneath the covers of your bed with the privacy curtains drawn so that the lumos you’d summoned with your wand wouldn’t disturb your bunkmates.
The long-dried ink drew you into its ebony mystery as you read and reread its words. You picked up one of the pieces of parchment that you’d scattered atop your bedspread, squinting as you analyzed the scrawling lines upon it.
It was a drawing of you, not particularly detailed but still a flattering, sketched approximation of your features, observed from a diagonal angle as if the artist had studied your form from the side. You should know I thought you looked rather fetching today, read a note beside the drawing. Could this be a clue? Of course, the note was signed as it always was: Love, Your Secret Admirer.
A clue, you wondered. How was a portrait a clue?
You mentally scolded yourself when you realized you’d read Sebastian’s voice into the note. You couldn’t be certain it was him — there were hundreds of boys in Hogwarts that could’ve done this, especially considering that you were very widely-known for your accomplishments during the events of your fifth year (you were disappointed to say that your fame had yet to diminish even a year and a half later). And yet, your mind stubbornly returned to your best friend any time you thought about these blasted letters.
Yours and Sebastian’s friendship had been a rocky and winding road, to say the least. It seemed like ages since he’d avoided you over the summer after fifth year, and yet you remembered it like it was yesterday. How he’d never returned your owls, how the places he’d frequented before had seen neither hide nor hair of him no matter how long you’d loitered about waiting to catch a glimpse of him. You remembered the terror that had gripped you when you wondered if the worst had happened, and the panic in your veins when you’d trekked with Natty to the Sallows’ cottage in Feldcroft to find it locked, the grounds overgrown and seemingly untended. Alohomora had been useless against the door’s defenses — it appeared to have been somehow charmed to resist the unlocking spell — and you’d nearly given up hope of ever seeing Sebastian again when Natty had caught sight of a flicker in the window that almost looked like a candle going out, and your heart had soared in relief. You’d called his name — nearly screamed it — begging him to let you in. He hadn’t responded except to say, “Please leave me alone.” And you did. As much as it pained you to do so, you did.
Two months later, though, you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d seen him stalking through the halls of the school, eyeing you like a startled animal. He’d looked exhausted, but he never let you close enough for you to ask him about it. That is, until you’d managed to confront him one day after class.
You had turned a corner and found Leander Prewitt looming over him from where he sat on a bench in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. The previous class period had seen the two boys engaging in a duel to practice the new defensive spells Professor Hecat had taught, though in reality it could hardly have been called a duel. Sebastian had looked like a mere shade of his former self; where he had once been lively and full of taunts and witty comebacks, he now appeared to be moving as if underwater, slow and hazy and drained of all the fight that had once animated him so vibrantly. Leander hadn’t hesitated in exploiting Sebastian’s weakness, practically throwing him around the classroom with back-to-back incantations of levioso and flipendo and the like, relishing in the Slytherin boy’s humiliation before Hecat had put an end to it.
All that, and Leander still had the gall to corner Sebastian after class to taunt him. It had made your blood boil, perhaps more than it should have.
You’d come up behind the redheaded boy, startling him when you’d suggested that he get going if he didn’t want to be late for Charms class. After a brief, terse exchange, Leander had strutted away, leaving you and Sebastian alone in awkward silence. After a long stretch of agonizing small talk and deflections on the part of Sebastian, you’d had to rip the textbook he’d been pretending to read from his hands to finally get him to look at you. You’d tossed the offending book to the ground, taking Sebastian’s hands in yours and urging him to tell you what you’d done to cross him so. Defiance had flickered in the furrow of his brow, just for a moment, and you savored the glimpse of the old Sebastian you saw in it before it morphed into defeat. It had felt like ages as he struggled to find the right words, and eventually you got out of him that he was afraid to hurt you. He didn’t trust himself anymore, so he’d isolated himself from everyone just to ensure that the people he cared about would be safe.
Your heart had ached for him, frustration and compassion warring within you as you regarded the broken boy whose hands trembled in yours. He hadn’t understood how much his friendship had meant to you, so you vowed to yourself that you would make him understand. Somehow, Sebastian would come to believe that he was cared for just as much as he cared for those he loved. You’d told him that you’d like to be his friend again if he’d have you, and while you could see the apprehension still fighting for supremacy in his eyes, he’d finally looked at you in earnest, and relief washed over you when he’d muttered, “I’d like that.”
From there, over the course of your sixth year and the summer afterward, your bond had grown from a tentative alliance, to a quiet understanding, to a deeper confidence, to where you found yourselves now, halfway through your seventh year and closer than you’d ever been before. You’d watched Sebastian blossom over the summer holiday as you went on adventures together, taking picnics by the shore and daring each other to climb the tallest trees in the Forbidden Forest and falling asleep hand-in-hand in the grass with the starry night sky as your guardian. You’d tended his knee after he scraped it tripping over a wayward root when he’d chased you through the woods, and you’d gladly obliged him when he asked if he could learn to braid your hair. You, he, and Ominis — with occasional help from Natty, Poppy, Garreth, and a few of your other friends who had remained in the Highlands over the holiday — had worked to fix up the Sallows’ cottage, transforming it from a prison of past memories to a sanctuary in which Sebastian (and Anne, if she so desired) could create new ones. You’d encouraged him when he expressed a desire to make contact with his sister, and you were overjoyed to have had the privilege of seeing them begin to let one another in again.
Anne had even, surprisingly, permitted you to exercise the usage of ancient magic in an effort to break her curse after hearing of the theories you’d since accumulated on Isidora’s work to remove pain. Without Solomon’s constant influence, Anne had been able to come into her own in a strange way, and, sadly, you realized that the curse had taken the fight out of her just as her brother had been that year and a half ago. With your heart in your throat, you’d rested your wand over Anne’s chest and summoned that electrifying, ever-present force within your very blood, and — to yours and Anne’s and Sebastian’s utter shock — it had worked. The curse had been suspended at the tip of your wand — fire-red and ugly and angry as it bubbled and writhed, reeking of Rookwood — and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to scream in terror or shout in victory or stare dumbstruck at the wretched, crackling thing that you held at your mercy. Anne and Sebastian’s eyes were blown wide, and Anne yelped as you shoved the curse into the goblin metal container that Sebastian held, which he had helped you fashion for it. You and Sebastian were so preoccupied with the curse held captive between his hands that you almost missed Anne’s gasp. Your gaze snapped to her to see her sitting upright in her St. Mungo’s hospital bed, clutching at her chest, cheeks red and freckled where they’d been sunken and pale just moments ago.
You would never forget the potent life that gleamed in Anne’s teary eyes as she stared wide-eyed at you, or the strangled, watery exclamation of her name that flew from Sebastian’s lips as he tackled her in a hug. She’d hugged him back, letting out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Sebastian released her only to throw his trembling arms around you, muttering incoherent expressions of gratitude into your shoulder as your heart somersaulted traitorously in your chest.
Of course, you weren’t daft — you knew good and well that you’d long since taken somewhat of a fancy to Sebastian over those summer months more than what a friend probably should. In fact, you’d even mentioned it to Poppy once, just to get it off your chest, and she’d adamantly told you that she’d support you, whatever you decided to do about it. But, given your history, the ever-present uncertainty of the future, and the remaining mysteries surrounding your connection to ancient magic that you’d likely spend the remainder of your life untangling, you were reluctant to cross any kind of emotional boundary in the way you perceived Sebastian. There was no way for you to know for certain what he felt towards you, and there was too much at stake for you to gamble your friendship away for the sake of feelings.
Unless it was him behind these letters…
With a sigh, you realized that it would be in vain to fight against the hope you felt fluttering in your rib cage, so you might as well save your energy for uncovering who was actually behind these letters rather than wasting your time on fruitless speculation. You picked up the second letter you’d received, the one that had come with the blue anemone that currently resided in an empty potion bottle on your nightstand. Drowsiness tugged at your eyes — you couldn’t be sure what time it currently was — but determination flared within you as you shook your head vigorously in an effort to ward off sleep’s tender clutches for just a moment longer. Your eyes scanned over the second paragraph, feeling your heart skip a beat or two as you did.
So sweet is your disposition, my darling. And so fair is your countenance...
The syntax of that transition struck you as odd. Why end a sentence and begin the next with “and” when a comma would have sufficed?
You sat up a little straighter as an idea occurred to you.
Surely it couldn’t be that easy…but it was worth a try all the same, you supposed.
Returning to the top of the paragraph, you noted the first letter at the beginning of each sentence.
So.
And.
Look.
Lest.
Often.
With.
Sallow.
Your heart leapt so high, it might as well have been the moon above.
Surely not.
Fighting back a foolish, giddy grin, you checked your work once, twice, three times just to be certain, and every time you were left with the same letters in the same order.
Filled with renewed vigor, you examined the other letters for any and every clue you could find.
I must confess, and let this be a hint to you: I’ve never been one for patience, I’m afraid…
You were well aware that patience was not a virtue Sebastian oft possessed. Shaking your head in bewilderment, you looked over the sketch he’d drawn.
You should know I thought you looked rather fetching today. Could this be a clue?
If it had been drawn in a moment when the two of you would have been present in the same place while not actively talking to each other — say, during class — then that would mean that your artist had been sitting to your side and slightly behind you. Now, which one…
Charms! Yes, it had to be Charms class — Sebastian usually sat with Ominis one row over and one row back from you and Samantha.
Curse you, Sallow, you exclaimed internally as a wide, dumbstruck smile tugged so hard at the corners of your lips that it made your cheeks sore. You and your bloody Slytherin cunning!
A cool, soothing, elated sensation washed over you. Relief, you noted as it lightened your chest and tingled down your arms. Yes, you admitted that you were indeed relieved that Sebastian had been the one behind all this. Before, you hadn’t thought you minded the idea of another boy pursuing you in this way, but you couldn’t deny that now it seemed there was no way it should have been anyone except him.
You grabbed the first letter once more.
Will you glance at other gents in passing, the gears in your mind turning over each one as a possible culprit? Likely, none of them will be me, though I’ve no doubt you will figure that out soon enough.
You barked a laugh, catching yourself too late and clapping a sheepish hand over your mouth. You heard someone stirring in one of the bunks on the other side of your privacy curtains, though it seemed that whoever it was didn’t fully wake. You made sure to keep your laughter on the inside as you returned your attention to the letter.
Sebastian hadn’t thought you’d consider him as a potential suspect in your search for your secret admirer. Boy, did you have news for him.
You recalled his behavior over the past few days. You’d taken notice of the extra pep in his step, and the near-constant smile upon his fair, freckled face. His dark eyes had been bright and wide with a joyous wonder you’d not seen since that fateful first day at Hogwarts when he’d offered you a proper Hogwarts welcome in the form of a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts (which you had proudly won, by the way). There had scarcely been a moment where he hadn’t somehow found his way to your side, spitting snarky comments about your “coward” of an admirer who “didn’t have the bullocks to tell you all this rubbish in person.”
You tried to throw me off your trail, you cheeky bloke.
Well, two could play at this game.
As quietly as you could, you gathered a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment, and you began to write.
***
It could not be said that Sebastian had expected an owl to drop a letter in his lap that morning at breakfast.
It could also not be said that he’d expected said letter to have been an anonymously written confession from an alleged “secret admirer.” He found himself utterly and pleasantly bewildered when he’d opened it, though he didn’t get far before Anne had set her sights on it.
“What have you got there?” his sister inquired, leaning so far towards him that her cheek was practically touching his as she nosily attempted to read over his shoulder.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sebastian smirked, leaning away from Anne only to knock shoulders with Imelda Reyes. He glanced at the raven-haired girl, shooting her a glare when she didn’t even bother to hide her efforts to scan over the letter. Looking between the two girls, he sighed and accepted his defeat, bracing his elbows on the table as he began to read.
Hello, you,
I hope my letter finds you well — although I wish I could see the surprise on your lovely face when you open it. Then again, perhaps I can.
Sebastian glanced toward the Ravenclaw table, though a wave of annoyance flushed through him when all he could see was the back of Everett Clopton’s head. Huffing, he returned his gaze to the letter in his hands.
You probably didn’t think I would catch on to your little game quite so quickly, but it seems that the Sorting Hat had been right in its assessment of my cleverness.
Now, then, I’d like to play a little game of my own.
Might I tell you that I fancy the constellations across your nose? And the expanse of the night sky that I see every time I look in your eyes? It’s true, and I’m afraid that’s been the case for a long while now. I see the windswept highland grass in your tousled hair, and the briskness of the ocean breeze in your carefree nature. The comfort of drifting off with our warm hands intwined will always be a fond memory of mine.
Will you know where to meet me?
“Well, no,” he muttered aloud to himself, furrowing his brows as a befuddled smile tugged at his lips. “You didn’t say where I should meet you.”
His gaze continued down the page, trailing over one final line.
Love, Your Not-So-Secret Admirer.
Sebastian was helpless against the giddy grin that bloomed upon his face. It was akin to his own signature, a boldness hidden behind the safety of anonymity, but he wouldn’t be fooled by your lack of a proper name.
You certainly are a Ravenclaw through and through, aren’t you? he mused. Clever, creative, capable — you’d never ceased to amaze him.
“Merlin, I feel like I should be averting my eyes,” Imelda snarked over Sebastian’s shoulder. “You should be grateful you can’t see any of this, Gaunt.”
“Believe you me,” Ominis droned, “I am.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Anne grinned, a teasing glint in her eye. “Though I can’t imagine what she’d see in you. Perhaps this was meant for someone else and it got mixed up in the post.”
“Shut up, you lot,” Sebastian retorted. “I’m trying to figure this out.”
“I don’t see what there is to figure out,” huffed Imelda. “I think she’s made it abundantly clear that she wants to snog you as soon as humanly possible.”
Anne and Ominis groaned in unison.
“Godrick’s heart,” Ominis griped. “Don’t put that idea in my head.”
Banishing all thoughts of snogging from his mind, Sebastian frantically scanned over your letter, searching for clues.
He was interrupted again when a pair of hands clapped down roughly upon his shoulders.
“What have we here, Sallow?” came the chipper voice of Garreth Weasley. “Finally got a response from your sweetheart? Took her bloody long enough.”
Sebastian whipped his head around to glare at Garreth. “How did you hear about this?”
“I know all,” Garreth replied cryptically, grinning and waggling his brows. “And Imelda told me.”
Now, Sebastian turned his glare on Imelda. “You?! But I never—”
Wordlessly, Imelda jerked her thumb in Ominis’ direction.
“Ominis!” Sebastian whined in disbelief.
“Don’t ‘Ominis’ me,” the blond boy scolded, squinting his icy eyes in Sebastian’s direction. “The people rely on me, Sebastian; with everything having been so bloody boring around here lately, it’s my job to provide the populous with the insider information they’ve come to expect from me.”
“And I call you my friend,” Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes (even though Ominis couldn’t see it) at the smirk that spread upon his best friend’s alabaster face.
“Merlin, what am I walking in on?”
Sebastian followed your lilting voice to find you standing beside the Slytherin table, your arms crossed and your lips upturned in an amused grin. A smile came unbidden to the surface of Sebastian’s visage as he regarded you, taking in the hue of your hair where it was hit by the morning sunlight and the mirth that glinted in your eyes as you gazed knowingly back at him.
“Nope,” Imelda quipped, moving to stand. “You won’t catch me within a hundred yards of you two for the next eternity, thank you very much.”
The clock tower bells rang out their merry tune, and students all across the Great Hall began to prepare for their first class of the day.
Garreth patted Sebastian on the shoulder. “You’re on your own for this one, old chap,” the Weasley boy laughed, snatching a muffin from the Slytherin table before trotting after Imelda.
Ominis followed suit, muttering something akin to don’t be late for class before rising from his seat. Anne elbowed Sebastian roughly in the ribs.
“Good luck,” she whispered, winking at him as she gathered her books. She joined Ominis, and the two began making their way out of the Great Hall, muttering conspiratorially to one another.
You shot Sebastian a confused look as your friends left you to yourselves, and he offered you a reply in the form of a shrug. A beat of silence passed between you, as neither of you were certain of what to say, and he had to admit he felt rather privileged as he watched a bashful smile grace your pretty face.
“Would you like to walk to class with me?” you asked.
Sebastian beamed back at you. “Always.”
***
That night, Sebastian found himself racing on his broom above the rolling Scottish Highlands, shielding himself from the brisk late autumn breeze by drawing his coat more tightly around him. Sneaking out of Hogwarts had been a piece of cake (the prefects hadn’t gotten any wiser over the summer holiday, that was for certain), and now he could only hope he’d decoded your message correctly.
Constellations…the expanse of the night sky…windswept highland grass…brisk ocean breeze.
The comfort of drifting off with our warm hands intwined.
You’d refused to elaborate each time he’d asked you probing questions about it between classes that day, and he’d smacked his forehead with his palm when it’d hit him, feeling rather silly for not catching it sooner. He knew exactly the memory you were referring to: you and him, exhausted after spending the day pulling weeds and tending to the cottage’s landscape but reluctant to part just yet, lying down beneath the clear summer night sky and marveling at the complex network of constellations that decorated the firmament above. The cool, gentle breeze had rustled through the tall grass, making it dance so that it tickled at his cheeks, his hands, his bare feet — anywhere it could reach. The ocean could be heard in the distance, crashing its mighty song against the cliffs and shoreline.
It was the first time he’d wondered if he was falling in love with you, after all the unwavering kindness and generosity you’d been so faithful in blessing him with in spite of all that he had put you through. The light of the full moon had bathed you in an ethereal glow where you lie beside him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were secretly an angel sent to guide his soul back from the depths of the night. Your eyes shone and sparkled with the reflection of the sky above, and he’d listened with rapt attention as you pondered aloud the mysteries of time and space; telling him about how you’d read somewhere in your Astronomy textbook that light could carry on for centuries after stars died out because of how long it took the light to reach the human eye, or something to that effect. Truthfully, he’d understood very little of your hypotheses, so when you’d turned your sparkling eyes upon him to ask for his thoughts on the matter, all he could do was breathlessly ask for you to say it all again. You’d laughed at him, of course, as you always did when he was in awe of you. Your hands had flopped to the ground beside you, and — with his heart in his throat — he’d gingerly hooked his pinky finger around yours. You had turned those beautiful eyes upon him again, a silent question dancing in their depths. He’d thanked you for all you’d done for him, for being his friend and sticking by him when he’d managed to push everyone and everything good in his life away. When the corners of your lips rose in a soft, sincere smile, and you’d moved your hand to cover his, he hadn’t thought it possible to be any more captivated by you than he had been in that moment.
Now, as the chilly wind stung at his exposed face and whipped through his hair, he smiled to himself, recalling how your hand had fit perfectly in his when he’d made the bold decision to lace his fingers through yours. He had fallen asleep before you had, he knew, but you had still been by his side — hand in hand — when he’d awoken.
Sebastian’s feet touched down upon the lush earth outside Uncle Solomon’s — no, his cottage. Dismounting his broom, he glanced around eagerly, but you were nowhere to be seen, and he found himself a little dismayed until he heard the telltale woosh of a broom sounding over his shoulder. He met your eyes and grinned, trotting up to you as you touched down a few feet from him and scarcely refraining from snatching you up into his arms right then and there. Instead, he stood rooted to the grass beneath him, beaming at you like the utter fool he was while he waited for you to dismount. Once you were safely upon the ground, you turned to him, and Sebastian was overjoyed to find his lovesick smile mirrored upon your face.
“Hello,” he said breathlessly.
“Hello,” you returned in kind.
Bloody hell, he hadn’t a clue what to say to you. He had imagined this moment so many times in so many different ways — the moment you’d discern that he was the one behind your letters and (should he be so lucky) reveal to him that you loved him, too.
Well, perhaps it was a tad soon for the L-word — as he wasn’t sure how far along you were in your feelings for him — but there was not a doubt in his mind that he felt that way about you, as he had for some time now.
Merlin’s beard, he was staring. He cleared his throat. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, regretting his fumbled attempt at being suave as soon as the words had flown from his lips.
To his relief, you laughed. “I could say the same to you, my mystery boy.”
There it was again, his telltale heart performing traitorous flips in his chest at the mention of my and boy taking up space in the same sentence as it traveled from your lips to his ears. Just in case he’d forgotten how gone he was on you (not that he ever could).
It had been so easy to put his words artfully to parchment, in the style of a “poetic mastermind,” in the words of Poppy Sweeting. They’d flowed effortlessly like a saccharine river from his heart to the page, but now his tongue was tied in knots and his mind refused to formulate a coherent thought save for the observation of how bloody lovely you looked under the light of the moon with your windswept hair and your too-large coat.
In his silence, an impish grin tugged at your lips. “Left you speechless, have I?”
“Yes,” he blurted, laughing an awkward, breathy laugh that mortified him to the core. He wanted to be suave, debonair, like he felt he’d been in his letters. “It seems that there really was a coward hiding behind that ink and parchment. My mind has gone and left me, it appears.”
You offered him a sheepish shrug, smiling bashfully. “Suppose it’s a good thing, then, that I don’t fancy you for just your words.”
Sebastian’s face lit up brighter than the stars above. “You fancy me?” he laughed, a little incredulously.
You threw your head back in a giddy laugh. “Well, of course I fancy you! I mentioned it in my letter, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he chuckled, “but it’s a different thing entirely to hear you say it.”
Sebastian found his reward in the giggle he’d elicited from you, and he offered you his hand. You took it immediately, lacing your fingers through his just as they’d been all those months ago, and he shot you a smirk.
“Come on,” he grinned, tugging you into a jog.
You obliged him, and together you pranced across the rippling grass. The crisp autumn wind stung at your cheeks and the rolling mist dampened your hair and clothing, but neither of you minded at all. The two of you simply kept on running, your glee escaping you in breathless bouts of lilting laughter. With the sky above clear as crystal, and the earth below fresh and alive and empty as if it had existed for this very moment alone, Sebastian felt a life burning in his veins like he never had before. He was…free. Truly, truly free — free to roam as he pleased, free to be whoever it was that he saw fit to be, free to eat dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner if he sincerely wished it. Free to love you as you deserved to be loved, and — Merlin willing — to let you love him in return.
He stopped abruptly, and you nearly bowled him over with the suddenness of it. He caught you before you could fall, taking both of your hands in his and swinging you around as he began to spin. Your giggles were a balm to his soul, and he relished in every single one of them as you and he spun around the fulcrum of your joined hands. Before long, a dizziness began to set in — though Sebastian wondered whether it was from the spinning or the high of falling head-over-heels in love, or perhaps both — and the two of you slowed to a stop. Fits of laughter bubbled up from the two of you between bouts of desperate, gasping efforts to catch your breath, and Sebastian stumbled just a little when his foot stubbed against the ground. You braced your forearms against his to steady him, and both of you laughed anew.
Pure, unadulterated elation doused Sebastian in its golden glow from his head to his toes as he gazed at you — you, with your flushed, dewy cheeks and your sparkling eyes and your dampened hair that clung to your forehead. You, in your winter pajamas and your too-big coat and your kind soul, bright and warm and captivating as the summer sun.
Sebastian threw his arms around you, squeezing you as tightly as he dared. He figured that he could wake in the morning to the realization that this had all been the loveliest dream he’d ever had, and he wouldn’t have minded at all, but when he felt your arms returning his fervent embrace around his torso and your cheek nuzzling against his own, he knew this was far too good to just be a dream. The scent of moor mist and something sweeter that he couldn’t quite place reached his nostrils as he took a deep breath, swaying in place and committing the feeling of you in his arms to memory. Your mirthful laughter had continued all the while, harmonizing with his in a melody that flooded his senses and anchored him to the present moment.
After what might as well have been eternity, Sebastian pulled back ever so slightly, bringing his hands up to cup both sides of your face. He chuckled at the tears of joy he found there, mingled with the dew that had accumulated on your face, and he swept them away along with loose tendrils of your hair. You leaned into his touch, your arms still circled about his middle, and Sebastian swore that if he smiled any more his head would split in two. His cheeks ached, and he was sure yours did too, but he just couldn’t stop. He was, officially and indisputably, the happiest person alive.
When he finally managed to catch his breath, he spoke. “You’re so beautiful.”
You beamed back at him. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re rather nice to look at yourself.”
Sebastian beamed. He glanced skyward, marveling at the hundreds upon hundreds of stars that surrounded the two of you. “Do you remember what you told me when we were stargazing last summer?” he asked, returning his gaze to yours.
“I said a lot of things,” you giggled. “You’ll have to be a tad more specific.”
“You told me how beautiful it was that we happen to exist here and now,” he explained, sweeping his thumb along your cheekbone. “You told me that the universe existed just to be seen by our eyes, in that exact moment.”
A soft smile bloomed upon your lips. “I remember.”
“I think it existed for this moment, too,” Sebastian whispered, awestruck by the sheer amount of beauty in everything that surrounded him. “And every moment before, and every one that we’ll share afterwards, if you’ll let me share them with you.”
Sebastian’s heart clenched when your beautiful eyes turned glassy. “I will,” you whispered back, your voice choked with an emotion he couldn’t discern. “Of course I will.”
Sebastian huffed a laugh, and you gave him a watery chuff in return. He wound his arms tightly around you once again, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck while he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The earth held its breath as the two of you treasured each other’s embrace; the wind died down to a whisper, the stars twinkled brighter overhead, and all of reality was reduced to you and him and the love you shared.
“Seb?” you murmured into his collar after a long moment.
“Yes?”
You paused, and he felt a grin slowly spread across your face through the fabric of his nightshirt. You pulled back, shooting him a coy look as you did so. “Did you just propose to me?”
Sebastian felt himself flush scarlet from his hairline to his collarbone, and he laughed sheepishly. “Well, I—I…what I mean is, I’d like to do it right, you know — properly, with all the right things in place and probably a fancy speech I’ve memorized that I’ll forget the moment I attempt to recite it, and whatnot, but…I would like to. Someday.”
A giddy smile from you very nearly made his heart stop altogether.
He took a deep breath. “May I? Propose to you someday, that is?”
“You may,” you replied cheekily, propping yourself up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Sebastian wondered how sore he’d be tomorrow from all this smiling. “In that case, consider this a promise of things to come.” He extended his pinky finger to you, and you hooked yours around it. He pressed his lips to his thumb, and you did the same to yours, sealing your pact with a stamp of affection.
With his finger still hooked in yours, you drew back (Sebastian tried very hard not to pout when his arms were left empty) and moved to sit in the tall grass, gently guiding him down with you. When both of you were seated, Sebastian watched with fondness swelling in his heart as you flopped onto your back with a sigh, gazing up in wonder at the firmament above.
Sebastian quirked a brow at you, unhooking his pinky from yours so that he could hold your hand properly. “We should probably head back soon, you know,” he said. “I can’t have you catching cold.”
“I promise I’ll get plenty of sleep tomorrow night, and the one after that, and the one after that,” you placated, squeezing his hand. “Just a moment more. Please?”
Sebastian gazed down at you, making a show of weighing your request even though he knew good and well that he could never refuse you. It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep much tonight anyway, so he may as well spend his waking hours wisely. “Alright,” he sighed after a moment, earning a delighted giggle as he settled himself in the grass beside you.
The night sky was a sight Sebastian could never grow tired of seeing, especially when you were gazing up at it with him. He traced your knuckles with his thumb while he traced the constellations above with his eyes, his heart fit to burst with how full it felt. The grass rustled beside him, and he turned to meet your smiling face. He smiled back, warm and fuzzy all over.
“I think you were right,” you whispered.
“About what?” he whispered back.
“About the universe,” you replied. “It feels like it was made just for us right now.”
“That means that you were right about the universe, you know,” Sebastian chuckled. “You’re the one who first told me that.”
You shrugged. “Suppose we can both be right.”
“Suppose we can,” Sebastian murmured, bringing your interlocked hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
Your cheeks turned the loveliest shade of pink he’d ever seen, and he watched as your expression turned bashful. He decided that bashfulness looked rather fetching on you.
You removed your hand from his, and he observed you curiously while you shifted, bracing yourself on your elbows and scooting closer to him. He smiled, gazing up at you while you returned it, your eyes flitting shyly away from his before finding their way back. “May I…” you began, trailing off and huffing a nervous laugh. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”
Would it be alright? An incredulous cackle nearly escaped Sebastian. Of-bloody-course it would be alright! What sort of a question was that?
“Of course,” is what he ended up saying. You beamed, and he grinned giddily right back at you.
You hesitated for a moment. “I’ve…never kissed anyone before,” you said.
“Nor have I,” he shrugged. “Should you mess it up somehow — though I can’t imagine you would — I shan’t be any the wiser.”
At that, you seemed to relax a little, though Sebastian saw you swallow hard before you leaned down towards him. Your lips met his in a quick, chaste peck, leaving both of you giggling when you pulled away.
“I don’t know how long people usually hold kisses for,” you whispered, smiling bashfully.
“Forever, if you wish,” Sebastian murmured back, grinning when you laughed. When your eyes met his again, he swallowed the nerves that gathered in his throat. “Would you mind very much if I asked you to do that again?”
“Do what again?” you asked innocently, though a wry twinkle in your eye spoke of your knowing exactly what he meant.
He asked anyway, just for the thrill of it. “Kiss me?”
“Not at all,” you beamed. You obliged him happily, gently pressing your lips to his.
If the first one had been perfect, this one was nothing short of divine. It was gentle, tender, shy, and even a little uncoordinated, but, by Merlin, it was the best kiss (out of all of two kisses) he’d ever had. Sebastian brought his hand to your cheek, sweeping his knuckles across your skin as he smiled against your kiss. You smiled, too, breaking apart when you couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled up in you. You stayed close, though, and Sebastian nuzzled his nose against yours, delighting in your soft, contagious giggles.
“Does this mean I can call you my girl?” Sebastian inquired, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as he memorized the way you looked in this moment.
“Only if that means I can say you’re my boy,” you replied.
He smirked up at you. “Deal,” he said, offering his hand for you to shake, and you did so with a smile.
If the world ended in this very moment, Sebastian knew he would die a happy man. The same stars from that blessed summer just a few months ago watched over the two of you now as you buried your face in his coat, sighing contentedly when he wrapped his arm around you.
While he wasn’t proud of the things he’d done, Sebastian decided that, with you by his side, he could forge ahead a new path, one where he could love without fear and learn to be loved in return.