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hazyange1s · 2 months ago

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a house is not a home.

Summary: sebastian despises his uncle’s cottage and the unwelcome inhabitants that haunt it. weighed down by grief and self-hatred after his twin’s recent death, he begins to push away the one person he loves most.

the thing about a home, though: it’s not where you live, but wherever your heart lies.

Warnings: depictions of grief, post-traumatic stress, and depression, mentions (memories) of blood and death, and “fade to black” implied sexual content.

Rating: M

Tags: post-hogwarts, slight codependency, domesticity, established relationship, angst (lots of angst) with a happy ending (because I need to heal myself ok), hurt/comfort, unnamed mc (she/her pronouns), Sebastian’s pov, makeup sex, past character death — Anne haunts the narrative.

insp: ‘curses’ by the crane wives!!

*if you prefer to read on ao3

Red — it’s everywhere. Blinding him, pouring from his wounds, coating his hands.

Then green; a sickly, sinister, Slytherin shade like poison. It streaks across his vision, wraps around his wrists in shining bands, then pulls him down, down, down…

Way beneath the dirt, where they already lie. They’ve been waiting for him. Together, the skeletal hands drag him under with them until he chokes on his own bile and the musty soil, until he’s certain that Death has taken him, too.

Just when he takes his last breath to be wasted on a scream, he wakes.

Sweat coats every limb. He thinks that’s why his face is wet, too, but no — those are tears, he can taste the salt on his tongue as he draws in a haggard breath.

It’s such a relief to breathe again.

Swiping a damp sleeve across his brow, Sebastian lets the air out in a rush, glancing at the peaceful shape of her sprawled out beside him. In contrast, her breaths are slow, even, punctuated by soft little snores that bring a hint of a smile to his chapped lips.

You’re safe. You’re alive. It’s over, now.

(Is it, though?)

As if she can somehow sense his turmoil, she stirs, eyes cracking open before she blinks up at him with a bleary stare.

“Seb?” Her voice is hoarse with sleep. “Is everything alright?”

No. Things haven’t been alright for a long, long time.

He goes with, “Of course, love. I’m fine, just…go back to sleep,” instead.

Too tired to argue, she lets out a contented sigh and snuggles back under the covers. Sebastian almost shakes her awake again, almost crawls into her arms so she can hold him and comfort him; a familiar routine they’d started in fifth year when the nightmares had started for them both.

Except the very idea of her hands on his skin make his stomach twist into a Gordian knot. They’d remind him too much of the pairs in his dreams — which is probably why their bed has felt more like a graveyard than a sanctuary in the past weeks.

He’s careful not to disturb her as he slips out of the bed. It’s his; the same one he’d slept in since he was seven years old, just Transfigured to fit two people now, when before he and Anne had to pack themselves in like canned sardines to fit.

He got to rest beside someone every night now, while she lay alone in her coffin.

The thought propels him towards the kitchen sink. He folds himself over it, hands braced on the porcelain, and empties the remnants of his dinner into the basin until there’s nothing left. When it’s over, he rinses his mouth and splashes icy water on his clammy cheeks before sinking to the ground, back against the cabinets.

His hands are shaking. Sebastian looks down, counts his fingers.

One. Two. Three. I’m awake. I’m not dreaming.

For the briefest moment, he imagines them stained with red, and starts to feel a little green all over again.

——

The sky is a dingy gray on a late summer afternoon when he finally musters up the courage to enter the garden.

Back in the day, Anne had loved tending to the flora curling around the cottage’s stone façade and the tiny vegetable patch tucked behind it. It had provided a measure of solace when she’d been unable to return to school; trapped in the village with nobody but Solomon, the neighbors, and those blasted plants as company, but ever since it had suffered without her caring touch.

Sebastian doesn’t have the same green thumb, just a lot of determination to fix the eyesore it had become, a wide array of gardening tools (half of them he could hardly remember what they were for — he’d dropped Herbology in sixth year), and too much time on his hands until autumn arrived and he began his Cursebreaker training.

So, every day for the last month, he’s toiled beneath the sun and clouds to restore it to what it used to be…or at least, to some semblance of its former glory.

Perhaps once he removes the weeds, it’ll be a step towards removing all the other unwanted, invasive species that seem to be clinging to the stone.

Distant thunder rumbles as he trims the ivy along the tresses. It electrifies his skin, makes it itch and tingle — or perhaps it’s simply the nettles that have invaded every spare patch of real estate on the ground. By the time the first raindrop lands, cool and soothing on his nose, he’s moved on to pruning the heather.

Soft footsteps disturb the moist earth, barely audible amidst a crack of lightning from over the hill.

“Thirsty?” She stops at his side, handing Sebastian a cool glass of pumpkin juice that nearly slips from his fingers; dripping with condensation. Without so much as a glance her way, he takes a long, greedy swig.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Shouldn’t you be leaving for London soon?”

“I think Natty can handle picking up a birthday cake without my help,” she says wryly.

Her skirts rustle, dragging in the mud as she crouches down to admire his handiwork. Currently, he’s making an attempt to clear the old vegetable patch out so they can plant new seeds, but some of those stubborn weeds refuse to budge. His efforts show in the streaks of soil painting his corded forearms and the beads of sweat adorning his brow.

“It seems the great Sebastian Sallow has finally met his match: weeds.” She snorts. “You know, using magic might make this go a bit faster.”

He shakes his head, grunting out a half-hearted reply, “No. No magic. This needs to be done right.”

“Alright, then. Knock yourself out.”

When he doesn’t respond, she sighs and stands back up. He can feel the trepidation radiating off of her, since she hadn’t been able to hide a single thing from him in years — he deciphers every tone, sound, and mood as easily as reading an open book.

He isn’t a fool. He knows he’s been distant, knows he’s pushing her away, and yet something in him is powerless to stop it; as if watching himself from outside of his own body.

She’s too… good. Too loyal. Too devoted. So much so that she hadn’t left his side since the day Anne had passed; always ready to lend an ear or hand or shoulder to cry on. And Sebastian can no longer bear to accept any of it when he also knows she could do far better than someone who can’t win a fight against a bunch of stubborn plants and waters them with his own tears.

The silence stretches on for so long that he jumps when she speaks again. “If you’re coming with me, you should get cleaned up soon. I’ll run you a bath, if you’d like, and —“

“Not going.”

“What?” Her brow furrows. He doesn’t see it, but he knows. “Why not?”

“As you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

A hiss slips between his teeth when he nicks his finger on the garden shears. Sucking the sore digit into his mouth, he abandons the vegetables in favor of a simpler task: clipping the ferns obscuring a fading, mossy headstone.

He doesn’t let himself look at the writing crudely carved into it.

Somehow, she’s still there, and the twinge of irritation in her voice is both grating and completely justified. “Come on, Sebastian; it’s Garreth’s birthday. Can’t you just…put on a smile for two hours and eat some cake with me?”

“Not hungry.”

Breakfast had gone untouched that morning, though she’d made his favorite (bacon, fried eggs, toast with far too much blackberry jam to be healthy, and coffee with extra sugar), and his stomach grumbles a reminder loud enough to rival the next clap of thunder.

Any semblance of an appetite disappears completely when he trims away a fan of ferns covering up the winged angel watching over his uncle’s grave. A raindrop lands on its stone cheek and trickles down.

It’s only the rain that wets his eyes, he tells himself.

“Seb…”

Her voice becomes gentler, placating, before she rests a hand on his shoulder that he shakes off.

Not an ounce of him has earned her comfort. Not when he’s now scrubbing the mold from a gravestone that he himself hadn’t been there to erect, and six feet beneath his dirty feet are the bones of Solomon Sallow, already being devoured by the earth.

Anne is buried beside their parents back home — a small mercy.

Still, she tries again: “Please, take a break and come with me. Everybody’s been wondering why you haven’t come around — Poppy asks about you in every letter, and Ominis misses you, even if he won’t admit it — ”

“They’ll all be better off without me,” he grunts.

Everyone is better off without him. Look what happens when he’s around.

Pain. Chaos.

Death.

“That’s not true,” she insists.

When he doesn’t turn around or acknowledge her, she makes an impatient huff, grabbing both of his shoulders and forcing him to meet her eyes for the first time in days.

“Don’t make me make you. I’m not above kidnapping when it’s for the greater good.”

Her attempt at humor doesn’t land with him.

Those wide eyes plead with him silently. They beg him to emerge from the hiding place he'd carefully crafted within himself, to laugh at her poor joke, to show her any sign that the Sebastian she knew is still in there, somewhere.

She’s one of the few people he truly never wanted to let down, and here he is. There’s a crease between her brows that wasn’t there before: more physical proof of his failings.

Sebastian snaps. “For Merlin’s sake, would you just let it go already? I said I’m not going, and that’s final, so quit being such a bloody nag and leave me the hell alone!”

Her hand falls from his shoulder. Lashes fluttering to keep her brimming tears at bay, she nods solemnly and turns back towards the cottage, her absence allowing a cold front to rush in and chill him to the bone.

“Fine. Waste away here for all I care — I’ll tell everyone you say, ‘hello’.”

Before he can swallow what remains of his pride and apologize, he hears the cottage door slamming shut behind her.

If only the earth could swallow him up, too.

——

That night, he sleeps alone for the first time in years.

The next is just as lonely.

As is the next.

At first, Sebastian tells himself that this is what he wanted all along. What he’s earned. How could he expect her to stick around forever when all he’d been doing lately was chasing her away? But eventually he realizes that it was she who had filled the house with light again where it had been dark for so long. Without her, the fire doesn’t burn as brightly, and the shadows elongate, reaching, grabbing, yanking him back under —

He can’t sleep in the bed alone, so he curls up by the ashy hearth and prays its enchanted flames can keep away ghosts.

No such luck.

They whisper to him as he sleeps, waking him at odd intervals until the neighbors’ crow signals the arrival of dawn. Each and every night, they return to follow him throughout the day as he works in the garden, dusts off the old knickknacks scattered about or tucked away in chests, replaces the creaky floorboard his uncle never bothered with.

There’s little explanation for her disappearance. She sends an owl the day after Garreth’s birthday, telling Sebastian that she’ll be staying with Natty in London for the time being, as it’s much closer to the Ministry, anyway.

But he’s wise enough to know the commute isn’t what’s keeping her there; away from him.

As the days blend together and the heat starts to wane, Sebastian has yet to finish his project in the garden. He can’t bring himself to — every time he so much as glances at that headstone, an urge to smash it to pieces makes his bones rattle. Anne’s clothes remain gathering dust in her old trunk, and the photo album on the shelf has long since begun to yellow.

When the trees outside begin to take on the same hue, she returns.

He looks up from the book balanced in his lap when the air around him seems to stir, shift, heralding a sharp crack coming from just beyond the front door. The tea he made out of habit sits untouched on the dining table, and its cup rattles in the saucer as that door creaks open.

She blusters in, the wind sneaking in from outside tinged with autumn’s warning bite. Pausing to wipe her boots on the mat, she meets his stare, though hers is measured. Guarded.

Sebastian licks his fingers and dog-ears the page before the book, too, is abandoned.

“You’re back,” he cannot even attempt to disguise his relief.

“I’m only picking up a few things,” is all she says. Then, eyes flicking away, she walks behind the curtain into their makeshift “bedroom” and snatches a cloak from the armoire without sparing him another glance.

Panic powers his heart. It thuds erratically against the cage of his ribs, pouring adrenaline into his blood.

This is it, then. She’s really leaving for good — surprised it took her this long.

He calls her name, his voice hoarse and crackling like the meager fire beside him, but it goes unanswered.

Standing up from his chair, Sebastian crosses the room to lean against the wall — a healthy distance away, just in case she’s still furious at him. Still, she ignores him, reaching into the potions cabinet before thinking better of it.

“You’re running low on Calming Draughts. I’ll tell Garreth to send you some more,” she mutters.

Even now, she’s taking care of him.

“Been spending a lot of time with him lately, have you?”

The accusation is flying out before he can school his tongue. He hates how it makes him sound; like some jealous, pathetic, whiny little boy, upset that his favorite toy was taken away from him. Because he knew better. He knows she belongs to nothing and no one but herself, never to be a possession. She’s so much more than that; always has been, but from that very first day of his fifth year, they’d belonged to each other.

She was his, and he was hers.

Nothing more to it.

Now that she’s virtually all that remains of Sebastian’s old life — the only one who hadn’t died or started to drift away or abandoned him — the thought of losing her cuts deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Though her reply leaves a decent sized one, too: “Yes, I have. Is there a problem?”

Part of him wants to get angry; accuse her of things he knows in his heart of hearts that she would never do, find somebody to blame besides the real culprit.

(Himself.)

“Is there a problem?” He scoffs. “Other than you hanging around your old flame after leaving for weeks without a real explanation? Why ever would that be a problem?”

“No. We’re not doing this, Sebastian,” she turns to face him, finally, and he notices the violet painted beneath her eyes — the same color smudged around his.

“Doing what? Having an adult conversation about this?” His cheeks start to heat.

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

She laughs, but it’s cold; nothing like the usual bell-like sound he once made great strides to coax from her. Sebastian realizes he’s been hearing it less and less the past few months, and starts to mourn that, too.

“Of course I want —“

“I’ve been trying to get an honest conversation out of you for months. And now, only when you finally realize how horrible things have gotten, you want to try and fix it? Because you’re jealous?” She shakes her head, never one to mince words.

“That’s not it. I’ve sent you owl after owl; asking when you’d be back, trying to apologize —“

“Only you never did apologize!” Finally, she explodes, her eyes flashing with a righteous anger he recognizes all too well. “Gods, I can’t take this anymore, Sebastian. I feel like I’m fucking suffocating here with you! Day in and day out you only get more miserable, and I can’t even breathe for fear of making it worse!”

The truth does really, truly, hurt. In his head it’s one thing, but from her mouth, it’s entirely another.

Predictably, he lashes out against it, though it scrapes up his throat to say, “I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? My sincerest apologies for being such a pathetic excuse for a wizard!”

”You’re such a prick sometimes. Would it kill you not to be sarcastic for one minute while I’m trying to speak to you?”

”Don’t know. It might. But I’m sure you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

”What does that mean?”

”You’re leaving me, right?” Sebastian’s voice wavers. Or it could just be the world beneath his feet, which is also making his knees unsteady. “You’re ending this.”

Avoiding the obvious no longer suits him. He needs to hear it out loud to make it feel real, because it doesn’t; it’s so similar to one of his frequent night terrors that it could very well be one.

She hesitates. That brief pause is a beautiful, terrible thing, as it grants Sebastian a kernel of hope — which sputters with her answer.

“Not…forever. Not yet. But I do need some time to figure out what I need right now.”

Every muscle freezes, every nerve shuts off. He goes completely numb. At least she isn’t abandoning him for good (yet), he thinks, though it’s a small consolation when he knows they are hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

His useless mouth gives no reply, and she turns away, resuming her packing.

Sebastian, somehow, forces his body to cooperate, the first sound he makes nothing but a broken iteration of her name. It slips out again when she pretends not to hear it — though he knows she does, because she flinches, and her shoulders jerk with the first silent sobs as she grips the armoire white-knuckled.

“Please,” he swallows, moistening his sandpaper tongue, and tries again. “Please, don’t leave. I am so, so fucking sorry — I never meant to cause you pain; I just…I’ve been through a lot these past few years, and I know I shouldn’t take it out on you —“

”So have I, Sebastian!” She whips around, eyes flashing red.

That glimmer of unearthly power, which has cost her so dearly, is a stark reminder of how right she was: she’d been to hell and back while managing to keep him earthbound.

Her lower lip quivers, rosy cheeks glistening with trails of tears.

“I know you’ve lost so much in so short a time. I understand that better than anyone. But I’m still trying to move forward, trying to be there for you — keeping it together so that one of us isn’t falling apart; while you treat me as if I’m nothing but a chore.”

“I…”

How could he never have known she felt this way? He was aware that his callousness affected her, but…she had always been the more solid of the two of them. Things that bothered him rolled right off of the armor on her shoulders, and most times you would never know you’d hurt her until the lid on her temperance popped.

For a while now, she’d held it all in for his sake. And he hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even cared — not in the way she deserved.

“You’re right. I’ve been…awful. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry,” he hangs his head, defeated.

“Yes, you have!”

”You don’t deserve any of it.”

”No, I don’t.”

He braces himself for her next blow. Waits for her to finish gathering her things and walk out that door for the last time.

Instead, her boots scuff against the floor as she approaches him, a long, staccato sigh almost close enough to ruffle the hair on his forehead.

“Is the person I met gone?” She says, her voice softer now, weakening. “Is this who you are now? Do you even…do you even love me anymore?”

That she had to ask such a question was nearly laughable. Practically from the moment they’d met, she’d been his laughter, his drive, his rock; most of his damned reason for continuing to exist in such an unforgivable world. Yet there she stood, believing she meant nothing at all.

It would become one of his deepest regrets. After emassing so, so many of them, Sebastian could not let this one haunt him, too.

“Of course I do.” He erases the distance between them, hands framing her face as if she’s something precious (and she is). “I may be rubbish at showing it lately, but I have never stopped loving you. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

She was motionless when he first touched her, but now she tilts her head just slightly into his palm, shimmering eyes staring unflinchingly into his.

“That boy you met in fifth year is still here. Changed, yes, but not gone. I’m still the man who loves you, who would do anything for you — including admit he’s been a terrible partner and vow to make it up to you,” he murmurs.

“Seb…”

The uncertainty in her voice is plain — she doesn’t quite trust him any longer. Still, a hand covers one of his own, her voice gentler as she says, “I’ve felt so alone these past months. Longer than that, really, but since we’ve left school…it’s been unbearably lonely. It doesn’t even feel like you’re here anymore.”

Sebastian’s thumbs caress her cheeks, smearing saltwater where more tears fall. “I am. I’m here. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

To prove it, he leans in, the tip of his nose nuzzling against hers to a shaky little inhale that makes his hair stand on end. Her face tilts up, allowing their lips the softest meeting that’s no more than a whisper while the anticipation — the craving to kiss her again after weeks without her touch — slowly drives him rabid.

So he takes the initiative. Rough fingers seek the hair at the nape of her neck to tangle in, and when they find a messy chignon, he pulls the ribbon until the locks tumble free down her back.

The shine in her eyes before he kisses her, how her lips part in anticipation of meeting his…how did he ever think he’d be able to survive without this?

“Darling,” he sighs into her mouth. “I’ve missed you…”

If the way she opens up to him, like a flower in bloom, is any indication, she’s missed him too. Her reply comes in the form of grabby hands fisting in the front of his linen shirt and teeth that catch his bottom lip, drawing him nearer, injecting pure heat into his bloodstream.

And suddenly, between her warmth and the hearth that seems to burn brighter once more in her presence, it’s far too hot in the small cottage. Seeking relief, he pries her hands free to tear the shirt off his back before it's carelessly tossed onto the dining table. Her cloak falls to the floor in a heap; then her blouse; her shoes kicked off – he trips on one in his haste to hoist her atop the cloth-strewn table – and he’s already unbuttoning her skirt when she stops him.

Sebastian nearly whines.

“I need you know you mean it this time,” she asserts, lips already swollen from his kisses. “That things are going to change.”

“You think I’m trying to placate you with sex?”

Her pointed look screams, As if you’ve never done that before.

He sighs. Tries to remind himself of the gravity of this night (even though his aching core probably couldn’t give less of a damn), that he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself. She needs his undivided, patient attention.

“I promise,” Sebastian kisses both cheeks, her nose, her chin, before ending up back at her lips. “This is only the first part of my apology…if you’re willing to accept it.”

A smile dimples her skin no matter how hard she tries to stifle it. To his great relief, her palms flatten over his chest, feeling the steady gallop of his heart, twisting up around his neck to draw him nearer until his thighs hit the wooden edge of the table. Her legs part to welcome him readily.

“It better be one hell of an apology.”

With a chuckle, he resumes his mission to remove her skirt with practiced efficiency. “Good thing I’ve had loads of practice.”

Despite seeing her in varying states of undress countless times, it never grew old. Having her stripped to her stockings, corset, and the lacy little style of chemise she preferred to wear now… well, it was a reminder of what he’d been taking for granted, and Sebastian intended to fully appreciate it again.

——

In the afterglow, he finds a peace he hasn’t experienced in weeks.

Sebastian’s breathing slows, heart relaxing into its regular rhythm while the sweat dries on their naked bodies. Hers is nestled into the curve of his like the missing piece of a puzzle he’d thought he’d lost.

As he lets himself melt into the mattress, boneless and satiated with his head cradled by the pillow they share, something cold and wet splashes on his nose. Sebastian’s head tips back, eyes squinting to zero in on an almost imperceptible gap in that thatched roof.

It’s easily repaired with a wave of his wand, the drop of rain wiped away, but he curses at the heavens regardless.

“You know,” he muses, drawing the witch beside him tight up against his side to brush his lips over her temple. “I think it’s high time we found a place of our own.”

“This is ours, now,” she nuzzles his cheek like a contended cat.

“But it’s not, really. It’s never been mine — this place was always Solomon’s house to me. It never felt like a…like a proper home.”

She watches him in contemplative silence, waiting for him to continue.

Sebastian takes in the cottage; the memories he lives in: the tea set in the china cabinet with a chipped cup, the nearly empty potion bottles he’d neglected to throw away after Anne no longer had need of them, the scorch mark seared into the wall from an experimental spell gone awry. His past is written here, as is his family’s, but now it feels more like ancient history.

One he’s now desperate to leave behind to make room for something new.

How can he move on and heal if he’s still clinging to scraps of a life he’ll never get back?

Before he can voice this, she snatches the words right from his lips with a kiss.

“Then…we’ll find a new one,” her whisper is full of promise. “We could get a flat in the city, or a cottage in one of the hamlets further South — you always did love Maurenweem.”

He turns this over in his head, tastes the idea, and finds it lacking. There’s something about moving into a place that had once been owned by someone else; likely inhabited by a different set of ghosts, stained by others’ memories, that doesn’t feel right. No, that won’t do at all.

“What if we build our own home instead?”

Her brows raise at the question. “Build one? I admire your ambition, Seb, but you’re a Cursebreaker — not a craftsman.”

“I’m sure with a bit of help and a little ancient magic, we would figure it out. It could be fun; we’d get to make our home exactly the way we want it, and then we would be beholden to any renters or nosy neighbors,” he reasons.

She studies him again, trying to figure out whether he was serious until a smile eventually blooms on her well-kissed mouth.

“Alright. Let’s do it. A place of our own.”

”Really? You mean it?”

“Mhmm. But we should start now; before winter comes. Oh, Merlin, there’s so much to do — we’ve got to pick a location, draw up the schematics, purchase supplies…”

Sebastian didn’t care so much for the logistics. All he hears is that she wanted this; still intends to build a life with him (a home), to stay by his side. The rest of her rambling fizzles out when he rolls on top of her, her soft giggles invigorating him like he’d just downed a glass of sparkling wine as his body settles into its rightful place between her thighs.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he murmurs peppering kisses along her throat. “But for tonight, the only real estate I’m concerned about exploring is right here in this bed.”

——

Three months later:

As the grandfather clock (the one relic from the old house that had survived the move) tolls the midnight hour, Sebastian bids the last guests goodnight, waving to Imelda and Poppy before they Disapparate from the grassy knoll outside the cottage.

His witch is already cleaning up the remnants of the night’s festivities. The empty bottle of wine has been repurposed into a vase brimming with a spray of chrysanthemums, and glasses fly into the soap-filled sink, one narrowly missing his head when he crosses the foyer to wrap his arms around her waist.

“Happy, are we?” She grins at the gentle hum he lets out, setting down her wand on the dining table.

“I’d say we can call our first housewarming party a success,” he confirms.

After painstaking efforts that included several early renovations and more manual labor than even Sebastian had anticipated, the relief he felt at settling into their new home was staggering. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t dread crossing the threshold — at the end of each long day at work or running errands, Sebastian longed for nothing more than the comforts of their cozy abode nestled in the Scottish lowlands, and even the nightmares had begun to fade with each night in their brand-new bed.

The ghosts would always be there, of course, just in his memory instead.

“I’m proud of you,” she reaches up to tuck away an errant lock of hair, affection shining in her luminous eyes. “I wasn’t sure about all of this at first, but…now that we’ve settled in, it just feels…right. You know? Like this is where we’re supposed to end up.”

He chuckles. “Corny of you. But I know exactly what you mean.”

Once they’re curled up in bed, her nestled in his lap with the flickering glow of a candle spilling over the rumpled sheets and the worn pages of the book Sebastian reads to her in a lulling whisper, he’s struck by the sense that he is precisely where he’s meant to be.

Gods, he never thought he’d get that feeling back.

“We’ll finish tomorrow night,” he yawns. “I’m so tired, I can hardly read the words any more.”

“Aww, but I want to know what happens! Does Pip ever return from Egypt? What about Estella? Will he ever see her again?” His witch pouts even as she allows him to drag the covers over them both.

Sebastian sighs, snuffing out the candle and settling in beside her.

“All I’ll say is…they live happily ever after.”

”You’re no fun.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s not the change of scenery or the absence of a grave in his backyard that offers the sanctuary Sebastisn’s always longed for. For a while now, he’s known the truth in his bones: that his true home wasn’t four wooden walls and a hearth — it was her strength that kept his foundation standing, and love that kept him warm.

In their sacred little corner of the world, that fire never burns out.

#might have started this a couple months ago…where’s my world’s slowest writer plaque #even though mc is unnamed we all know. It’s a variant of Raegan. I can’t write Seb without her now 😩#did this kind of turn into a character study?#anyway the crane wives are ridiculously hl/hp coded so go bless your ears with them pls #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #Sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #writing

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