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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 4 months ago

Note

anything you want i did see a video where he was saying you hurt my darling to Rockwood and my did things to my heart

By Right of Blood | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

RAHHHH THIS WAS FUN. I LOVE PROTECTIVE SEB. I HOPE YOU ENJOY. I admit, I got carried away and this ended up longer than I anticipated which is why it took me a hot minute to get to this but I hope it was worth it!

Fair warning: this fic is realllllly just a lot of angry, protective seb + fighting/action; very little fluff/romance/etc until the very end

A very special thank you to @newdreamlove95 for reading this over and helping me revise before posting! <3

Words: ~13,000

Tags: Violence, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Canon Divergence, Post Hogwarts, Auror Seb, Auror MC, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Confessions

The ruin was ancient—far older than the maps suggested.

You exhaled, the sound swallowed by the dense, humid air of the underground chamber. The magic here was thick, pressing against your skin like something alive. It whispered at the edges of your mind, hinting at an enchantment cast long ago.

Your wand's light flickered against the damp stone as you stepped forward, careful, methodical. Runes lined the archways, warnings etched in a dialect you barely recognized. You traced your fingers over them, murmuring a translation under your breath.

Do not enter. Do not disturb what has been sealed.

A warning, not unlike many you had seen before.

You had been breaking curses for years, navigating the remnants of forgotten civilizations, dismantling traps left behind by those who feared their own creations. It was dirty, dangerous work—but it suited you, kept you sharp, fulfilled your unquenchable need for adventure.

This ruin was no different.

The patterns in the stone, the way the air hummed—there was something familiar about it.

Ancient magic.

You stepped toward the center of the chamber, fingers brushing the edges of an inscription half-buried beneath the dust of centuries.

Then, you heard a sound.

Faint, but unmistakable. Not a ghost. Not an animal. Not the whisper of long-dead magic. It was the slow, deliberate scuff of boots against stone.

Someone was here.

You whirled around, wand gripped tightly, heart immediately hammering against your ribs, adrenaline spiking.

"Identify yourself."

The laugh that followed was slow, low at first but rising, curling around you like smoke.

You recognized it immediately. It was a sound that haunted your nightmares, woven into memories you had long tried to bury. The echo of it sent something sharp and cold twisting in your gut.

From the darkness, a figure stepped into the dim glow of your wandlight.

“Hello, love.”

Your grip on your wand tightened.

“I have to say,” the man mused, tilting his head as though appraising you, “I was beginning to think I’d never get the chance to see you again. You’ve been quite the slippery little thing, haven’t you?”

Your blood ran cold, but you kept your stance firm, refusing to let him see the way his presence set every nerve in your body alight with warning.

“You should be dead,” you said evenly.

“Should be,” he echoed, almost lazily. “But I’ve always been a difficult man to kill.”

His eyes flickered over you, and something dark and satisfied curled at the edges of his expression.

“And you—still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” His gaze drifted to the ruins around you. “I wonder… is it curiosity that brought you here? Or instinct?”

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you held steady.

“You’re a fool if you think you’ll walk away from this,” you said, voice low, dangerous. “The Ministry has been hunting you for years. You won’t leave these ruins alive.”

Another laugh.

“Oh, I rather think I will,” he replied, tipping his head in amusement. “And you, my dear, will be coming with me, in due time of course.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you moved.

Your wand cut through the air, the incantation forming on your lips—but the curse never left your tongue, because he was faster:

"Crucio."

Pain exploded through you, tremendous and searing. Your knees buckled. Your wand slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone as your body hit the ground. Every muscle seized, your spine arching against the agony as if to escape the pain.

The world blurred, your vision tunneling as your screams echoed off the cavern walls.

It felt endless.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling, nerves raw and burning in the aftermath. The cold stone beneath you did nothing to ground you, nothing to dull the lingering agony that curled through every inch of you like a live wire.

Boots scraped against stone.

Through the haze, you saw a second figure step beside you. You tried to move. To reach for your wand. To fight. But before you could, a boot connected with your face and pain erupted again—sharp and immediate, snapping your head to the side.

A burst of light—too bright, too fast—as your skull cracked against the stone.

The last thing you heard before everything plunged into darkness was a voice, smooth and satisfied.

"Sleep tight, love."

Victor Rookwood was a ghost story.

A name spoken in hushed tones, a shadow that stretched long over the years, fading in and out of whispered rumors like a specter that refused to be laid to rest. He had haunted the edges of Ministry investigations, slipping through the cracks, a vanishing act so seamless that some believed he had died in hiding. Others swore he had fled the country, abandoning his tattered empire to rot. There were even those who claimed he had gone mad—driven into the depths of some forsaken ruin, a king without a throne, wasting away in solitude.

But Sebastian Sallow knew better.

Rookwood was too proud, too vain, too damn angry to let himself rot in obscurity. He had spent a lifetime clawing his way into power—he would not fade quietly into the dark.

Sebastian told you once, in passing, that the Ministry still had a standing order to find him. That somewhere, someone was always searching. But he never told you that he was the one leading the hunt. That it was his team tracking every cold lead, every whispered sighting, every scrap of intelligence that might finally drag the bastard into the light. He never told you that he had spent every fucking year since leaving Hogwarts with a singular purpose: to make sure the ghosts that haunted you never had the chance to crawl out of the dark.

Because no matter how many years passed, no matter how much you tried to leave it behind, there was one person tied to Rookwood’s downfall more than anyone else:

You.

It was why Sebastian had never questioned your decision to become a cursebreaker instead of an Auror, even when others did. Even when they called it a waste of talent. He knew why. Knew what the rebellion had taken from you—what ancient magic had cost you.

And it was why he hadn’t wanted you going alone.

Southern Scotland. Uncharted ruins. A job you couldn’t pass up.

“I don’t like it,” he had told you before you left, arms crossed, jaw tight with unease.

“You don’t like anything that involves me going anywhere alone,” you had pointed out, amused, packing your satchel with methodical efficiency.

Sebastian’s scowl had deepened. “And for good reason.”

He wasn’t wrong. Cursebreaking was dangerous by nature.

And what you didn't know was that to Sebastian, this wasn’t just another expedition. He had waded through enough bodies in his time as an Auror to recognize a pattern when he saw one, and of one thing he was certain: Rookwood’s activities had increased lately.

Small things, at first—whispers in Knockturn Alley, Ministry research going missing. Then the disappearances started. Then the unsolved cases, scattered across the country, all tied together by the same faint, rotten thread. His team of Aurors was finding bodies again, burned and mutilated in ways that were too familiar. The signs were all there—Rookwood was growing bolder, the noose of his ambition tightening.

And now you were gone.

A simple owl was all Sebastian had asked for. A brief message—I’m fine. Don’t worry. Still working. It was the bare minimum, a compromise between his paranoia and your stubborn insistence that you could take care of yourself.

But the hours stretched long, the silence thickening into something unbearable.

No owl. No sign of you. And Sebastian knew. Fuck, he knew.

Victor Rookwood had you.

He'd gone through every logical excuse—maybe you’d finished late, maybe found something interesting in the ruins and got sidetracked. You had taken worse risks before, pushed the limits of your own survival in ways that made him grit his teeth and call you reckless. But you were also experienced. Brilliant. And you knew the weight of promises made to the people who worried about you.

You wouldn’t forget to owl him.

Sebastian shot up from his chair so violently that it scraped across the floor, nearly toppling over. Across the room, a few of his fellow Aurors glanced up from their desks, but no one said anything. They had learned by now that when Sebastian moved with that particular kind of urgency, it was better to stay out of his way.

He stormed through the office, his mind already sharpening, already forming the next steps: he needed resources. He needed names. He needed your fucking location.

Sebastian tore through the corridors of the Ministry, moving fast enough to nearly knock over a passing file clerk. Papers went flying, a startled protest rose behind him, but he barely muttered an apology before pressing forward, his pulse a sharp, insistent drumbeat in his ears.

The Department of Cursebreaking was quieter than his own, filled with scholars and field researchers instead of hardened Aurors. Less war, more history. It had always suited Ominis.

Sebastian stepped into his friend's office without knocking.

Ominis was already standing, his chair pushed back, his posture rigid.

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. “She’s missing.”

“I know. I tried contacting her this morning,” Ominis replied, his voice tight, each syllable measured, controlled. “No response. And there were traces of magical interference, which means whatever happened to her—” He cut himself off, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His breath came a little too sharply through his nose. “It wasn’t an accident.”

Sebastian already knew that.

"Not shit," he snapped, voice raw, hoarse. His hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking with barely restrained fury. "Rookwood has her."

Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose, unreadable behind the usual mask of quiet control—but Sebastian knew him too well. He saw the tension in the way he stood, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw clenched just a fraction tighter. Ominis was worried.

Good. He should be.

Still, when he spoke, his voice was measured, deliberate. "Sebastian—"

"Don’t tell me to calm down," Sebastian cut in, already knowing what was coming. "Don’t—don’t say that I should sit tight and be rational and fucking wait while Rookwood—" His breath hitched, and he turned away sharply, hands raking through his hair. "Fuck."

Ominis’ shoulders stiffened, but his voice remained level. "I'm worried too," he said, quieter this time, as if the weight of the words might reach Sebastian through the haze of his anger. "But we can’t do anything rash. You don’t know what you’re walking into, and—"

"Rookwood has her, Ominis." Sebastian turned back to him, his gaze wild and desperate. "You know what that means."

Ominis did know. Knew it all too well. Knew what Rookwood was capable of. Knew what he had done to people before. Knew what he would do now, given the chance.

And worst of all—knew exactly what you meant to Sebastian.

He had always known.

Had seen it written in every unspoken word, every sharp breath, every stupid reckless thing Sebastian had done for you since they were teenagers. It was in the way he watched you when you weren’t looking, the way he always reached for his wand at the first sign of trouble, the way his whole world seemed to orient around you without him even realizing it.

And now you were gone.

"Sebastian—"

"We don't have time to wait!" Sebastian interrupted, his voice raw, shaking. "We don't even know how long she's been missing. She could’ve been taken yesterday, she could be—" His throat tightened, something painful lodging there. "We don’t know, Ominis. And you’re asking me to fucking wait?!"

Ominis exhaled through his nose, struggling for calm. "Your team is in the field," he pointed out, even, steady. "They need to be here. You need them."

Sebastian shook his head, laughing bitterly. "I need to go. Now. Before it's too late."

"You’re talking about storming into a situation blind. Without backup. Without a plan. Do you hear yourself?" Ominis’ voice sharpened. "Do you even care if you survive this?"

Sebastian stilled.

And that—that—was what made Ominis go still, too.

Because Sebastian didn’t answer. His breathing was too fast, his fists still clenched at his sides, and in his silence, Ominis knew.

Sebastian wasn’t thinking about himself at all.

Sebastian had never been good at restraint, had never known how to stop when it came to the people he loved. He had already proven, again and again, that there was nothing—nothing—he wouldn’t do if someone he loved was in danger. And you—

You were everything.

"Sebastian, please," Ominis tried again, softer this time, stepping closer. "You going in alone is exactly what Rookwood would want."

Sebastian let out a sharp, bitter exhale. "Rookwood wants her, Ominis," he spat, voice hoarse. "And I’ll be damned if I let him have her."

Ominis hesitated. Because the truth was, Sebastian was right. They didn’t have time.

But Ominis also knew, with every shred of certainty in his body, that if Sebastian went now—alone, reckless, half-mad with fury—he might never come back.

But the Auror was already moving.

"Owl my team," he said, reaching for the door and ignoring Ominis's protests. "But I'm not waiting for them."

He stormed into the hallway, his mind a razor-sharp edge of focus. He didn’t know where you were, but he knew where to start.

The ruins. That was where Rookwood had found you. But Sebastian had never seen the ruins himself, had never been there. He couldn't apparate to a place he didn’t know.

Which meant he needed someone who did: your apprentice, Elias Vane.

Sebastian found him in the far corner of the Cursebreaking Department, hunched over a desk littered with notes, open grimoires, and a cup of tea, long forgotten.

Vane was young—barely out of Hogwarts—but sharp. Talented. You had spoken well of him before, praised his instinct, his skill. Reckless, yes, but capable. A good cursebreaker.

And right now, Sebastian needed him.

He didn’t slow as he approached, didn’t stop. His hands slammed against the desk with enough force to rattle the inkpot and send a loose parchment fluttering to the floor.

Vane jolted, eyes snapping up in alarm. “Shit—”

“You’re coming with me,” Sebastian said, voice cold, clipped. His pulse roared in his ears. No time. No patience. “Now.”

Vane blinked, still disoriented. “What—?”

“The ruins,” Sebastian snapped. “The ones she went to. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

Vane’s expression flickered with confusion, then something like wariness. “Y-yeah, once, during the initial survey, but—”

“Then you’re taking me there.”

Vane frowned, still catching up. “Wait—why? Where’s—”

“She’s missing,” Sebastian cut in, his voice like flint. “No owl. No sign of her.” He straightened, shoving back from the desk. “We need to leave. Now.”

Vane paled. He scrambled to his feet, knocking over the inkpot in the process, but didn’t even glance at it. “She—she’s missing? But—” His voice dropped to something unsure, something unsteady. “She’s good at this, Sallow. If something happened—”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. His breath came sharp through his nose.

“She didn’t just get lost,” he said, voice dangerously low. “She was taken.”

Vane hesitated, but whatever he saw in Sebastian’s expression had him snapping his mouth shut and nodding. “Alright. But if she’s just holed up in some side chamber taking notes, she’s going to kill us both for interrupting her.”

Sebastian didn’t respond.

He prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that was the case, but the dread clawing at his chest told him otherwise.

He stepped closer, gripping Vane’s arm.

“Hold tight,” Vane murmured before twisting his wand.

The world cracked apart, then Sebastian’s boots hit the stone with a sharp thud.

The ruins loomed before him, vast and desolate, and he felt it. Something was wrong.

Sebastian had been in enough places touched by dark magic to recognize the suffocating stillness that hung in the air. It was the kind of silence that only followed violence. The kind that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He turned in a slow circle, scanning the surroundings while Vane exhaled beside him, eyes sweeping over the ruins. “She's supposed to be here,” he murmured. “She would have left something behind. Campfire. Equipment. A bloody note.”

Sebastian was already moving toward the mouth of the cave, his boots crunching over loose gravel as he walked. His pulse pounded, his grip tightening on his wand.

Then he saw it.

Boot prints. Many boot prints.

His stomach twisted as he crouched, fingers brushing over the disturbed earth.

Vane stepped up behind him. “What is it?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. A sick feeling clawed up his throat. The confirmation of what he already knew. You'd been ambushed. The evidence was right in front of him.

Victor Rookwood had been here.

Sebastian turned to Vane, voice tight with barely restrained fury. “Tell me everything she was researching.”

Vane swallowed. “Uh, ancient warding magic. Something about sealed vaults. She was trying to cross-reference Keeper records with—”

Ancient warding magic. The same damn thing Rookwood had been stealing from Ministry archives for months.

“Fuck.” Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, his pulse roaring.

He knew what Rookwood wanted, and it wasn’t just revenge. It was your magic—the same power you had buried, the same magic Victor had lost in the rebellion. The bastard had played a long game. He had waited, plotted, and then, the moment you had gotten too close—

He had taken you.

Sebastian turned to Vane, who was still pale, eyes darting to the boot prints in the dirt. The young cursebreaker swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably under his unwavering stare.

“You’re going back to the Ministry,” Sebastian ordered.

Vane blinked. “What? No, I—”

“Go back,” Sebastian repeated, stepping closer, his grip tightening around his wand. “Go to Ominis. Tell him everything we saw here. He’ll know what to do.”

“But—”

Sebastian didn’t have time for hesitation. “You’ll just get in my way.”

Vane recoiled slightly, offense flashing across his face, but Sebastian didn’t let up.

"This isn’t some damn expedition," his voice was low, razor-sharp. "Do you honestly believe that when it comes down to it, you can make the call? That you can put someone in the ground before they do the same to you?" He stepped closer, eyes burning with intensity. "Because that’s what this is. It’s not research. It’s war. And I don’t have time to babysit you."

Vane opened his mouth, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, something in his face crumbling as the weight of reality settled in.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter.

“You want to help? Find Ominis.”

Vane hesitated for only a second longer before nodding, his face grim. “What are you going to do?”

Sebastian barely hesitated. “I’m going after her.”

Vane’s frown deepened. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Sebastian cut him off, his voice low, lethal. “And I will.”

Something in his expression must have made it clear that there was no point arguing, because Vane exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re mad.”

Sebastian didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he turned his back on the younger man and stalked toward the deeper ruins, the weight of his purpose pressing like a blade against his ribs.

Behind him, he heard Vane mutter a curse before taking out his wand. “If you get yourself killed, I’m not explaining it to Gaunt.”

Sebastian didn’t answer.

With a sharp crack, Vane disapparated, leaving Sebastian alone.

The silence pressed in immediately, thick and smothering as he moved deeper. He took a slow breath, centering himself. He had to think. Had to move quickly.

Rookwood had taken you, that much was clear. But where?

His eyes swept over the ruined chamber, cataloging every detail with a hunter’s precision. The boot prints led toward the collapsed corridor ahead, vanishing deeper into the tunnel. There were too many to count—at least half a dozen men. Maybe more.

Sebastian followed them without hesitation, his movements sure.

The ruins stretched ahead, the air thick with humidity and the musty scent of mildew. Ancient carvings lined the stone, half-obscured by moss and time. The dampness clung to his skin, the scent of earth and decay filling his lungs.

Then, as he stepped into a large cavern, he stopped abruptly, his breath catching.

Blood.

It wasn’t a lot—just a smear, a faint streak against the stone floor—but it was enough.

He dropped to a knee. There were boot prints everywhere, some overlapping, some leading deeper into the ruins. And the blood... he ran a finger through the smear. Still tacky. It was fresh. Recent.

Yours?

His gut roared at the thought, a sickening, lurching thing as he forced himself to breathe.

Every instinct screamed at him to run, to tear through these tunnels and hunt them down—but he couldn’t afford recklessness. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, steadying the fire burning in his chest. His wand was firm in his grip, his fingers still slick with the tacky smear of blood. He wiped them against his coat absently, his mind already working through the possibilities.

There were too many boot prints to count, but the path was clear. They hadn’t been subtle—there was no need. No one else was supposed to be here. No one was supposed to find you.

And yet, here he was.

Sebastian followed the trail. The air grew colder the deeper he went, the damp walls pressing inward like silent sentinels. The corridor narrowed, the carved runes along the stone becoming more intricate.

He stiffened at the echo of a sound ahead.

Low voices, faint but distinct. Men speaking in hushed tones as they walked, their words carried along the tunnel by the damp echo of stone.

Sebastian pressed himself against the wall, listening.

“—still unconscious. Probably won’t wake for a while.”

A rush of relief nearly buckled his knees. Unconscious. That meant you were still alive.

Another voice scoffed, rough and unimpressed. “You kicked her too hard. The boss wanted her awake.”

Sebastian’s grip on his wand turned to iron.

They had hit you.

A red haze crawled up the edges of his vision, something sharp and vicious curling in his gut, coiling around his ribs like a beast that had been waiting for the right moment to sink its teeth in.

Sebastian had never been afraid of the dark.

And he had never been afraid to become it.

He inhaled, long and slow, pushing the fire in his chest into something controlled, something sharp, then he moved. Silent. Swift. A shadow among the ruins.

The two men were just ahead, walking side by side, their pace easy, relaxed—unaware. Their figures flickered in the dim torchlight, heavy boots scuffing against the stone floor, their cloaks shifting with the movement.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate.

A flick of his wand, and the first man barely had time to choke before he collapsed, soundlessly paralyzed, his body hitting the ground in a dead weight.

Sebastian was already moving onto the next one.

The second man turned, mouth opening to shout, but Sebastian was faster. His wand slashed through the air.

"Diffindo."

The spell tore through the air. The man barely had time to gasp before a deep, jagged gash split across his chest, blooming red.

Sebastian stepped forward, pressing his boot against the man’s throat as he writhed, choking on his own blood. The dying wizard’s fingers scrabbled weakly against the stone, his panicked eyes meeting Sebastian’s.

Sebastian knelt over him, his wand pressed hard beneath his chin.

“Where is she?”

The man’s mouth opened, but only a wet, gurgling sound escaped.

Sebastian lifted his foot just slightly, allowing the man just enough space to take a breath. “Where. Is. She?” he repeated.

The man clawed weakly at his boot, his breath rattling in his chest.

Sebastian sighed, almost disappointed. He lifted his wand, tilting his head slightly. Then, without a flicker of hesitation—

"Petrificus Totalus."

The man’s body went rigid in an instant, his limbs locking at unnatural angles as the spell took hold. His eyes, wide and frantic, remained the only thing still able to move.

Sebastian watched, impassive, as blood continued to seep from the wound at the man’s side, pooling beneath him, soaking into the cracks of the ancient stone.

Helpless. Still.

The man would bleed out, unable to move, unable to take any action to save himself. And Sebastian didn’t care.

He moved deeper into the cave, following the footsteps. All the while, his sense of dread only grew, thrumming in the walls, in the air, in his bones, suffocating, unnatural, and reeking of something vile.

Then Sebastian heard it.

Laughter.

Low, amused voices, men speaking in tones that dripped with cruel delight. The sound sent ice through Sebastian’s veins. He pressed forward, inching closer to the chamber ahead. The tunnel widened into an open space, wandlight flickering against damp stone.

He counted five—no, six men, their postures relaxed, cocky. Unbothered.

Then he saw you.

Chained to a crumbling stone pillar, arms bound above your head, wrists rubbed raw and bloody against thick iron cuffs. Your head hung forward, temple bleeding, dark streaks cutting across the bruised, pallid skin of your face. Your breathing was slow, shallow. Unconscious.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

One of the men—tall, broad-shouldered, his cloak hanging open over grimy leathers—stepped closer to where you hung limp against the pillar, head tilted at a sickeningly casual angle. His wand was holstered, his hands free, because why would he need his wand for this?

His fingers found your jaw, tilting your head up so he could get a better look.

"Such a pretty little thing, eh?"

For a moment, Sebastian couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

His entire body was coiled so tightly with rage that he thought he might shatter from it, might detonate with the sheer force of it.

Another man scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “Wouldn’t give the likes of us a second look, though,” he muttered. “Fucking arrogant bitch."

The first man’s fingers drifted lower, tracing the delicate curve of your throat, brushing past your collarbone, slow and deliberate.

"Doesn’t matter, does it?" Another man chuckled. "She ain't gonna fight back. And the boss ain’t ready for her yet."

A smirk.

"So, boys—who wants a turn first?"

Sebastian moved.

No thought. No hesitation. Only rage.

The first man—the one touching you—never stood a chance.

A bolt of magic ripped through his chest, so fast, so brutal, that he didn’t even have time to scream. The impact shattered his ribs, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the chamber as his body crumpled, folding in on itself before it hit the ground.

The second man turned, his mouth opening in shock, powerless as Sebastian twisted his wand and sent a curse flying.

It struck the man mid-turn, his body arching backward, spine bending at a grotesque, impossible angle. He let out a choked, gurgling wheeze before collapsing in a twitching, broken heap.

Then the chamber erupted.

Shouts. The sharp scrape of boots against stone. Panicked movement.

Sebastian was still moving, weaving between them like death incarnate.

A man raised his wand, but Sebastian didn’t let him speak.

"Confringo."

A scream tore through the cavern, raw and agonized as fire consumed him. He collapsed against the stone, his fingers clawing at his skin like he could rip the pain out of himself.

Sebastian turned, already raising his wand for the next.

Another man lunged, his own wand slashing through the air, but Sebastian deflected him effortlessly, stepping into his guard before driving his knee hard into his gut. The man doubled over with a strangled grunt, but Sebastian wasn’t done—he slammed the hilt of his wand against the side of his skull, sending him sprawling.

A sharp movement to his left—

Sebastian pivoted, casting Expulso with enough force to send the next man flying into the cavern wall.

The impact was sickening. A wet, meaty sound, bones crunching on impact. Blood smeared against the stone as the man slumped, unmoving.

The chamber fell into silence.

Heavy. Dripping.

Sebastian was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious bursts. His wand was still raised, fingers tight around the handle. The taste of iron burned at the back of his throat, the air thick with the stench of sweat and blood and fire.

And yet it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

His gaze snapped to the last man, who was trembling now, wand unsteady in his grip, eyes darting toward the exit, toward the ruins of his comrades, and then to Sebastian.

Sebastian took a slow, measured step forward.

The man sucked in a breath, his grip tightening on his wand, and then he moved.

Not toward Sebastian. Not to fight.

To you.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold. He saw it—the way the man lunged, wand flicking upward at just the right angle—

Apparition.

Sebastian didn’t think. He lunged, too.

His fingers snatched at the bastard’s cloak, curling tight in the fabric just as the magic took hold.

The world twisted. Everything spun, a brutal, suffocating force yanking him forward, ripping him from solid ground and into the crushing void of nonexistence.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the world righted itself.

Sebastian’s boots slammed onto solid ground. Cold air hit his face. The scent of damp earth, of moss and rain, filled his lungs.

They were outside.

Deep in the woods, far from the ruins. The sky overhead was dark, moonlight barely slipping through the heavy canopy of trees.

The man who had taken you staggered forward, thrown off balance by the rough landing. Sebastian wasted no time. His wand was already raised, his fury razor-sharp.

"Bombarda!"

The spell struck the man mid-turn, ripping him off his feet and sending him crashing into the nearest tree. His body crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Then silence.

Sebastian stood in the stillness, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls, his wand still raised, his fingers locked in a death grip around the handle. His heart was a drumbeat in his ears, fast and erratic, each pulse laced with fury, with need.

The bastard was dead. Good.

He turned.

His stomach plummeted.

You were in a heap on the ground, crumpled atop a bed of damp, decaying leaves. Your body was limp, your arms still bound, your deathly skin pale beneath the bruises and blood smeared across your face. The rise and fall of your chest was slow—too slow.

Sebastian’s fury shattered, replaced instantly by fear.

“Fuck, no, no, no—”

He dropped to his knees beside you.

“Come on, love,” he muttered, his voice shaking despite himself. “You’re alright. You have to be alright.”

He swore, frustration thick in his throat, turning his attention to the shackles. He had to get these off you.

His wand cut through the air again—Finite Incantatem. No reaction. Alohomora. Not even a flicker.

Sebastian’s jaw locked. Fuck magic, then.

He tossed his wand aside and lunged for the shackles, fingers digging into the rusted iron, trying to pry them off with brute strength alone.

The moment his skin touched the metal, a biting cold leached into him, unnatural and parasitic.

Sebastian gasped, his muscles seizing, his breath hitching as a sickly, creeping energy seeped into his fingertips, curling through his veins like poison. It crawled up his arms, pulling, draining—a deep, gnawing hunger that seemed to suck the very life from his bones.

Cursed. It was cursed.

Sebastian ripped his hands away, staggering backward, his breath coming too fast, too shallow. His fingers tingled where they had touched the shackles, as if something had tried to stay inside him, tried to take root.

“Fuck,” he swore again, running a trembling hand through his hair, trying to clear the dizzy haze the metal had left behind.

Then—

A twig snapped.

Sebastian froze.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. “Isn’t this touching?”

Sebastian turned slowly, wand raised, heart pounding in his chest like war drums.

Victor Rookwood stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow, his coat hanging open over the fine but worn layers beneath.

“You certainly do make things interesting, Mr. Sallow.” His tone was almost amused, but his eyes burned with something colder. “I do wonder, though—was it bravery or foolishness that brought you here? Love certainly makes people do strange things.”

Sebastian didn’t answer.

He stood, wand still raised. His heart was a hammer in his chest, the weight of it crushing against his ribs, but his grip remained steady, his fingers curled tight around his wand.

Rookwood was watching him like a cat might watch a cornered mouse. His posture was relaxed, his stance loose, his wand held low like it was barely worth lifting. A show of control. A show of patience.

Sebastian had seen men like him before.

Men who spoke in honeyed words while they bled people dry. Men who lied with a smile, who thrived on games, on power, on knowing they were one step ahead.

Sebastian exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to think.

He hasn’t killed her. That was the first fact that mattered. If Rookwood wanted you dead, you would already be gone. Instead, you were here, bound and unconscious, but alive.

Which meant Rookwood needed you. And if he needed you—then he wasn’t as in control as he wanted Sebastian to think.

Rookwood’s smirk deepened, as if he could see the thoughts forming in real-time. “Not even a word?” He tsked softly, shaking his head. “I must say, Sallow, I expected more given your reputation."

Sebastian didn't falter. “Let her go.”

Rookwood let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. “Ah. Straight to business.” His gaze flicked toward you, still slumped in the dirt, before returning to Sebastian. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

Sebastian’s grip on his wand tightened. “Then I'll kill you where you stand.”

Rookwood actually laughed at that. A slow, smug sound, low and indulgent. “Oh, you could.” He gestured vaguely, as if the idea was nothing more than a passing thought. “But let’s be realistic, shall we? You and I both know it’s not that simple. The curse on those shackles won’t lift without me.”

Sebastian stiffened. Shit.

"So tell me, Sallow," Rookwood’s voice was unhurried, easy, as if they were discussing the weather over tea. "What’s the play here?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. Didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as breathe the wrong way.

It was obvious now.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was a game. A dangerous, calculated game, and if Sebastian wanted to win, if he wanted to get you out of here alive, then he had to play it right.

Rookwood watched him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Do you even know what those shackles are doing to her?” His tone was conversational. “I imagine you’ve already felt it yourself. That creeping little rot in your bones.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Must be excruciating, hm?”

Sebastian barely stopped himself from looking at you. Because that was what Rookwood wanted, wasn’t it? To make him look. To make him see how helpless you were, to force him to feel that panic tighten around his throat like a noose.

But the problem was Rookwood wasn’t lying. You were dying. Slowly, yes, but it was happening. So what the fuck was the right move here?

Every instinct in Sebastian's body screamed to attack, to kill him where he stood, but if the curse needed to be lifted manually, then Sebastian might as well carve your fucking tombstone himself.

His fingers twitched. He forced himself to breathe.

“Fine,” he bit out. “What do you want?”

Rookwood’s smirk deepened, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Now you’re speaking my language.” He took a slow step forward, watching Sebastian like a cat toying with a mouse. “It’s simple, really. You’ve been such a thorn in my side. Constantly investigating me, tracking me down, sending your little Auror friends after me." His expression darkened, the amusement fading into something more calculating. "So, here’s my offer: you leave. You walk away. You stop chasing me, stop meddling in my affairs, and, most importantly—” His gaze flicked toward you, still slumped and dying in the dirt. “—you forget you ever saw me. And when I'm finished with her, you'll get her back alive."

The words slithered through the cold night air, wrapping around Sebastian like a chokehold. His stomach twisted, nausea curling tight beneath his ribs, but his face remained unreadable.

“I think,” Sebastian said slowly, voice even, steady, “that you have me confused with someone who bargains.”

Rookwood’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something else beneath it now. A flicker of something colder.

“Oh?” he mused, tilting his head, as if truly considering. “Then I suppose I'll just need to persuade you."

A curse slammed into Sebastian’s chest before he could react.

Pain exploded through his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs in a sharp, violent burst. The force of the spell sent him flying, his body crashing against the damp earth, his wand slipping from his grip and skidding across the forest floor.

For a moment, his vision swam—dark spots blooming at the edges, the world tilting on its axis. Cold night air bit at his skin, but his chest burned, ribs screaming with each ragged inhale.

Rookwood was on him in an instant.

A boot slammed down against Sebastian’s wrist, grinding it into the dirt, keeping him pinned, helpless, his wand just out of reach.

“I should’ve known better than to waste time talking,” Rookwood muttered, his voice low, almost disappointed. "Men like you—"

Sebastian moved. Fast.

Before Rookwood could finish his sentence, Sebastian wrenched his body to the side, twisting hard despite the searing pain in his ribs. He gritted his teeth, ignored the screaming protest of his muscles, and lunged—

His hand snatched at Rookwood’s ankle, yanking with every ounce of strength he had. The older man staggered, his balance thrown, his weight shifting just enough—

Sebastian ripped himself free, shoving himself up from the ground in a single fluid motion. His shoulder slammed into Rookwood’s torso, driving him backward, but the older man recovered fast.

Rookwood’s wand snapped up. Sebastian ducked. A jet of red light seared past his ear, narrowly missing him, splintering the bark of a nearby tree.

Sebastian didn’t let him cast again.

He surged forward, slamming into him, sending them both sprawling into the dirt in a brutal scramble.

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as Sebastian's his fist connected with Rookwood’s face. Blood smeared across his knuckles, and Sebastian pressed forward, his other hand grappling for Victor’s wand, fingers brushing against the handle.

Then pain erupted through his side.

Sebastian gasped, his body jerking as something hot and burning sliced through his ribs.

Rookwood had a knife. A dirty, wicked-looking thing that he'd hidden beneath his coat.

Sebastian’s chest rose and fell in sharp, heaving breaths, his ribs screaming, his side burning where the knife had carved through him. His wand was still somewhere in the dirt, just out of reach. He shoved Rookwood back and forced himself upright, muscles trembling from the effort.

Rookwood now stood a few feet away, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

And he was grinning.

“That’s quite the right hook you’ve got there,” he mused, flexing his jaw. “And here I was beginning to think the Ministry had gone soft.”

Sebastian said nothing. His breath came slow and deliberate, fingers twitching for his wand—

Rookwood smirked.

“Eight years,” he mused, pacing leisurely in front of him. "It took you eight years to finally come face to face with me. Your entire career’s work—tracking me, investigating me, sending your little Auror friends after me.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And yet, despite all that effort, here we are. And I must say—” He tutted, tilting his head. “It’s a bit of a shame, isn’t it? That you're just so bloody weak."

Sebastian clenched his jaw so tight it ached.

Rookwood continued, his voice smooth, almost pitying. “The Ministry is so slow, isn’t it? Always a step behind. Always cleaning up messes instead of preventing them.” His smile widened. “It took you eight years to catch up to me. And now you’re here. Wandless. Bleeding. Powerless.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists.

“You talk too much,” he rasped, his voice raw.

Rookwood chuckled. "Personally, I think I'm being quite charitable, Sebastian. Your life is about to end, surely you want to know what it is I've been working towards all this time, hm?"

Sebastian swallowed against the sharp taste of blood at the back of his throat.

“Ancient magic is such a fascinating thing, don’t you think?” Rookwood mused. "Older than the Ministry. Older than the Hogwarts founders. Power that predates our understanding of what magic even is.”

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He was listening. Because that was the thing about men like Rookwood, they always wanted an audience, and right now, every second he spent talking was another second Sebastian had to think.

Rookwood exhaled, long and thoughtful, tilting his head. “You know, the real shame of it is that she never even stopped to consider what that power could do if properly harnessed." His gaze flicked toward you, still unmoving in the dirt. “She feels it. Wields it. And yet was still too much of a coward to reach for its full potential."

Sebastian forced himself to breathe, slow and steady. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Rookwood tutted, shaking his head. “Come now, you already know.” He gestured broadly, as if to the very world around them. “The Repository. Sealed. Hidden away. Even though ancient magic is my goddamn birthright.” He clicked his tongue. “The Ministry likes to pretend she warded it off for good. How naive."

Sebastian inconspicuously scanned the forest floor for his wand, finally locating the green and black handle laying a couple meters to his right.

“The problem, of course,” Rookwood went on, “is that the only one who can open it is her."

His gaze flicked toward you again.

“Because she’s special. I imagine you’ve known that for a long time." Rookwood's smirk deepened.

“So what?” Sebastian spat. “You think she’s just going to help you?”

Rookwood chuckled. “Oh, Sebastian.”

Sebastian hated how easily he said his name.

“She doesn’t need to help me," Rookwood continued. "She simply needs to be there.”

A cold dread curled at the base of Sebastian’s spine. “What the fuck are you saying?”

Rookwood hummed. “I’m saying that she is the key. Quite literally. You see, I don’t need her consent. I don’t need her to willingly give me anything." He tilted his head. "I just need her alive long enough to get me in."

Sebastian’s vision went red. His mind screamed for him to move. To lunge. To tear Rookwood apart.

Eight years ago, before Auror training, before he had learned restraint, he would have. He would have thrown himself at Rookwood with all the reckless fury he had in him, would have clawed and ripped and killed him with his bare hands if he had to.

And it would have gotten him killed.

But now—

Now, something cold settled into his chest. Not quieting his rage. Not taming it, but focusing it.

Sebastian couldn’t afford to be reckless, not while he was wandless and bleeding and Rookwood held a winning hand. He just needed to break Rookwood’s composure. Needed to goad him into making a mistake.

Then he’d gut him.

Sebastian exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze flicked toward his wand, half-buried in damp earth.

"Must be exhausting," Sebastian said, forcing a breath past the sharp pain in his ribs. "Still clinging to old failures, knowing you were bested by a fifteen-year-old all those years ago."

Rookwood’s jaw tensed. Sebastian smirked.

"You’re desperate," Sebastian continued breathlessly. "That’s why you need her. Ancient magic is beyond you, and you know it. You’re just a desperate, pathetic bastard trying to steal power he doesn’t understand."

That did it.

Rookwood’s eyes darkened with something dangerous.

Sebastian had seconds. Maybe less.

Rookwood lunged, knife in hand—but this time, Sebastian was ready. His heel dug into the dirt, and he dove sideways, landing with a heavy thud.

His fingers wrapped around his wand, and before Rookwood could even think, Sebastian flicked his wand, "Depulso!"

The force of the spell slammed into Rookwood’s chest, sending him staggering back. He barely had time to recover before Sebastian staggered to his feet.

"Expelliarmus!"

Rookwood’s blade flew from his grasp, falling to the ground, and for the first time, Rookwood looked genuinely surprised.

But Sebastian wasn’t finished.

"Bombarda!"

The force of the blast sent Rookwood hurtling backward, his body slamming into a tree. Leaves floated down around him, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing violently.

Sebastian stalked toward him, wand steady, fury burning white-hot through his veins.

"Like I said, you talk too much," he growled.

Rookwood lifted his head, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his smirk weak but still present. "And you… are entirely too predictable."

Before Sebastian could react, Rookwood’s fingers barely twitched with wandless magic—and you flew across the clearing. The air whooshed past, and in an instant, you were wrenched from where you lay and pulled into Rookwood’s grasp like a ragdoll.

No.

No, no, no.

Sebastian's fingers flexed around his wand, and the rest of him—his body, his mind, his fury—all locked into place, caged by the sight of you limp in Rookwood’s arms, unconscious, barely breathing.

Rookwood smirked, his hand curling around your throat—not tightly, not choking, but firm enough to send a clear message.

Sebastian's mind raced, working through every possible scenario, every hex, every fucking spell that could fix this—

But there was nothing. Not while Rookwood held you like a human fucking shield.

Sebastian’s grip on his wand tightened. "You're going to let her go."

Rookwood smirked, tilting his head. "And what, pray tell, will you do if I don’t?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his expression blank, to push back the fear clawing at his throat. He couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t give Rookwood anything.

"I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Rookwood laughed a full-bodied laugh, low and indulgent, like this was entertainment to him.

“You are delightful,” he mused. "Truly."

Sebastian’s pulse was a steady, furious drumbeat in his ears. He needed a plan. Needed to separate you from him.

Rookwood adjusted his grip on you, keeping you firmly between himself and Sebastian. "Tell me—are you willing to gamble with her life?" He hummed, considering. “Because I will snap her neck if you make a single wrong move."

Sebastian felt sick. His muscles were coiled tight, his every instinct screaming to act, to fight, to rip Rookwood apart piece by piece—

He forced himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's bluffing.

"You won't do it," he said, voice low, razor-sharp.

Rookwood lifted a brow. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because you need her alive. You said it yourself."

Rookwood hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "That’s true. I do need her."

Sebastian could feel the shift, the subtle tug-of-war, the way Rookwood was toying with him.

"But you—" he tightened his grip around throat. "—you need her more."

Sebastian’s wand was steady, unwavering, but inside—inside, something cracked.

The bastard would kill you.

Because the game had changed.

This was no longer about Rookwood getting you to the Repository.

No.

This was about Rookwood staying alive.

Sebastian hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t put the pieces together because of the rage clouding his vision. But now, with Rookwood wandless, his weapon gone, his body pressed against the bark of a tree with you limp in his grasp—

Now, Sebastian saw it.

Rookwood wasn’t in control anymore. He was stalling. Because of course he was. He was self-important, arrogant, an entitled little bastard who thought the world owed him its power. Your death would be an inconvenience to him, yes—a massive fucking setback to his ambitions—but between your death and his?

There was no question which life he valued more.

Sebastian swallowed against the raw fury pressing against his throat.

“You’re scared,” he said.

Rookwood’s smirk twitched, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Sebastian took a slow step forward.

“You should be.”

Rookwood adjusted his grip on you slightly, shifting his stance. “Bold of you to say, given the circumstances.”

Sebastian tilted his head just slightly, eyes locked onto his. “Is it?”

Rookwood’s fingers flexed against your throat, as if he thought the subtle pressure might rattle Sebastian. Might make him desperate.

But Sebastian didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he let his gaze flick—just for a second—toward Rookwood’s empty hands. Just a cornered rat, grasping for anything to keep himself from getting eaten alive.

“Do you know what I think, Rookwood?”

The bastard said nothing. Sebastian smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make it mocking.

“I think you know you’re already dead.”

He could see the moment Rookwood understood. The moment his arrogance cracked, the moment he finally saw the board for what it was, and realized he was out of moves.

Sebastian lunged forward, his hands fisting into the fabric of Rookwoods coat in a white-knuckled grip as he dragged him forward and apparated.

The world lurched.

Magic pulled tight around Sebastian’s ribs, wrapping around him like a vice as the weight of Apparition crashed over them both. He pulled Rookwood with him, his grip unbreakable.

And then they landed.

The world snapped back into focus. The bright light, the desks, the walls lined with maps and case files. The scent of ink, parchment, and freshly brewed tea clashed violently with the blood and dirt smeared across his skin.

The Auror Department had been buzzing before—anxious, tense conversation rippling through the air as Sebastian’s team and Ominis scrambled to form a plan to go after him.

But now? The second they appeared—Sebastian, you, and Rookwood—

Silence.

Total. Utter. Fucking. Silence.

And then—

Chaos. Pandemonium.

A crash of chairs and desks as Aurors surged forward, wands raised.

"GET HIM RESTRAINED!"

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

"IS THAT—? THAT'S ROOKWOOD!"

Sebastian staggered, his grip ripping away from Rookwood as Aurors descended on the bastard like a pack of wolves, yanking his arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees as enchanted restraints snapped tight around his wrists.

Sebastian's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious bursts, his fingers shaking from the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins.

Then Rookwood laughed. A slow, breathy chuckle, low and condescending, even now, even fucking now, after everything.

Sebastian's wand clattered to the ground as his rage overcame him, his fist connecting with Rookwood’s face before anyone could react.

The impact was brutal. A sickening crack as knuckles met bone, as Rookwood’s head snapped to the side. Blood splattered against the Auror Department’s pristine floors.

Another hit. Another.

Sebastian didn’t stop. Didn’t think. Just swung.

Again.

And again.

"You filthy fucking bastard!" Sebastian roared. His voice was hoarse, frantic, furious. His hands ached, knuckles split and raw from the force of his own rage.

Rookwood spat blood, still grinning, his lips split, his nose crooked from the sheer force of Sebastian’s attack.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" he rasped, voice wheezing from the damage.

A snarl ripped from Sebastian’s throat as he drove his fists into Rookwood’s face, over and over. Blood splattered across his knuckles, staining his skin, but it wasn’t enough. The world had narrowed into a singular, blistering point of rage—a fire that burned so hot it consumed everything else.

Because Rookwood took you. He hurt you. He was going to kill you.

And Sebastian couldn’t fucking stand it.

The room around him was filled with shouts and barked orders and hands gripping at his coat, but none of it registered.

All he could see was Rookwood. Bloodied. Laughing.

Even as multiple sets of hands dragged him backward, it didn’t matter. Sebastian fought against them with everything he had, his body twisting, muscles coiled tight with rage, his knuckles dripping with blood—his own, Rookwood’s, he didn’t fucking care.

"Get off me!" he snarled, wrenching free for just a second—just enough to grab the bastard by the collar and slam his head back against the floor, hard enough to hear the crack of impact.

Rookwood let out a wet, choking sound, blood bubbling between his teeth, but that smirk—that fucking smirk was still there.

“Sebastian, enough!” Ominis yelled—but even he didn’t sound convinced it would work.

Sebastian twisted, his hand snapping toward his wand on the floor, fingers closing around the handle, the weight of it grounding him, feeding into the burning need.

"Crucio."

Rookwood screamed.

A raw, inhuman sound, his back arching violently, his limbs spasming against the enchanted restraints, his body writhing in agony as the curse took hold.

Sebastian watched. Breathing heavy. Eyes dark. Hands steady. And fuck, it was satisfying.

No one moved. No one dared move.

Aurors, seasoned war-hardened witches and wizards, stood still, stunned into silence, their wands raised but motionless.

Ominis—Ominis—was silent.

Sebastian didn’t care. Didn’t feel a damn thing beyond the pure, burning relief of watching Rookwood suffer. Of watching him break. Of making sure the last thing this filthy fucking bastard felt before he died was pain.

When he finally dropped the curse, the silence was suffocating.

The only sound left was Rookwood’s ragged, shaking breath, the way his body twitched, the way he tried and failed to push himself upright.

Sebastian crouched low, gripping Rookwood’s collar in his fists, jerking him just slightly forward—enough to make sure he was listening.

And then, voice low, voice calm, voice filled with everything he meant—

"You were dead the second you laid a fucking finger on her."

Rookwood’s eyes barely flickered. His mouth opened, but whatever smug retort had been forming died the second he saw the way Sebastian lifted his wand.

A breath. A heartbeat. Then—

"Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light.

Rookwood’s body jerked and then stilled. Lifeless. Dead.

The room remained silent. No one moved. No one spoke.

Sebastian didn’t feel an ounce of fucking regret.

And then—

"Sebastian."

Ominis’ voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Sebastian turned, slow, sluggish, like his body hadn’t quite caught up to the sheer finality of what had just happened.

His gaze landed on you.

Still on the floor. Still unconscious. Still dying.

"Fuck—" He dropped to his knees beside you so fast the impact jarred through his bones, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care—his hands were already reaching, shaking, desperate as they curled around your wrists, your shoulders, cupping your face, tilting your head back slightly, searching for any sign—anything—that you were still with him.

"Come on, love," he muttered, barely aware of his own voice, the way it cracked, the way his breath came too fast, too sharp. His thumb brushed against your cheek, tracing the bruises, the cold sweat on your skin. "You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright."

No reaction. His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Ominis—" his voice cracked, breath hitching, and then he was looking up, wild-eyed, desperate. "Ominis."

Ominis was still standing in place, his wand gripped tight in his hands, the only sign that he was even processing what had just happened.

Sebastian didn’t have time for that.

"The shackles," he rushed, words tumbling out too fast, too frantic. "They’re cursed. They’re killing her—I tried to take them off, and I—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "Do something!"

Ominis hesitated.

Sebastian saw it. Saw the way his lips parted, saw the way his fingers twitched, the uncertainty bleeding into his normally measured expression.

Sebastian lost it.

"You’re a fucking Cursebreaker, Ominis!" he roared, his voice cracking with something raw and ragged. "So do something!"

Ominis' mouth pressed into a thin line, his expression grim, but finally—finally—he moved.

He dropped beside Sebastian, already drawing his wand, already tracing over the metal shackles with precise, practiced movements. His lips moved in near-silent incantations, magic thrumming low and steady through the air, golden light weaving intricate, delicate patterns against the iron.

Meanwhile, Sebastian snapped his head up, wild, furious, helpless.

"Someone get the fucking Healers!" he barked, his voice a whip crack in the stunned silence. "NOW!"

Aurors scrambled. People rushed, bodies moving too slow, too fucking slow, and Sebastian turned back to you, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, your jaw, pleading.

"Come on, love," he whispered, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body. "Come back to me."

Ominis was still working, his wand tracing over the metal in sharp, methodical movements, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"I need time," Ominis muttered, his voice tight. "It’s layered magic—whoever did this knew what they were doing."

"We don’t have time!" Sebastian snapped. "She doesn’t have time!"

And he didn’t mean to—he didn’t mean to lash out at Ominis, but fuck, he was drowning in this, the weight of everything crushing him, suffocating him. Because he had been here before. Kneeling over someone he loved, begging the universe to give him one more chance.

Anne, after she was cursed—her body wracked with pain, her screams tearing through his skull, his useless hands gripping hers as she trembled beneath his touch.

His parents—dead before he even got to try to save them.

And now you.

The realization hit him, slamming into his ribs like a blade—sharp, vicious, undeniable.

You were everything. Had always been everything.

Ten years.

Ten fucking years of standing beside you, watching you grow into the force you were now. Ten years of chasing the same battles, fighting the same wars, of laughing together, bleeding together, of existing in a world where, no matter what happened, no matter who came after you, he had always been there. You had always been there.

And not once—not once—had he ever fucking said it. Not once had he looked at you and admitted what had been rotting inside of him since the day he met you.

That he loved you. Had always loved you.

And now, when you were slipping away from him—when your body was cold beneath his hands, when your lips were parted but there was no sound, no whisper of recognition, no sign that you even knew he was there—

Sebastian realized he might never get the fucking chance.

His jaw locked. His breath hitched.

"Ominis," he said again, voice raw, pleading, his entire body vibrating with the weight of everything he never said. "Please—"

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ominis snapped, but even he sounded frayed at the edges, his voice tighter than usual, his magic straining against the curse.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, fingers clenching around your wrist, grounding himself in the weak, faint pulse beneath your skin.

Still there. Still beating.

But for how long?

"She's dying," Sebastian whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "She’s dying, and I can’t—I can’t fucking—" His voice broke, sharp and raw, and fuck—he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore.

Ominis’ jaw tightened, his wand moving faster, the golden light flaring brighter against the rusted iron of the shackles.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Because Ominis could feel it too.

The same dread. The same fear.

Sebastian swallowed, his throat aching, his lungs burning with every sharp inhale. He wanted to scream. Wanted to fight something, wanted to rip the world apart until it gave you back to him.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was sit there, gripping your hand too tight, his fingers threading through yours as if holding you hard enough would tether you here, force you to stay.

"Please," he murmured, barely a whisper, forehead pressed against your temple, pleading into your skin. "I need you."

More than he had ever needed anything.

Ominis swore under his breath, shifting as the shackles clicked, magic flaring violently before it shattered, sending a wave of heat pulsing outward, knocking dust from the ceiling.

The spell broke.

Sebastian jerked forward, pulling you into him as life snapped back into your body. Your limbs twitched. Your breath hitched. Your pulse jumped beneath his fingertips.

"Thank fuck—" Sebastian’s grip tightened, his body curling around you, anchoring you against him like he could force your soul to stay inside your fucking body.

"Sebastian," Ominis muttered, voice thick, tired. "She still needs—"

Finally, the Healers rushed in.

Sebastian barely registered them. His arms were still locked around you, his body curled over yours, keeping you anchored against him like some desperate, helpless thing.

"Sir," a sharp voice cut through the air, firm but cautious. "We need to assess her condition."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge them. One of the Healers reached for his shoulder, intending to physically pry him off—

"Don’t bother." Ominis's voice was sharp. A clear warning.

The Healers hesitated.

"He’s not going to let go," Ominis said, voice resigned. "So don’t waste time arguing. Just work around him."

Sebastian heard that. Felt it. But his grip didn’t loosen. Not even as hands moved over your body, casting diagnostic spells, pressing against your ribs, checking for internal damage. Not even as a warm glow filled the air, as magic hummed through you, as one of the Healers sighed in relief and muttered something about stabilization.

Another set of hands pressed against him this time—his ribs, his chest, fuck—he barely managed to bite back a hiss when something sharp burned at his side.

Right. He’d been stabbed.

Healers were already diagnosing him, murmuring between themselves, muttering about blood loss and fractured ribs.

Sebastian barely processed it. His eyes were on you. Only on you. The rise and fall of your chest.

"You’re gonna be fine," he whispered against your temple, barely audible, his voice still raw, still thick with something unbearable. "You’re okay."

The Healers worked. The Aurors still lingered. The world around him was moving, spinning, shifting—

"Sebastian."

Sebastian finally looked up.

Ominis was standing now, his wand gripped in one hand, his face carved from stone, but Sebastian knew him too well.

There was tension there. A weight behind his expression that was dangerous.

"I’m going to fix this," Ominis said simply.

Sebastian frowned, his mind still sluggish, too caught up in you, in keeping you here, to fully process what he meant.

Then it hit him.

Crucio.Avada Kedavra.

Sebastian had cast two Unforgivables in the middle of the fucking Auror Department.

Ominis sighed, running a hand down his face before muttering, "Merlin, you make my life impossible."

Sebastian managed a short, breathless laugh.

"Don’t move," Ominis said. "Stay with her."

Sebastian didn’t plan on going anywhere.

Ominis exhaled through his nose, turning on his heel, and then he was gone, already making his way across the room, already stepping into whatever bureaucratic fucking mess Sebastian had left behind, already handling it.

One of the Healers, still somewhat exasperated by the fact that Sebastian refused to let go of you, sighed. "Sir, can you stand?"

Sebastian barely glanced up. His fingers were still curled around yours, tightly, like if he so much as loosened his grip, you’d disappear.

"Yes."

The Healers exchanged looks, clearly unconvinced. One of them muttered something under her breath, but aloud, she only said:

"Then follow us. She’s stable, but both of you need to be under observation. And we’ll need to speak with her when she wakes."

Sebastian forced himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest, his ribs aching, his knuckles raw, his vision swimming for just a second before he locked his knees and shoved through the pain so he could carry you down the hall.

He hardly remembered the walk to the Hospital Wing.

All he knew was that the moment you were in a bed, he was there. Hovering. Watching. And when they tried leading him to another bed across the room, he tugged his own bed directly next to yours.

The Healers sighed. One pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "For the love of Merlin—"

But they let him.

They moved around him, murmuring amongst themselves as they worked—closing the gash along his ribs with precise, practiced wand movements, mending the bruised muscle beneath his skin, forcing him to drink something vile that numbed the throbbing pain in his knuckles. Someone cast a spell to soothe the soreness weighing down his body. Someone else checked his vitals.

It all blurred together.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the room settled into silence.

The Healers left.

The heavy weight of magic in the air dissipated, leaving behind only the dim glow of the lanterns and the quiet hum of distant voices from the hall.

Sebastian lay still. Exhausted. Sore.

His body felt like it had been dragged through hell. Every inch of him ached, the phantom pain of adrenaline still lingering in his bones, his knuckles still raw despite the Healers' best efforts. But his mind—

His mind wouldn’t stop.

He stared at the ceiling, watching the patterns in the stone swirl and shift under the flickering light, but all he could see was you.

The moment he realized you were gone. The blood smeared across the ruins. The way your body looked lifeless under the weight of those cursed shackles. The fucking fear. How close he had come to losing you.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the sheets, his nails digging into the fabric as his chest tightened with something raw, something suffocating.

He was never going to let this happen again. Never. He would never go another day without telling you the truth: that he loved you. That he had always loved you. That you were the only thing in this godforsaken world that mattered.

His head turned, gaze drifting to you. Still asleep. Still too pale.

But alive.

The breath that left his lungs was shaky, uneven. A ghost of a thing. Then—

A movement. A stir.

Sebastian’s eyes snapped to your hand, watching as your fingers twitched against the blankets.

He shot up immediately, the sudden movement making his ribs scream in protest, but he ignored it, pushing himself onto his elbows, heart slamming against his ribs as he watched you.

Your eyelashes fluttered. Your head shifted slightly against the pillow. And then your eyes opened.

Sebastian froze.

For a moment, his brain refused to process what was happening. He had spent the last eternity—hours but what felt like years—trapped in a suffocating haze of fear, pain, and fury. But then your eyes opened.

His chest caved in.

"Fuck—" The word barely left his lips, broken and shaky, a raw, wrecked thing. He hadn’t even realized he was gripping the sheets, white-knuckled, his entire body locked so tightly with tension that now—now that you were looking at him, alive, breathing—he thought he might actually fall apart.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump clawing up his throat. He had to keep his voice steady. He had to.

"Hey, sweetheart," he rasped, and fuck—he wasn’t doing a good job of it, wasn’t doing a good job of anything, because his breath shook the second the words left him, and suddenly it was taking every bit of strength in his body to keep himself together.

Your brow furrowed, your eyes dazed, unfocused, barely tracking his face as you blinked sluggishly.

"Sebastian?" Your voice was hoarse, raw from disuse, but it was you. It was your voice, alive, and he nearly lost himself right then and there.

"Yeah, love," he breathed, nodding quickly, reaching for your hand as if trying to ground himself, as if trying to make sure you stayed here, tethered, with him. "I’m here."

You exhaled a slow, uneven breath, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room, blinking as you tried to place yourself. "Where—" A pause. A slow inhale. "What happened?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat tightening.

Where the fuck did he start? How did he say it? That you had been taken, that you had been chained up and cursed and dying in his arms, that he had nearly lost you—

That he had murdered a man because of it.

"You—" His voice cracked. He sucked in a sharp breath, exhaling through his nose, forcing himself to steady. "You scared the shit out of me, that’s what happened."

Your brow furrowed again, still groggy, still trying to process. Then, after a long pause, you sighed, your voice scratchy.

"You look like shit."

A wet, breathless laugh punched out of him before he could stop it, something caught between relief and absolute fucking devastation.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Sebastian moved, shifting onto his knees, ignoring the way his ribs screamed in protest, the way his body ached from the fight, from the blood loss, from every single fucking injury he had ignored.

It didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered except you.

Sebastian climbed over the narrow gap between the beds and into yours.

"Seb—"

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you, pressing himself against you.

His body curled over yours, his fingers clutching too tight, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

"You scared me," he whispered against your skin, voice wrecked, trembling. "You scared me so fucking bad."

You shifted slightly beside him, your body still sluggish, still weak from everything, but your hand moved, sliding up to rest against the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, your touch so fucking gentle it made his chest ache.

"I’m here, Sebastian," you murmured.

His breath hitched. Then he broke.

A sharp, ragged inhale. A violent, shuddering exhale. His fingers fisted into your clothes, gripping so tightly it felt like he was holding on for dear life.

And then the first tear slipped free.

It hit the bare skin of your shoulder, vanishing into the fabric of your hospital gown, but another followed. And another. His face twisted, his breath coming uneven, shaky—his entire body trembling with the force of what he had been holding back for hours.

His chest ached, physically ached, with the sheer weight of it all. With the terror. With the helplessness. With the image of you—chained, barely breathing, slipping away from him—burned into the back of his skull like a nightmare that would never fade.

A choked, wrecked sound clawed its way up his throat, something between a sob and a breathless gasp, and fuck—he couldn’t stop it.

His shoulders shook as more tears spilled over, hot and unchecked, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he cried.

He hadn’t cried in years.

Not when he had stood over Solomon’s lifeless body. Not when he had nearly lost himself to grief, to rage, to everything wrong inside him. But this—

His breath stuttered again, a broken, gasping thing, his tears falling freely now, soaking into your skin as he held you so tightly it should have hurt, but you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t tell him to stop. You just let him.

"I love you," he whispered, voice cracked, wrecked, barely more than a breath against your shoulder. "I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry I never said it sooner."

His entire body shuddered with the weight of it. With the relief. With the fear. With the unbearable, suffocating truth of how close he had come to never being able to say it at all.

He felt your fingers twitch against his back, hesitant but there, like you weren’t sure what to do with him like this—because this was something no one had ever seen.

Sebastian breaking. Sebastian weeping. Sebastian, who had spent years hiding behind sharp grins and reckless bravado, now unraveling, falling apart in your arms.

And he didn’t care, because fuck hiding. You had almost died, and he had almost never gotten the chance to tell you.

So he did. Again.

"I love you."

He had never meant anything more in his entire fucking life.

Sebastian felt your fingers tighten against his back, your grip weak but still there, still trying. It was barely anything, just the faintest pressure against his spine, but it sent something wrecked and aching curling through his chest, something raw and unbearable.

You were holding him.

And after a beat, after a long, quiet moment, you pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

There were tears in your eyes. Not from pain, not from fear—but something else. Something that made his pulse trip over itself, something raw, something knowing.

Your lips parted, voice hoarse, cracked, still heavy with exhaustion.

"I remember now," you murmured, blinking slowly, your expression distant for a moment as if piecing it together in real-time. "It was Rookwood."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, something tight in his chest releasing at your words—relief, fury, heartbreak, he wasn’t even sure what the fuck it was. He just knew he never wanted to hear that fucking name again.

His hand came up, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, his touch almost desperate in its gentleness,

"He’s dead."

You blinked at him, your breath hitching just slightly as his words settled over you. Then something shifted in your expression. Not relief, not satisfaction, but a quiet, unshaken certainty.

Because of course he was.

Your lips curled—just barely, wobbly and weak and so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache.

"You came after me," you murmured, like it was something you’d just now realized, something that settled over you like a slow-burning warmth.

Sebastian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly, his lips pressing together for a moment before he said, "Of course I did." His voice was still hoarse, still raw from everything, but there was something steady beneath it. Something true. "I’d follow you anywhere."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just looked at him. Really looked at him.

"I love you too."

Sebastian swore the entire fucking world stopped. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse stuttering violently in his chest, his entire body locking up because—

You loved him too.

His eyes burned, his throat tightened, his fingers shook where they were still clutching onto you.

And then—he was kissing you.

Soft, desperate, aching.

His hands cupped your face like you were something holy, something irreplaceable, his lips pressing against yours like he was trying to carve himself into your very fucking soul.

It was a kiss that held everything—the fear, the relief, the love neither of you had spoken aloud until now. It was unsteady, a little broken, but it was real.

When he finally pulled back, it was only because you both needed air, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath still uneven. His thumb brushed against your cheek, so painfully gentle it made something deep inside you ache.

“You’re still shaking,” you whispered.

Sebastian let out a soft, breathless laugh, one that barely even sounded like him. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice raw. “I think I’m gonna be shaking for a while.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. It was just the sound of your breathing, the distant murmur of voices outside the infirmary walls, the rhythmic, steadying beat of your heart against his. The world had been so loud—so chaotic, so terrifying—but here, in this fragile, stolen moment, there was only silence. Only you and him.

Then, softly, you said, “I’m okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure he believed you, like he wasn’t sure he ever would, but his fingers tightened against your back, and after a moment, he just nodded.

“Yeah. But I’m still never letting you out of my sight again.”

A weak laugh tumbled from your lips, breathless and exhausted, but real. “I figured.”

Sebastian huffed, but there was something warm beneath the sound, something a little less raw now, a little less wrecked. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss against your temple, letting it rest there, like a silent promise.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he muttered against your skin.

Your fingers curled in his shirt again, holding him close, feeling the steady, unshaken certainty in his words.

“Good.”

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jadeshifting · 6 months ago

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★⋆. — HOGWARTS ELECTIVE CLASSES TO SCRIPT

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED ARTIFACTS

ever wanted to know how cursed rings, bewitched mirrors, and sentient diaries work? this course teaches you how to identify, dismantle, and (if you’re brave) create magical relics—you never know when you’ll need an enchanted necklace or a vanishing cabinet, i suppose

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FASHION HISTORY

from the enchanted silks of the 1500s to robes that literally spark joy (or flames) in the 1900s, this elective dives into the who, what, and why tho of wizarding couture. you’ll learn how clothing reflected magical politics (hello, anti-Muggle fabrics), the most popular clothing charms over the centuries, and why Merlin’s pointy hat was such a massive deal at the time

𓆩♡𓆪 — CURSE REVERSAL

sometimes, magic backfires—this class teaches you how to undo everything from jinxed cauldrons to full-on blood curses. it’s half science, half art, and fully life-saving

𓆩♡𓆪 — HEALING

for the bleeding hearts (and bloody injuries). this elective teaches advanced healing charms, restorative potions, and how to fix the most catastrophic accidents without having to Floo to St. Mungo’s. class is split 50/50 between the healers of the next generation, and mischief makers that are so unhinged they have to heal themselves. this class sees all the good, the bad and the ugly

𓆩♡𓆪 — DRAGON STUDIES

learn all about the physicality, variety, and history of these dynamically unique creatures, and perhaps learn how to not get torched while studying them along the way. the course includes field trips (waivers from home and insurance spells VERY much required)

𓆩♡𓆪 — CHARMED CULINARY ARTS

enchanted cooking utensils will be your best friend as you navigate this course, learning to do everything in the kitchen from baking bread that sings to brewing drinks that bubble with magic. (house elves are assistants in this class, and you can always convince them to slip you an extra treat or two)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ADVANCED DIVINATION

tea leaves and crystal balls don’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything divination has to offer—if you’re a believer, and grounded enough to put up with the kooky professor. this course dives into obscure methods of divining the future: dream walking, cloud reading, rune casting, and much more. perfect for the more spiritually inclined students (or those who just enjoy the professor’s cryptic drama)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL FORESICS

got a Sherlock streak, or always wondered how the aurors do it? learn how to dissect magical crime scenes, trace hex signatures, and untangle the threads of a cursed crime

𓆩♡𓆪 — MINISTRY POLITICS & MAGICAL LAW

in this course that’s absolutely not for the academically faint, you’ll find yourself taking part in debates more than any other course. debate the ethics of using Veritaserum in court, or why house-elf labor laws are a mess. these students are likely future members of the Wizengamot

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED HOMEKEEPING

from self-sweeping brooms to magical security systems, think Martha Stewart meets The Standard Book of Spells. this course covers everything you need to know about using magic to run the most efficient household ever (you get a headache when you think about how Muggles do all of this without magic)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ALCHEMY: THE ART OF TRANSFORMARION

arguably the ultimate nerdy class—i’ve yet to meet a single person who wanted to handle the theories and coursework of this class. learn the secrets of transmutation, potion refinement, and (the whole thing’s pretty mysterious) all about the quest for immortality

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL CREATION THEORY

an elective created as the direct remedy for students making overeager and academically misguided attempts to make their own spells (some spells don’t exist for a reason, Fred and George.) learn the theory of how to craft spells from scratch and fine-tune them to your exact needs—perfect for the creatively chaotic. though, of course, you don’t actually make spells in class (that’s a direct ticket to St. Mungo’s)

𓆩♡𓆪 — THEORY & ETHICS OF NECROMANCY

strictly theoretical, of course (for legal reasons), this class dives into the magical theory of spirits’ existence, resurrection spells, and the history of necromancy. it also manages to cram most of one of the longest-standing debates in magical history into a year-long course (we can raise the dead, but should we? HM, i wonder)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLESS MAGIC

if you’re someone who thinks ‘why bother with a wand when you are the magic?’ this course is for you—it trains you in wandless spellcasting, so you can cast even when you’ve “misplaced” your primary weapon

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FOLKLORE

from ghostly greenhouses to the allegedly haunted halls of Hogwarts, from ancient fairy tales to horror stories that keep even the bravest wizards awake at night, this course covers all of the folklore and tall tales from centuries of wizarding history and storytelling

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED CARTOGRAPHY

i’m sure you already know that making an enchanted map is a skill that never goes out of style (cough, Marauder’s.) in this course, learn to create enchanted maps that move, update themselves, and accurately portray secret rooms and passageways (though they might not cover the more mischievous aspects in the course, i’m sure you can figure those out on your own time)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL ETHICS & PHILOSOPHY

all the way from time turners and truth serums to love potions and dementors, this course holds a magnifying glass to all the moral dilemmas of using magic in gray areas—just because you can hex someone doesn’t mean you should, and if you need a love potion, maybe you should reexamine some things first

𓆩♡𓆪 — QUIDDITCH ANALYTICS

a course all about the stats, spells, and tactics behind the wizarding worlds’ favorite sport. think of it as sabermetrics, but with broomsticks. students are an even split of quidditch players, and those who love quidditch without wanting to zoom hundreds of feet above the ground (understandable)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLORE & CRAFTING

take your first step towards becoming the next Ollivander by studying wand woods, cores, and how to match them with their perfect witch or wizard. careful, your own wand might be open to more scrutiny than you’re accustomed to. warning: NOT a class for people with butterfingers

𓆩♡𓆪 — MOVING PHOTOGRAPHY

learn how to properly snap a good photo and develop moving pictures, charm them with special effects, and create photo albums that are magically cohesive enough to tell their own stories. with moving photos holding entire memories, someone always needs a good magical photographer

𓆩♡𓆪 — GRIMOIRE WRITING & SPELL JOURNALING

every great wizard of the past and present had a grimoire to keep track of their endless magical escapades. learn how to create your own spellbooks, safely document your findings, and make them impossible for dark wizards (or just nosy siblings) to read

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL LINGUISTICS

communication is key, whether it’s haggling with goblins, charming house-elves, or negotiating with dragons. this course helps you break through the language barrier—literally—to the entire wizarding world and all its species

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL JOURNALISM

for aspiring Rita Skeeters (hopefully no one, let’s make it ethical), this course covers investigative reporting, spell-resistant quills, following the honor code of interviewing and writing, and even some tips on how to charm the Daily Prophet editors with your work and score a job in the journalism field. NO Quick-Quotes Quills allowed, ever !!

𓆩♡𓆪 — TIME MANIPULATION THEORY

absolutely no time-turners allowed, despite learning all about them. learn the ethical and practical implications of bending time, including nearly every historical horror story of witches and wizards who got a little spin-happy with the power. (does the course only exist as a big fat warning for the students who are granted use of a time turner? we’ll never know—but yes, probably)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUSIC & ENCHANTED COMPOSITION

a course taken by many of the choir members, which allows you to delve deep into the magic behind musical spells, how to ethically enchant instruments for killer performances, and both writing and performing magical compositions. don’t mind the frogs in class, they’re brushing up on their technique, too

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL COMBAT TACTICS

this course covers a mix of strategic dueling with battlefield planning, as it covers pretty much every notable magical duel and battle in history. perfect for those angling to join the Aurors, or those who are just looking to win every wizarding duel

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING THEATER

this course involves combining drama with charms to bring stories literally to life on stage. props are enchanted and can interact with the actors, the weather matches each set, and actors might just float mid-scene. students can sharpen their acting and set enchantment skills to hopefully be on one of the great wizarding stages one day (or working behind the scenes of one)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUGGLE STUDIES: ADVANCED INTEGRATION

forget the “what’s a toaster?” training-wheels shit—this course is about truly blending wizarding ingenuity with Muggle innovation. a popular course among muggleborn students, who have the opportunity to actually use their heritage in their favor to explore a whole world of social and magical possibilities

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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ambermotta · 1 year ago

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6 Types of Protection Magick

There are many ways one can do protective magick. In this post I'll be going into 6 of the most common and accessible ones!

Please understand that even one "protection magick type" can be done in an infinity of ways, some of which are closed to certain practices.

Disclaimer: based on my experience and research. I don't claim to know all truth. Further study is encouraged!

_________________♡♤◇♧_________________

#1 — Magic circle

The magic circle consists of creating a protection and delimiting a sacred space for magic and/or ritual.

The magic circle is probably one of the most popular protection methods thanks to its encouraged use in Wicca. However, other traditions have made use of similar concepts, such as in the afro-brazillian Umbanda concept of "chain".

The circle can be physically drawn on the ground, delimited by the members inside the circle, or visualized.

Casting one is fairly simple since it can be done in different ways, either in groups or solitary practice. You can use tools such as wands, chalk or physical objects to draw it, but what matters most is intention and successful visualization.

Before casting a circle it's important to have everything you will need already within grasp and inside the circle, since once created it is advisable that no one leaves it until the work is complete.

#2 — Amulets, and Enchanted Items

Enchanted Items are a very popular and effective form of magic, especially for personal use. These are often common objects that have been enchanted for protection.

They are often necklaces, rings and other jewelry since these are the most practical to carry around without suspicion. However, they can be any object.

Amulets can be created via enchanting, charms, or by asking deities and spirits to bless them with protective qualities.

The material and imagery used to create the talisman is also important in determining the kind of job it wants to do.

#3 — Sigils and other drawn Symbols

Sigils and Symbols can be used both for personal protection and for warding spaces. Here I am also including Runes.

They can be carved into objects, drawn upon skin and surfaces, or even tattooed.

However, before using any sigil, symbol or rune it is of extreme importance that you know exactly what they do, and know as much about them as possible. Especially if you plan on drawing them on your skin (either temporarily or permanently).

Unless specifically used only for protection purposes, inadequate use of them can lead to disaster. Even then, the type of protection they bring can vary.

For example, a protection sigil that works by hiding you from threats is different from a sigil that fights threats that come to you. It's important to set or to know how their protection work so that you do not come across unwanted results.

#4 — Prayer

My definition of praying: focusing on sending a message to a higher spiritual power, be it an entity, deity or energy.

Prayers are a great way of manifesting protection, though since you are asking for it to a higher power you must understand that it may choose to not grant it, or not grant it in the way you expect.

Plus, it is very important to know where you stand with this energy or entity. Do you work with them already? For how long? What is the nature of the relationship? Do you truly know them well enough to ask them for this? Is it really appropriate?

Cultivating a good relationship and having manners can be decisive factors for manifesting this sort of protection. Plus, it's always good to "give back" in some way. To receive something, something must be given eventually.

#5 — Affirmations and Visualizations

Words and the mind have innate power. Affirmations and visualizations are great ways to manifest protections because they rely only on yourself.

They are easier to do right if you use them together with other methods, or if you have physical representations of the work being done. To be successful one must focus, "feel" them happening, and maintaining that without help can be difficult. Frequent practice will help you get the hang of it.

There are also techniques that make affirmations and visualizations both more powerful and easier to accomplish.

#6 — Warding

Warding is when you set up a semi-permanent protection in a specific place, such as your house.

It can be done in many different ways. One of the most common is to have an object or place designated as the "holder" of the ward, which should be well kept.

Warding will be more powerful if you are frequently cleansing the space and recharging the ward. Leaving it alone for too long can weaken in or make it lose its properties altogether.

Some plants are used for this kind of protection, since they (usually) stay in place, can be powerful magical allies, and you'll be checking on them often anyway. The ones usued are often those with thorns, threatening-looking leaves, or even poison.

Note: always be very careful about bringing poisonous plants home, especially if you have children or pets.

Conclusion

This was an overview of the most common types of protective magick. A lot of protection spells and works fall somewhere within these categories, or are a combination of them.

Each tradition has a certain way of going about spiritual protection, so if you are exploring an specific path, I encourage you to not only research about protection in general but to also look into what unique techniques your path has to offer!

Many blessings and thank you for reading! ♡

#witchblr #baby witch #long post #magick #paganism #spirit work #witch tips #witchcraft #pagan tips #baby wiccan #beginner wiccan #wicca #protection magic #warding #magic circle #pagan witch

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6azia · 6 months ago

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Late Night Date | Viktor x m!reader

—summary. Y/N tries a new method to make Viktor go with him back into the dorms after catching him still researching

—content warning. blowjob

—word count. 3,0k

—azia‘s notes. I've nothing to say and guys feel free to request

The lab was dimly lit, the flicker of arcane energy casting soft, shifting shadows on the walls. Y/N leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Viktor with a small smile. The slender figure of his science partner was hunched over his desk, eyes glued to a series of glowing runes etched into a fragmented artifact. The faint hum of Hextech energy vibrated in the air.

Y/N glanced at his watch. 3:12 AM. Their classes began in less than five hours, and yet Viktor showed no sign of stopping.

Y/N sighed softly and stepped into the room. His footsteps were quiet, but Viktor still didn’t look up, too engrossed in his work.

“Viktor,” Y/N called, his voice low so as not to startle him.

“Hmm?” Viktor hummed absently, not turning away from his desk.

Y/N stepped closer, leaning over Viktor’s shoulder, to get a better look at the glowing runes. “It’s three in the morning. You do realize that, right?”

“I do,” Viktor replied, his tone distracted. “But this... this is fascinating. Look at the way the runes align here—it’s as though they’re responding to the Hexcore’s energy field. If I can just—”

“Vik,” Y/N interrupted gently. “You’ve been at this for hours. You need to rest.” Y/N insisted, looking with worry at the pale male.

“I will. Soon,” Viktor murmured, waving a hand dismissively. Both of you knew it was a lie, having nearly every night the same discussion.

Y/N sighed again, but this time he didn’t just stand there. Instead, he moved behind Viktor, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a loose hug, taking a deep breath of his scent which was a mix of chalk, books, and something that was just so Viktor in a sense, Viktor stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch but didn’t pull away.

“Y/N...” Viktor began, his voice is soft but uncertain.

“You’re going to burn yourself out,” Y/N said quietly, resting his chin on Viktor’s shoulder. “I get that this is important to you, but you can’t keep pushing yourself like this.” Y/N tried to reason. He wasn't aware that his gestures were doing something to Viktor.

His mind was reeling at the proximity. The warm arms hugging him gave him a sense of security and nearly made him abandon his work, just so he could get more of it.

Viktor let out a small, tired laugh. “I could say the same about you. You’re still awake, after all.” He was trying to fake his composure but with every passing second it got harder. The warm fingertips over his arching arms were something he really appreciated at that moment and a small sigh unknowingly escaped his tired body.

“Yeah, but only because I came to check on you,” Y/N replied, tightening his hold just a little and wandering his arms on his partner's slim ones. He felt Viktor’s shoulders relax beneath his arms, though Viktor still didn’t look away from his work and his face had a slightly more troubled look than before.

For a moment, they sat in a one-sided comfortable silence, the hum of the Hexcore filling the space around them. Y/N’s gaze softened as he looked at Viktor, the dark circles under his eyes and the slight slump of his posture. Viktor was brilliant, no doubt about it, but he had a habit of forgetting his limits, and one day it's gonna get him killed. Y/N was sure of it.

Sitting on the little free space behind Viktor, Y/N changed his arm position so it was around the smaller one's waist, sitting comfortably in the dip of it. He knew they wouldn't go out of there as long as Viktor wasn't finished with his courant experiment.

Without really thinking, Y/N leaned forward and delivered a light kiss to Viktor’s nap. It was brief, barely more than a brush of lips, but it was enough to make Viktor freeze and his shoulders tense again.

“Y/N,” Viktor said, his voice quiet and laced with something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“Sorry,” Y/N murmured, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “I just...couldn't help myself. You looked like you needed it.”

Viktor finally turned his head to look at Y/N, his golden eyes searching his face. “We’re... just friends, yes?” Viktor just needs a small answer, so that he won’t read so much into such small actions between them. So he could convince his body and mind to drop these silly thoughts of his. Firstly his body.

He could feel himself getting more excited by the minute. Suddenly he was more aware of his body pressing against his friend. His hips adjusted to their position, unaware of the others' attempt to keep his noises in.

Y/N gave a strained smile and pretended to think about the question. In reality, he prayed that Viktor just stopped moving or continued. He doesn’t even really know. His arms traveled down and around Viktor’s waist, while holding with one hand the other’s hips so they would stop moving as much.

“Yeah. Just friends.” Y/N mumbled forcefully out.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but not unkind. “You are quite a friend.”

“Can’t help it,” Y/N admitted with a shrug. “You’re too huggable for your own good.” His arms tightened around Viktor's middle, wanting to feel the sensation again. His thighs flexed as Viktor looked back at his project to dismiss him. However, a roll of his hips made Viktor throw his head back and got Y/N a flushed look from the other's hooded amber-colored eyes.

Viktor shook his head, his wild locks tickling the others' faces, making him laugh. The vibrations lightly shook Vikroes delicate body.

There was a faint smile tugging at Viktor's lips now. “You are impossible.” He whispered with a chuckle.

Y/N looked at the now exposed skin. Viktors adams apple bobbed as he swallowed the excess saliva that had been building up in his mouth.

Leaning more in Y/N placed a tender kiss directly on the lower part of Viktors. Goosebumps started to rise on Viktor and he arched his back and a faint sound resembling a whine was heard in the quiet lab.

“We shouldn’t” Viktor interrupted breathlessly when Y/N softly bit down. “But we could if you want” Y/N retorted and brushed his middle finger across the still flaccid dick.

A wave of sudden panic flooded Viktor's system and he tried to get out of the others' hold. “N-no” Viktor said, panicking. Y/N let go of his hold and looked puzzled at the other male but didn’t press on it.

Just when he was about to stand up and go back into his dorm, Viktor called out for him. “It’s not that I don’t want it” Viktor reasoned and looked sadly down at his hands.

“Vik, you don’t have to reason yourself” Y/N went back to the other.

Viktor was leaning on his desk and Y/N took some steps to him. There was clearly something bothering Viktor, something that wasn’t one of his experiments and that was worrying Y/N.

He knew Viktor well enough to know it was not going to end well if he didn’t start to communicate it now.

“Vik” Y/N said again, bringing his hand up. He was slow enough so that if Viktor didn't want to, he could pull away. The other was too occupied with his thoughts to notice the coming touch.

Y/N's soft hands snapped him out of his trance and he met with eyes that held so much admiration. He would even say too much admiration for someone like him. Someone with such a weird body and coming from the undercity nonetheless.

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Y/N’s hand snaked itself more up and came in contact with soft locks. Viktor leaned into his touch and looked down at Y/N’s body.

“It’s just.” Viktor began, taking a deep breath. He knew deep down that Y/N would never make fun of him, however the fear of calculating his friend nagged at him.

He let Y/N carry him so he could sit on the table. “Look” His fingers nervously played with the hem of the other arm which rested near his thighs. “I don’t really like my body and how it doesn’t really work like it’s supposed to do” Viktor admits embarrassed.

“B-but I liked what you did” he added prominently after, leaning in and giving a small peek at Y/N pursed lips, making the other relax.

“Maybe if you make me feel good enough I’ll forget about my experiment” Viktor joked while giving a tired smile to the others.

“Really?” Y/N responded. He kept kissing Viktor, swallowing every little sound made by the other. Viktor's hands began to button Y/N’s shirt. His index finger traced circles on the now exposed nipple, promptly turning hard under the featherlight touch and sudden exposure.

“Pretty” Viktor commented amused and cupping the soft muscle in his warm hand, feeling the other's heartbeat under his pads, reminding him that this was in fact real. That such simple touch from him making the other feel that way satisfied in him a new urge he didn’t know he had.

Y/N moved down again, his body curling over Viktor's body. Y/N took a deep breath rocking his hips on Viktor's leg.

A long moan was pulled out of him. “Vik- stop teasing” Y/N groans, his these teeths gracing Viktor's neck and then Y/N unexpectedly gives a harsh suck when Viktor pinches and twists the bud between his fingers again.

However Viktor's playful act dropped for a split second, it would have gone unnoticed by most people. Y/N’s hand was traveling more south into Viktor’s lap and he thumbed the slightly hard meat under the clothes which was awaiting him.

Seeing Viktor’s reaction, Y/N pulled off and looked with worry at the other. “You know if you don’t want to I can just carry you into our dorm” Y/N’s worried look made Viktor laugh at him. “Oh, just continue” The one sitting whispered and tangled his other hand in Y/N’s hair pulling him into a hungry messy kiss.

I truly don’t deserve you. Viktor thought when one hand was caressing the side of his face and the other continuing their journey.

He was so distracted by the soft and passionate kisses, that he didn’t realize that his pants were now unbuttoned. He only noticed when Y/N licked his bottom lip experimentally. With a last small tuck by the lips did Y/N parted from their heated kiss. Viktor was looking at him with wide eyes, an intrigued and disheveled look was looking at an amused one.

Viktor began to turn red when Y/N slowly went on his knees in front of him. He took a gulp when Y/N rested his head on slim thighs, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Y/N was kissing Viktors front deliberately while one hand came up and tugged Viktor finally from its coffin. Giving the tip a gentle kiss, Y/N looked up to check Viktor’s reaction. To his amusement, the other was already a mess even though he didn’t even really begin.

Viktor was gripping the edge of the table as his abdomen was flexing from the sweet electrical feeling inside of him. It made him completely forget his tiredness. Then a sinful moan was pulled from him at the contact with Y/N hot mouth. His head flew back, his other hand clawing at Y/N’s hair. A silent plea to not stop.

Y/N hummed at the scenery, truly beautiful. The earliest ray of sun was creeping into the lab, casting a light behind Viktor's slim body. After another suck and Y/N’s circling with his tongue, he pulled away.

The grip on his hair tightens and Y/N blows at the still soft manhood. “You like that, pretty boy?” Y/N said with a slight rasp in his voice.

Viktor was about to open his mouth but only a whine came out when Y/N’s tongue pressed lightly into Vikors hole, making salty pre cum ooze out. The Zaunite hooked his good leg on the other's back, so he wouldn’t have to bear the loss of such pleasure.

Y/n happily complied. His own hand goes down and gripping himself to release some tension. His fingers went to his tip, feeling a wet spot already had been noticeable. That pulled a deep moan out of Y/N which made Viktor nearing his limit by the minute.

Viktor's breath fastens as he tries to pull Y/N off. Nearly inaudible No, no, no was heard in the quiet lab. Just when Y/N was about to pull off to hear Vikor out, his panic was promptly stopped.

“Don’t, don’t pull off” The Zaunite was overwhelmed. Tears of ecstasy pour out of amber eyes and with an attempted trust, Viktor emptied himself into Y/N’s mouth. Then he leaned back, laying flat on the table, catching his breath.

At the same time, Y/N pulled his cock out, just now taking care of his problem as the other tried to catch his breath after his first orgasm.

Just after some fast pumps, Y/N came. It kinda embarrassed him but after seeing how he could make Viktor feel it was understandable for his reaction.

After the two caught their breath and Y/N cleaned his mess, the two stayed in a moment of silence, catching their thoughts again and voices.

Viktor’s golden eyes searched Y/N’s face, his thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and something else—something warmer, softer. “Y/N…” he started, his voice almost a whisper, “what… what was that for?”

Y/N smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of Viktor’s hair from his face. “What do you think it was, Vik?”

“I think…” Viktor paused, his brows furrowing as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I think I’m not sure what we are anymore.”

Y/N’s hand gently cupped Viktor’s cheek, tilting his face back up. “We can figure that out later. Right now, you’re exhausted, and we need to get you back to the dorm.”

Viktor tried to protest, shaking his head. “I can manage. I am not—”

As he moved to stand, his legs wobbled, and his body faltered. Y/N was quick to catch him, steadying him before he could collapse. Viktor clutched at Y/N’s shirt, his breathing uneven.

“Yeah, you can totally manage,” Y/N teased, his tone light but laced with concern.

“Fine,” Viktor muttered reluctantly. “Perhaps I am… slightly tired.”

“Understatement of the year,” Y/N said with a chuckle before bending down to scoop Viktor into his arms.

“Y/N!” Viktor’s face turned a deep shade of red. “This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N replied, adjusting Viktor carefully. “Humor me, okay? You’re not exactly in a position to argue right now.”

Viktor sighed, resigning himself to the situation. His head rested lightly against Y/N’s shoulder, and despite himself, he found the steady rhythm of Y/N’s heartbeat oddly soothing.

The walk back to their shared dorm was quiet, the campus bathed in sun rays and bored welcoming the early hours. Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut a few times, but he forced himself to stay awake, his mind racing with questions.

What are we? Friends? More? What does Y/N want? What do I want? Why even does he like me-

But every time he tried to think too hard about it, Y/N’s warmth would pull him back, grounding him in the present.

Once inside the dorm, Y/N carefully set Viktor down on his bed, pulling the blanket over him. “There. Comfortable?”

Viktor nodded faintly, his exhaustion catching up to him. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft.

Y/N smiled, brushing his fingers lightly over Viktor’s hand. “No problem, Vik. Try to get some sleep.”

As Y/N moved to go to his own bed, Viktor hesitated before speaking. “Stay.”

Y/N paused, turning back to look at him. “Stay?”

Viktor’s face flushed again, but he held Y/N’s gaze. “Please.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and he didn’t hesitate for long. He climbed onto the bed beside Viktor, pulling the blanket over both of them. Viktor shifted slightly, hesitating before leaning into Y/N’s chest.

Y/N wrapped an arm around him, holding him close. “Better?”

Viktor nodded, his head resting against Y/N’s chest. The sound of Y/N’s heartbeat was steady and calming, lulling him into a state of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Y/N…” Viktor’s voice was barely audible, his eyelids growing heavy.

“Yeah?”

“What are we?” Viktor asked, his words slow and drowsy.

Y/N pressed a light kiss to the top of Viktor’s head. “Whatever you want us to be, Vik. We’ll figure it out together.”

Viktor hummed softly, the answer enough for now. His breathing evened out as he drifted off, the steady rhythm of Y/N’s heart in his ear.

Y/N stayed awake a little longer, watching Viktor’s peaceful expression. A small smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes, letting sleep take him as well.

The sun was high up hours later, its golden light spilling into the room. Neither of them stirred. The alarm clock on Y/N’s desk beeped incessantly, but neither of them woke to turn it off.

By the time they finally woke up, it was already noon.

Viktor groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Y/N… we missed class.”

Y/N stretched a lazy smile on his face. “Worth it.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his lips. Maybe they would figure everything out later. For now, he was content to simply be here, with Y/N together in their shared warmth.

#viktor x male reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #blowjov #tw smut #friends to lovers #arcane x male reader #dom male reader #sub viktor #gay #6azia‘s pillow

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aceinspacesstuff · 23 days ago

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You know, I bet the boys have 1001 ways to kill/protect against a demon. But each of them have different methods.

If you spend 35ish years on the run from Hell, it makes sense to constantly come up with ways to fight against them. This could be why Edwin was comfortable taking a case with a demon, and Charles was completely confident fighting David alone (with how fast the Spider demon was, they didn't get a chance).

They came up with ways together, but I think they would find their own secret ways to prepare for an attack.

Edwin would find spells and potions to protect themselves from demonic forces, so when they have to face a demon, Edwin can cast a spell to protect them from being possessed or influenced by demons.

Charles would collect any wepon or carve any rune that hurts demons to the point that he has a whole room in his bag dedicated to weapons (found or made by him) that are especially harmful to demonic things. This way, if he has to fight a demon, he can make sure it won't come back.

They don't try to keep this info from the other, but they don't want to worry the other by constantly obsessing over Hell so they don't bring it up often.

Imagine a demon trys to mess with the boys, thinking they will be easy targets only to get immediately obliterated by some ancient exorcism from Edwin or exploded by a DIY holy bomb from Charles.

Charles and Edwin: *antsy from Port Townsend*

Demon: Fear me puny gho- *gets turned into a dark smear*

Charles and Edwin (who both used some extreme method at the same time): :0 :0

#dbda #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #do they both find this hot and kiss at the end?#probably

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astra-ravana · 3 months ago

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Why You Should Learn Multiple Divination Methods

Divination is a powerful tool for gaining insight, guidance, and clarity in life. While many practitioners have a preferred method, learning multiple forms of divination offers unique advantages and deepens your spiritual practice. Here’s why expanding your divinatory skill set is beneficial.

Different Tools for Different Questions

Each divination method excels in certain areas. By knowing more than one, you can choose the most effective tool for each situation, for example:

• Tarot provides in-depth storytelling and psychological insight.

• Runes offer direct, ancient wisdom with a no-nonsense approach.

• Pendulum dowsing gives quick yes/no answers for direct guidance.

• Scrying (mirrors, water, flames) connects you with visions and subconscious messages.

Having multiple techniques allows you to select the best one for your needs.

Cross-Validation for Stronger Readings

Using multiple forms of divination to confirm a message strengthens its reliability. If tarot, runes, and pendulum dowsing all point to the same answer, you can be more confident in your reading.

Adaptability in Different Environments

Some divination methods require more space or time than others. Having multiple techniques lets you practice divination anywhere, for example:

• Tarot and runes are great for detailed readings but require physical tools.

• Numerology or astrology can be done mentally when you’re without tools.

• Pendulums and scrying can be subtle enough for on-the-go divination.

Deeper Understanding of Symbolism and Intuition

Each system has its own symbolic language. Learning multiple forms of divination enhances your ability to recognize patterns and messages from the universe. For example:

• Studying astrology deepens your understanding of tarot’s planetary influences.

• Learning numerology helps with interpreting numbers in divination spreads.

• Scrying sharpens your intuitive abilities for other methods.

The more symbols and correspondences you understand, the stronger your divinatory skills become.

Personal and Spiritual Growth

Every divination system has its own philosophy and historical roots. By exploring multiple methods, you:

• Gain a broader perspective on the unseen forces in your life.

• Connect with different spiritual traditions and expand your knowledge.

• Strengthen your intuitive and psychic abilities through diverse practices.

Enhanced Connection with Spirits and Deities

Some deities or spirits prefer specific divination methods. Expanding your knowledge allows you to communicate more effectively with different energies.

• Hekate is often associated with scrying and key-based divination.

• Odin, a god of wisdom, is connected to the runes.

• Mercury/Hermes aligns with dice and lot casting.

• Many demons are associated with divination practices, such as Gremory, Dantalion, Flereous, Delepitore, and more.

Having multiple methods lets you tailor your practice to your spiritual allies.

Avoiding Divination Burnout or Bias

Using only one form of divination can sometimes lead to mental fatigue or a fixed perspective. Switching between different methods keeps your practice fresh and prevents over-reliance on a single tool.

Knowing multiple forms of divination makes you a more well-rounded and adaptable practitioner. It strengthens your intuition, deepens your spiritual connections, and gives you access to the best method for any question or situation.

Types Of Divination

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lunar-witches · 2 years ago

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🌟 Types of Divination 🌟

🃏 Tarot Reading: Ah, the classic! Shuffle those cards, lay 'em out, and let the symbols tell your story. It's like a psychic storytime with beautifully illustrated cards.

🔮 Crystal Ball Gazing: Channel your inner fortune teller and gaze into the shimmering depths of a crystal ball. See visions, symbols, or just a really fancy paperweight – your call!

☕ Tea Leaf Reading: Sip your cuppa, but don't toss those leaves! The way they settle in your cup can unveil the mysteries of the universe. Get ready to decipher some leafy hieroglyphics.

🖐️ Palmistry (Chiromancy): Study the lines, mounts, and shapes on your palm. Each crease tells a story about your life path, personality, and potential. It's like reading a roadmap to your destiny right on your hand!

🕊️ Feather Divination: Feathers are more than just fashionable accessories for birds! They can carry messages from the spirit world. Find one, meditate on it, and decode its wisdom.

🌀 Runes Casting: Norse warriors used them, and now you can too! Grab some ancient runestones, cast them, and let the runic symbols weave tales of your destiny.

🕯️ Candle Scrying: Light a candle, focus on the flame, and let your visions come to life within the flickering glow.

🌿 Pendulum Magic: Swing that pendulum and ask it some yes-or-no questions. Allow the pendulum to swing freely and always keep your hand still to allow the energy to truly answer you questions.

🌗 Numerology: Numbers, man! They're everywhere, and they've got a lot to say. Discover your life path, destiny, and soul numbers.

🔍 Scrying Mirrors: Stare into the abyss... or, well, a special mirror! Gaze deep, and let the answers reveal themselves.

🌊 Water Scrying: Gaze into the reflective surface of water – be it a pond, a lake, or even a scrying bowl. Watch as ripples reveal the unseen.

🐚 Shell Divination: Channel your inner mermaid! Listen to the whispers of seashells and let them reveal their secrets. You can also collect a handful of different shells and cast them. Their placement, pattern, etc, can reveal important details!

��️ Key Casting (Cleidomancy): Gather a collection of old keys, close your eyes, and toss them onto a cloth. The position and arrangement of the keys will unveil symbolic messages or answers to your questions. It's like unlocking the secrets of the cosmos, one key at a time.

🎶 Music Divination (Alectryomancy): Play some tunes and let the lyrics, melodies, or even random song selections speak to you. The songs that resonate can offer messages or insights about your current situation. Let the music be your mystical DJ!

With this ever-growing list of divination methods, you'll have a magical tool for every occasion. Trust your intuition and let your inner seeker explore the mystical world of divination. Happy divining, cosmic explorers! 🔮🌠

#divination #witchcraft #witchy #witchblr #witches of tumblr #tarot #palmistry #tea leaf reading #scrying #runes #sea witch #lunar witch #astrology witch #green witch #kitchen witch #fae witch #forest witch #baby witch #baby witches

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thejournallo · 2 years ago

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Explain the basic: Shielding and Banishing

Shielding and banishing are two of the most important things you have to learn before you start your journey as a witch. Both practices are essential for maintaining energetic boundaries and ensuring a safe environment for magical or spiritual work. used to protect oneself from negative energies, entities, or influences and to remove unwanted energies or entities from a space. Here's a breakdown of shielding and banishing in witchcraft:

Shielding:

Shielding involves creating a protective barrier around oneself, which acts as a defense against negative energies or influences. It helps maintain personal boundaries and prevents unwanted energies from affecting one's well-being. Common methods of shielding include:

Visualization: Visualizing a shield of white light, a protective bubble, or an impenetrable barrier around your body. This visualization can be accompanied by the intention of repelling negativity while allowing positive energies to flow.

Energy Manipulation: Drawing upon personal energy or universal energy to create a protective shield. This can involve using hand movements, gestures, or energy manipulation techniques to form and maintain the shield.

Use of Objects or Symbols: Carrying protective talismans, amulets, or symbols such as pentagrams, runes, or protective sigils that represent personal protection. These items can aid in maintaining the shield's strength.

Banishing:

Banishing refers to the act of removing negative energies, entities, or influences from a person, place, or space. It's a method used to cleanse and purify an area or oneself from unwanted energies. Common practices for banishing include:

Smudging [which is a closed practice]or Cleansing: Burning herbs like [sage, palo santo], or cedar to clear a space of negative energies. Using the smoke to cleanse and purify the environment.

Salt or Protective Circles: Sprinkling salt around a space or creating a protective circle by physically drawing or visualizing it to keep unwanted energies out or to contain them within the circle for removal.

Rituals and Spells: Performing rituals or casting spells specifically designed for banishing. This involves using candles, herbs, oils, and specific incantations to remove negative influences or energies.

Invocation of Higher Powers: Calling upon higher spiritual entities, deities, or guides associated with protection or cleansing to aid in banishing unwanted energies or entities.

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). if you are intrested in more method check the masterlist!

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grey-sorcery · 8 months ago

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[Title: Cleromancy: Bone & Dice Divination]

Related Reading

Divination: An Introduction Correspondences Finding Balance: Spirituality & Critical Thought Bias & Witchcraft Spirit Work: First Steps Spellcasting Basics

Grey-Sorcery's Masterpost

Introduction

Cleromancy, the practice of divination through the casting of lots or objects, has ancient roots that span across various cultures and epochs. This esoteric art form operates on the principle that chance events can yield meaningful insights into personal queries or broader existential questions. Throughout history, cleromancy has served diverse purposes, from guiding decision-making to uncovering hidden truths about the self and the universe. The tools used in this practice—ranging from bones and sticks to stones and seeds—each carry unique significance, shaping the divinatory process.

Historical Contexts of Cleromancy

Ancient Practices

Mesopotamian and Babylonian societies were among the earliest to document ritualistic practices linked to divination and spirituality. In these ancient civilizations, practitioners, often referred to as “baru” (diviners), would interpret the will of the gods through various means, such as hepatoscopy (reading the liver of a sacrificed animal) and extispicy (examining the entrails of sacrificed animals). The Babylonian Enuma Anu Enlil texts, a series of clay tablets, detail these divinatory practices, emphasizing their importance in both personal and state matters. This integration of ritual and divination laid the groundwork for later spiritual practices in the region. This use of Divination laid the groundwork for future divinatory practices.

Yi Jing (westernized as "I-Ching") (c. 1600–1046 BCE)

The Yi Jing’s earliest form can be found in oracle bone inscriptions from the Shang dynasty , where diviners would inscribe questions on bones or turtle shells and apply heat until they cracked. The patterns of these cracks were interpreted to provide guidance or foretell outcomes. Over time, these divinatory practices were codified into a text.

By the time of the Western Zhou dynasty (c. 1046–771 BCE), the I Ching had taken on its more recognizable form, consisting of hexagrams (six-line figures) that represent different states and conditions. The text consists of 64 hexagrams, each accompanied by commentary, which reflects philosophical concepts such as yin and yang, the interplay of opposites, and the cyclical nature of life.

Ancient Greece (c. 800 BCE - 200 CE)

In ancient Greece, divination was integral to religion, politics, and daily life, with cleromancy appearing in multiple forms. One of the earliest Greek forms of cleromancy was astragalomancy, or the casting of knucklebones (often from sheep or goats), to discern future events. The bones were thrown, and their positions were interpreted based on specific symbolic meanings assigned to each side or face. Astragalomancy evolved into the use of dice, where each roll was understood as divinely influenced.

Additionally, the Greek practice of sortition, which involved drawing lots from a container to determine divine will, was widespread. Sortition was used not only in religious contexts but also for political purposes, such as in the selection of officials. In some cases, olive leaves, stones, or pieces of pottery would be inscribed with names or symbols and drawn randomly. This method underscored the belief that even randomness could reflect the will of the gods.

Medieval and Renaissance Practices

Early Germanic Use of Runes (ca. 150-500 CE)

The oldest known runic inscriptions date back to around 150 CE. The Elder Futhark, the earliest runic alphabet used by Germanic tribes, consists of 24 characters and is found on various objects such as weapons, amulets, and stones. These inscriptions often had a ritual or magical purpose, suggesting that from early on, the runes held spiritual significance beyond their use as a writing system.

It is believed that the Germanic tribes, particularly the Goths, used runes in divinatory practices during the early centuries of the Common Era. The Roman historian Tacitus, writing around 98 CE in Germania, describes how the Germanic tribes would cast lots made from carved wooden slips (possibly inscribed with runes), interpreting the way they landed as messages from the gods. According to Tacitus:

"For divination and casting lots they have the highest regard. Their procedure is simple. They cut off a branch from a fruit-bearing tree and slice it into strips. These they distinguish by certain marks and throw them, completely at random, on to a white cloth. Then the priest of the state, if the question is a public one, or the father of the family, if it is private, prays to the gods and, gazing at the sky, picks up three of the strips, one at a time, and reads their meaning from the marks previously scored on them."

Tacitus’ description aligns with what we know about early cleromantic practices among Germanic tribes, though runic divination likely evolved into a more specialized form in later centuries.

Ifá in West Africa (ca. 8th Century CE)

The roots of Ifá divination can be traced back to the Yoruba people of present-day Nigeria and Benin, likely emerging as early as the 8th century CE. The practice is centered on communication with the orishas, or spiritual entities, and the diviner (called a babalawo or "father of mysteries") plays a critical role in interpreting divine will through the casting of sacred objects, usually palm nuts or cowrie shells.

Ifá divination involves the casting of 16 palm nuts or cowrie shells, which generate specific patterns that correspond to verses in the Odu Ifá, the sacred text of the Ifá religion. The Odu Ifá contains a vast collection of oral literature, including myths, proverbs, and prayers, which the babalawo uses to interpret the client’s query. Each configuration of the palm nuts or shells is associated with one of the 256 odu (divinatory figures), which hold specific meanings and are linked to different aspects of life, such as health, relationships, and spiritual guidance.

The Ifá system became the foundation for many other African divinatory systems, influencing the divinatory practices of neighboring ethnic groups, such as the Fon people of Benin, who practice Fa divination, a similar form of cleromancy.

Geomancy (ca. 7th Century)

Geomancy, a highly structured form of cleromancy, is believed to have originated in the deserts of North Africa or the Arabian Peninsula, likely among Berber or Bedouin peoples. The word “geomancy” comes from the Greek geo (earth) and manteia (divination), meaning "divination by the earth." However, its original Arabic name, ilm al-raml (the science of the sand), suggests its origins as a method of casting and interpreting patterns made in the sand.

Islamic Geomancy (8th-13th centuries)

During the Islamic Golden Age, geomancy was refined and systematized into a detailed form of divination. Islamic scholars integrated numerology, astrology, and the philosophical traditions of Greek thought into their practices. Using dots or lines drawn in the sand, geomancers would generate a series of 16 figures, which were interpreted based on a complex set of rules involving astrology and cosmic correspondences.

Geomancy was highly respected in the Islamic world, where it was considered a legitimate science. Islamic geomancers like Al-Kindi and Al-Farabi wrote extensively on the subject, codifying its principles and ensuring its spread throughout the Mediterranean, including into Europe. These writings formed the basis for later geomantic traditions in Europe, where the practice became popular during the Middle Ages.

European Geomancy (12th-13th Century)

Geomancy made its way into Europe during the Middle Ages, likely through Spain and Sicily, regions where Islamic and Christian cultures mingled. Latin translations of Arabic texts on geomancy became widely available, and European scholars like Hugh of Santalla and Gerard of Cremona further refined the art. By the 12th century, geomancy was well-established in Europe, where it became known as the "art of the earth."

Unlike other forms of divination, geomancy did not require complicated tools or astronomical calculations, making it accessible to a wide audience. It was often practiced by both learned scholars and laypeople. During the Renaissance, geomancy was considered one of the seven forbidden arts, alongside astrology and necromancy, though it continued to be practiced by those seeking insight into political, personal, and spiritual matters. Renaissance occultists, including Cornelius Agrippa, wrote about geomancy in their works, further embedding it into the Western esoteric tradition.

Transatlantic Slave Trade and the Spread of Ifá (16th-19th Centuries)

With the transatlantic slave trade from the 16th to the 19th centuries, African religious traditions, including Ifá divination, were brought to the Americas by enslaved Africans. In Brazil, where a significant number of Yoruba people were forcibly relocated, Ifá was preserved and incorporated into the emerging Afro-Brazilian religion of Candomblé.

Ifá in Brazil and Candomblé (18th-19th Centuries)

In Brazil, Ifá divination became an essential aspect of Candomblé, which blends Yoruba beliefs with elements of Catholicism and indigenous Brazilian spirituality. The divinatory practice was maintained by Afro-Brazilian priests, known as babalorixás (male priests) and ialorixás (female priests), who performed Ifá-style readings using cowrie shells, a technique known as merindilogun.

The use of cowrie shells in Afro-Brazilian divination systems is closely related to Ifá, though certain adaptations occurred due to the blending of different African spiritual traditions in Brazil. The cowrie shells are cast in a way that generates patterns, which are interpreted by the priest in connection with the Odu Ifá or related Candomblé spiritual texts.

Candomblé grew throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, particularly in the state of Bahia, where Afro-Brazilian religious practices were preserved despite colonial efforts to suppress them. By the 19th century, the religion and its divinatory practices had become an integral part of Afro-Brazilian culture, and today, they continue to be practiced by millions of people in Brazil.

Santería and Afro-Cuban Divination (18th-19th Centuries)

A parallel development occurred in Cuba, where the Yoruba-based religion of Santería (or Regla de Ocha) developed, incorporating Ifá divination and the use of cowrie shells. Santería emerged in the 18th and 19th centuries as enslaved Africans in Cuba blended their spiritual practices with Catholicism. In Santería, diviners known as babalawos or santerosuse a system similar to Ifá to communicate with the orishas, seeking guidance on health, personal relationships, and spiritual matters.

Types of Objects Used

Bones and Sticks

Bones and sticks represent one of the oldest and most accessible forms of divination tools, deeply tied to their ubiquity in the natural environment. These items are often chosen for their varied shapes and textures, which allow for an array of interpretative possibilities. Bones, particularly those of small animals, may be selected for their durability and the unique characteristics they acquire through natural weathering or through specific preparation methods such as cleaning or carving. Sticks, on the other hand, may come from different species of trees, with variations in bark, length, and curvature serving as subtle signifiers within the practice.

The utility of bones and sticks lies in their simplicity and versatility. Their physical properties—whether straight, twisted, or fractured—can provide direct visual and tactile cues during a casting. For example, a bone with a sharp angle or curvature may prompt the practitioner to consider directional forces, while the texture of a stick might suggest either stability or the presence of external disturbances. Through these physical characteristics, a broad spectrum of meanings can be derived without relying on any specific cultural overlays.

Stones

In contemporary divinatory practices, stones serve as another widely used object due to their availability and the multitude of shapes and sizes they come in. The appeal of stones is often found in their permanence, as well as in their surface characteristics—whether rough or smooth, irregular or polished. The variety in color, density, and opacity found in different types of stones allows for a richer scope of interpretation, with attention often given to their weight and the sound they make when cast.

When stones are employed, the manner in which they land and interact with each other during casting becomes central to interpretation. Some practitioners might choose stones based on the aesthetic or tactile resonance they feel with a specific stone, but the focus remains primarily on their physical interaction in the casting process. This could involve examining patterns created by how the stones cluster or spread across the chosen casting surface. The distance between stones and their orientation may hold significance, depending on the diviner’s system of interpretation.

Seeds and Nuts

Seeds and nuts offer a unique category of divinatory objects due to their association with growth and potential. Their lightness and ability to roll or bounce during casting creates a dynamic method of reading that introduces an element of movement not found with heavier objects like bones or stones. Seeds can be chosen from a variety of plants, with the specific type of seed or nut often lending additional layers of interpretation.

The trajectory, bounce, and eventual resting place of these objects can form the basis of interpretation. Practitioners might focus on the directionality of their motion, or how groups of seeds or nuts form patterns as they settle. These items are particularly useful for those seeking to incorporate a more kinetic dimension into their practice, as they often move further and in less predictable ways than heavier or more static objects. Additionally, their association with cycles of growth and change can serve as an interpretative axis, allowing for insights into processes of transformation and potentiality.

Other Types of Objects

Beyond the more commonly used materials, diviners might also incorporate a wide array of other objects into their practices. Small, everyday items such as buttons, shells, or pieces of glass can also be used, each contributing their own symbolic resonance. Buttons, for example, might suggest themes of connection or closure, while shells may speak to protection or the hidden depths beneath a surface. The eclectic nature of these objects means that their meanings are often determined by the individual diviner’s relationship with the object itself, rather than any intrinsic property of the material.

Casting Techniques

Simple Toss Method

The simplest and perhaps most intuitive casting method is the toss, wherein the objects are held in the hand or gathered in a container and thrown onto a surface. This method relies on the randomness of the toss to generate patterns that the practitioner can interpret. The diviner’s focus is on how the objects land—whether they cluster together, remain isolated, or overlap—and what these configurations might suggest in terms of the query or situation at hand.

Using Casting Tools

For those who prefer a more controlled approach, various tools can be employed to assist with the casting process. Cups, tubes, or even dice towers can be used to direct the fall of objects, ensuring a more regulated distribution during the casting. These tools provide a level of precision that the simple toss does not, allowing the diviner to control the dispersion of the objects while still allowing for chance to play its role. Some may feel that using such tools introduces a necessary balance between randomness and structure, enhancing the interpretative process by providing a consistent starting point for each reading.

Complex Pattern Casting

In more advanced forms of divination, the position and interaction of the cast objects become critical. Complex pattern casting looks at factors such as whether objects make contact with one another, overlap, or land in specific orientations. For example, two stones touching might suggest convergence or unity, while a seed landing upright could indicate stability or resilience. The diviner must then interpret these spatial relationships, often finding nuanced meaning in the way the objects interact on the casting surface. This method requires a deeper understanding of symbolism and is favored by more experienced practitioners who seek a more layered reading.

This technique is particularly useful for diviners who seek a balance between spontaneity and structure, as it allows for a degree of unpredictability while still maintaining a framework for interpretation. The position of the objects within the designated areas becomes a focal point for analysis, offering more detailed insights based on their relative placement.

Use of Casting Surfaces

The surface upon which objects are cast plays a significant role in shaping the reading. Diviners may use cloths, boards, or other surfaces marked with symbols or grids that correspond to different areas of life or elements of the self. For example, a board marked with a four-quadrant system might designate different domains—emotional, physical, intellectual, and spiritual—and the location of objects within these quadrants helps guide the reading.

Symbolism and Interpretation

Common Symbols and Their Meanings

Common symbols emerge organically from the objects used. For instance, a broken bone might symbolize disruption or fragmentation, while a smooth stone could suggest continuity or stability. These interpretations depend largely on the diviner’s system of symbolism, which can be personal or based on broader associations. Disclaimer: The following list of common correspondences is intended for inspiration purposes only. Correspondences may vary based on cultural context, personal experiences, and the specific cleromancy systems employed. Practitioners are encouraged to explore and adapt these meanings according to their individual beliefs and interpretations.

Bone: Transition, connection to ancestry, strength ; fragmentation, loss, decay

Stick: Directionality, stability, grounding ; rigidity, inflexibility, barriers

Stone: Endurance, reliability, permanence ; coldness, stagnation, obstinacy

Seed: Potential, growth, renewal ; vulnerability, uncertainty, chaos

Nut: Fertility, protection, sustenance ; hardness, concealment, difficulty in access

Shell: Shelter, emotional depth, intuition ; isolation, fragility, superficiality

Button: Connection, unity, completion ; closure, restriction, limitation

Leaf: Transformation, life cycles, rejuvenation ; impermanence, fragility, loss

Feather: Freedom, lightness, spirituality ; detachment, lack of grounding, impermanence

Coin: Prosperity, material wealth, luck ; greed, loss, superficiality

Glass: Clarity, insight, reflection ; fragility, distortion, breakability

String: Connection, continuity, binding ; entanglement, restriction, tension

Key: Access, opportunity, solutions ; secrets, barriers, confinement

Mirror: Self-reflection, truth, clarity ; illusion, deception, superficiality

Flower: Beauty, growth, love ; ephemerality, impermanence, superficiality

Wood: Stability, grounding, nourishment ; decay, rot, obstruction

Stone Sphere: Wholeness, unity, completion ; confinement, lack of growth, stagnation

Candle: Light, guidance, hope ; danger, destruction, fragility

Wool: Warmth, comfort, protection ; heaviness, limitation, entrapment

Pine Cone: Potential, renewal, resilience ; rigidity, closed-off nature, unresponsiveness

Chalice: Abundance, emotional fulfillment, nurturing ; excess, waste, emotional overwhelm

Bowl: Containment, safety, balance ; emptiness, lack, deprivation

Rock Crystal: Clarity, purity, heightened perception ; coldness, detachment, aloofness

Dice: Chance, uncertainty, opportunity ; randomness, chaos, unpredictability

Anchor: Stability, grounding, safety ; heaviness, being weighed down, stagnation

Variations in Interpretation

Interpretation varies significantly between practitioners. One person might interpret the same object differently based on personal experience or the context of the reading. This fluidity of meaning is a key aspect of contemporary practice, where individual intuition plays a large role in shaping interpretations. The dynamic interplay between object, context, and personal resonance ensures that each reading is uniquely tailored to the practitioner.

Role of the Diviner in Interpretation

The diviner serves as the intermediary between the cast objects and the querent, weaving together the symbols into a coherent narrative. Their ability to read the patterns, variations, and nuances of each cast is central to providing meaningful insights. While each system provides a framework of meanings and correspondences, diviners often bring their unique perspectives, experiences, and intuitions into the practice. This individuality allows for an array of interpretations, as personal insights may resonate more deeply than strict adherence to predefined rules. A diviner might find significance in symbols that diverge from traditional meanings, fostering a more personalized and resonant reading.

Cleromancy Mat Design Examples

This mat is best used for tools for generalized readings. The mat itself doesn't command control of interpretation, rather it works with pieces and the diviner to generate unique interpretations for each throw.

This mat is best for diviners who want to do a lot of personal interpretations, since it doesn't provide much in the way of meaning. There are only 8 quadrants that can have assigned correspondences. With this mat, interpretation is derived mostly from the pieces, how they interact, and the discretion of the diviner.

This mat contains a lot of information. The pieces used on this mat should be more limited in terms of the complexity of their correspondences. This mat will assign more meaning to each interaction than the prior two mats.

Creating your own method

When creating your own cleromancy system, the first critical step involves establishing a solid foundation. This foundation should be rooted in a conceptual framework that aligns with your overarching worldview or philosophical beliefs. Begin by determining the central theme or principle that will guide your practice. Whether the aim is self-reflection, decision-making, spell-verification, or something more abstract, having a clear focus will provide structure and coherence to your system. Defining this framework allows you to cultivate a personal connection with the tool and ensures that each step, symbol, and material used is deliberate and meaningful.

Once the conceptual framework is in place, you can move forward with selecting symbols and materials that resonate with you. The items you choose—whether stones, tokens, or other objects—should evoke a particular significance or meaning. The materials may carry personal associations, cultural relevance, or simply evoke a sense of utility for the task at hand. This personal resonance strengthens your connection to the practice and deepens the interpretive potential of the cleromancy system.

The next step is to design a coherent divination method, beginning with the assignment of symbols or values to your chosen items. This process involves either creating new symbols or adapting existing ones from other systems. Each symbol should hold a distinct meaning, and it is important to establish a clear framework for interpreting them. Whether this involves numerical values, positions relative to each other, or some other organizing principle, having an established interpretive guide will enhance the accuracy and clarity of your readings. The method should be fluid enough to allow growth but structured enough to provide consistency.

Casting techniques form the backbone of any cleromancy practice. The way in which materials are cast or arranged can significantly influence the interpretation of the results. Various casting techniques can be explored, from throwing or scattering the materials to laying them out methodically or randomizing their arrangement. Each technique carries its own nuances, and it is important to consider how the method of casting affects the overall energy or tone of the reading. This choice should complement the nature of the symbols and the guiding concept of your system.

After designing the method, the next phase involves developing guidelines for interpreting the outcomes. The structure for interpretation can be fixed, fluid, or context-dependent, depending on your system’s needs. If your system involves interaction between symbols—such as when certain items land near each other or align in specific ways—these interactions may offer additional layers of meaning. It is essential to create a clear process for evaluating these outcomes, one that is both logical and intuitive, allowing for deeper insight as you gain experience.

Lastly, maintaining a record-keeping system is invaluable. Documentation allows you to track patterns and outcomes, providing the opportunity to analyze how interpretations evolve over time. This, in turn, helps refine the system. By systematically recording results, you can observe recurring themes or symbols and adjust your framework accordingly, ensuring that your cleromancy practice remains dynamic and adaptive.

Through continual testing and refinement, your cleromancy system will grow into a robust tool for exploration and insight. Conduct multiple readings to test its efficacy, and make adjustments based on your observations. Over time, with regular integration into your personal practice, you will gain greater clarity, leading to deeper understanding and a more nuanced approach to the art of cleromancy.

Scientific and Mathematical Correlations to Bear in Mind in Order to Avoid Statistical Bias in Tool Design

Probability and Randomness: Statistics, Chaos Theory, Complexity Science, and Determinism

Randomness, as it pertains to divinatory tools such as cleromancy, is a nuanced concept grounded in mathematical theories of probability and chaos. When one casts dice, bones, or any similar objects in cleromancy practice, the assumption is that the results are left to chance or fate. However, from a mathematical perspective, "randomness" is a much more rigorous concept.

In the framework of probability theory, randomness refers to the outcome of events that cannot be predicted with certainty, even if all preceding conditions are known. In cleromancy practices, the user often interprets each cast as holding significance. This belief system interacts with randomness in complex ways, with each cast seen as uniquely meaningful. Despite this, mathematical understanding shows that, given enough trials, patterns in randomness tend to adhere to statistical laws.

Chaos theory, which explores systems highly sensitive to initial conditions, provides another layer of understanding for cleromancy tools. Even a minuscule difference in the force applied to a set of dice or the exact angle at which lots are thrown can result in radically different outcomes. Thus, while cleromancy acts may appear chaotic on the surface, they are mathematically deterministic—each outcome is a function of initial conditions and forces applied to the system.

Mathematical Models of Casting Outcomes

Mathematical models allow us to create a structured approach to understanding the casting of lots or dice. In probability theory, each possible outcome of a dice roll or lot casting can be assigned a numerical probability based on the total number of possible outcomes. For example, when casting a single six-sided die, each face has a 1/6 probability of appearing. These models are useful not only for understanding how frequently certain results occur but also for recognizing when certain patterns or clusters of outcomes deviate from what we would expect in a random distribution.

Complexity science, a field that studies how small interactions among components can result in emergent behaviors, provides another lens through which to view casting outcomes. Cleromancy operates within a complex system of inputs—ritualistic actions, environmental conditions, and the physical properties of the objects being cast—that lead to a seemingly infinite number of possible interactions. These interactions may produce clusters of outcomes that appear to follow discernible patterns, which, upon closer examination, may be random artifacts of a complex system rather than evidence of supernatural influence.

Understanding the mathematical properties of these tools is essential in minimizing confirmation bias and ensuring that tools are designed in ways that do not inadvertently favor particular outcomes over others.

Psychological Perspectives

While mathematical tools offer a way to predict outcomes probabilistically, cognitive biases significantly shape how individuals perceive and interpret the results of cleromancy or divinatory practices. One of the most prevalent biases in such practices is the "confirmation bias," where individuals unconsciously prioritize information that aligns with their pre-existing beliefs or expectations. In a divinatory context, a practitioner might focus on outcomes that seem relevant to their question or life situation while disregarding those that do not fit the narrative they seek to construct.

The "gambler's fallacy" is another psychological pitfall worth considering in these contexts. This bias leads people to believe that past outcomes will influence future random events, such as assuming that if a certain result has not occurred in several rolls, it is "due" to appear in the next cast. In reality, each casting of dice or lots is independent, with the probability of each outcome remaining constant regardless of previous events. Failure to account for this fallacy can lead to misinterpretation of divinatory outcomes, imbuing them with a false sense of significance.

To mitigate the effects of these cognitive biases, it is vital to approach the design and interpretation of divinatory tools with an understanding of psychological tendencies. A mathematically balanced system of casting outcomes can help minimize the tendency to read too much into any particular result. Additionally, consistent training or critical self-reflection can help practitioners recognize when their judgments may be clouded by bias.

Statistical Analysis with Dice as an Example

Analyzing Patterns and Frequencies within Mathematical Dimensions

Statistical analysis can provide insight into the distribution of casting outcomes, especially in dice-based divination. When conducting repeated trials of dice rolls, the results can be plotted to visualize the distribution of outcomes. In an ideal random system, each outcome would occur with roughly the same frequency over time. For instance, in a six-sided die, each number should appear approximately 1/6th of the time across a large number of rolls.

By analyzing the frequency of different outcomes, one can determine whether the tool is generating results consistent with random distributions or whether there are biases in the casting method. If certain outcomes appear significantly more or less often than expected, this may indicate a problem with the tool's design, such as uneven weight distribution in dice or flaws in the casting process. Such analysis is essential to avoid statistical bias and ensure fairness in the interpretation of results.

Comparing Outcomes with “Random” Distributions

Once patterns have been analyzed, comparing the actual outcomes of dice rolls or lot castings with theoretical random distributions can reveal important insights. For instance, a statistical technique such as the chi-square test can be employed to compare observed frequencies with expected frequencies. If there is a significant difference, it may suggest that the tool is not functioning in a truly random way.

This comparison helps ensure that the tool adheres to mathematical principles of probability, thus providing a baseline of fairness and accuracy in its use. Additionally, it guards against the possibility of subconscious manipulation of outcomes, where practitioners may—unintentionally or not—alter the casting process in ways that favor certain results. In conclusion, a strong grounding in statistical principles is essential for the design and use of divinatory tools, ensuring that they operate in ways that avoid unintentional biases and misinterpretations.

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