#the trial of solomon

[aboutdoramas]

#kdramawomensweek - Day 2: "It" Girl

✦ Prosecutor Ko Seo Yeon - Solomon's Perjury

[traeumenvonbuechern]

Queer Books To Read If You Love "Percy Jackson"

Excited about the new Percy Jackson series? Read these books!

Book titles:

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas

Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor by Xiran Jay Zhao

Cameron Battle and the Hidden Kingdoms by Jamar J. Perry

Juniper Harvey and the Vanishing Kingdom by Nina Varela

Ring of Solomon by Aden Polydoros

Tiger Honor by Yoon Ha Lee

[melverie]

THERE'S A CONNECTION HERE SOMEWHERE I CAN FEEL IT

[perenial]

just went on a ghost tour at a convict gaol and one of those cunts gave me a headache ://

[solomiracle]

they really just throwing darts at a wall when it comes to nightbringer's story arcs ain't they

[avalior]

While it was strongly claimed during Cosmic Turnabout that Clay caused Solomon's unconsciousness by overdosing him on his anxiety medication, this was not the case.

Solomon's PTSD would likely be treated with SSRIs, with the most likely prescriptions being venlafaxine, sertraline, or paroxetine. Of these three, only sertraline has an explicit side effect of potential loss of consciousness -- however, experiencing this side effect would be cause for hospitalisation and would not be conducive to space travel once Solomon was conscious. The only other alternative would be to cause serotonin syndrome by forcing Solomon's serotonin levels to spike beyond control, through either a medication overdose or combining his existing medication with other tablets to raise his serotonin.

However, serotonin syndrome would also run considerable risk of seizures and arrhythmia, which again would not be conducive to space travel and would be far too inexact as to how much of the medication to give Solomon without a) killing him b) causing him to be entirely unfit for space travel, rather than just knocked out for the launch and c) causing any of the other side effects of serotonin syndrome instead of unconsciousness in isolation.

This also does not tally with Simon explicitly stating that traces of medication were found in Solomon's system -- presuming Solomon had blood drawn shortly following Clay's attempted murder being discovered and police arriving, there is no feasible way that Solomon's unconsciousness could have been induced by his medication as the volume needed to cause the unconsciousness would show in far higher quantities in bloodwork than just "traces".

In truth, Clay assisted Yuri in 'managing' Solomon's anxiety with the launch by including generic sleeping tablets in his usual medication, passing them off as additional vitamins and assisting in this deception by taking visually similar actual vitamins himself. It was these tablets which caused Solomon's loss of consciousness for the HAT-2 launch; far safer than hamfistedly overdosing Solomon on his medication until he caused unconsciousness.

Clay worked under the assumption, with Yuri's deceitful confirmation, that the drugging was consensual and Solomon was aware of this potential plan, with Solomon being consensually unaware of the details as to avoid further anxiety. Following his recovery from the Phantom's attack, once he is medically cleared, Clay does stand trial for Solomon's spiking on charges of infliction of bodily harm.

[thenothlng]

Can i ask ab like. Solomon if you have any thots

WHAT A GUYYYYY i know 4 some people, the area of the night forest in general and its themes makes them uncomfortable but PERSONALLY 4 me at least, it was rlly interesting! i can say the same thing abt solomon tbh. he rlly is just a guy and if im comparing him to all of the other lemurian heroes, he places like. a solid 3rd for me i think. he doesn't do anything rlly mean to us nor does he rlly "undervalue" the wizard and their help... hes just a little goofy sometimes (more thoughts in the tags :3)

[thedivinelights]

yooo your story is so good. I love how you written everyone, they all seem so in character! And that you extended on the split second we saw in the movie of Isabelle's future!!! Giving her family names and backstory and personality >:0!!! and that it's centered on Isabelle and Ebenezer ;w;.the story has inspired me to write a fic of my own but its just a self insert honestly lol im not even good at writing but here we are!

Yeah, I honestly just sat at the scene with Isabel's family and squinted to make sure everything stayed as canon as I could possibly make it. I'm glad everyone likes it! I hope I've inspired you to write more. It's a very relaxing thing to do, in my opinion! Fun fact: The name 'Solomon Rothschild' comes from a very, very obscure comedy play by the name of 'The Trial of Ebenezer Scrooge' where Ebenezer is basically suing Jacob Marley and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future for breaking and entering, kidnapping, slander, pain and suffering, attempted murder and the intentional infliction of emotional distress. He does this so that the ghosts haunt everyday instead of just on Christmas, and Solomon was the defense attorney for the ghosts. I highly suggest checking it out if you have time!

[mightaswelljxmp]

hm ok so interestingly, bdubs’s courthouse is built on an odd number of blocks. note the roof of the facade coming to a point, but more importantly, the nine pillars….

you don’t use an odd number of pillars. like ever.

let me get this out of the way first: i get why you’d build with odd numbers in minecraft. i usually do it myself, to not run into problems like double doors or two-wide pointed roofs or frustrating spacing/symmetry between decorative elements. however. to not even out the design of something so unequivocally done in every other example of columns and pillars…. fascinating implications…

every other example guys. every other building with columns like this has an even number of them.

doing so sets the line of symmetry at an invisible point between two pillars, an even number on each side. but an odd total number of pillars makes the central pillar itself the line of symmetry. this does a couple things.

one, it upends the sense of community and equality. which i know sounds crazy, but really, a group of columns are all put there to hold up a structure. there’s no focus on one because they are all are working as supports.

symbolically, at least when first used in ancient greece, pillars represented people. and it makes sense for courthouses, especially, to want to show an even, fair, equal number of people on each side. no focus on any one, no inherent bias right off the bat just looking at it.

with an odd number of pillars, though, one will always be placed front and center.

and THEN. and then you walk in the courtroom itself (also odd-numbered blocks) and you are immediately opposite the judge, bdubs, located exactly centrally. and true, courtrooms are often set up like this anyway. but bdubs ups the ante and reaffirms that no, focus is on him by staging it all as a daytime court show, boom mic just over his head, cameras pointed in, spotlights on him.

literally by design, it was not built for justice. it’s built for show, for entertainment. and just look at the credits to know exactly what sort of message you’re supposed to be getting from this show.

the biblical story he used, with king solomon. it’s about king solomon. isn’t really about the trial itself, or the babies, or the women. it’s about showing (off) how wise and just he is. that’s the point. hm. interesting.

now, getting to the second point that etho also picked up on: it feels like a prison.

it’s not just the color palette. when your eyes naturally draw to the center point, you aren’t seeing an open space. instead of feeling like an arch or gateway or otherwise some kind of opening, the pillar there makes it feel closed off. the overall effect is that of prison bars. not pillars lining the entrance to a place of order or a temple. bars of a cage, a cell.

imagine the lincoln memorial were set up with 11 or 13 pillars. he’d look so much more trapped in there.

having a central pillar blocks the entrance. it’s not welcoming. you have to go around it; it’s immediately inconveniencing you. and when you go to leave, it’s there blocking you again.

this courthouse was not designed and built to be fair, nor accomodating, nor equitable, on any terms. even if unintentional, i wouldn’t call it so much coincidental as i would… subconscious.

after all, y’know. form follows function.

[onyourowndaisymae]

when solomon falls in love

content + warnings: solomon x reader, angst with a happy ending, there is a deep sadness within solomon but i can fix him, minor discussions of s3 plot points // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.5k

the day solomon realizes he's in love with you is the worst day of his life, he thinks, in the first moment he realizes.

solomon's had a lot of terrible days. from simple ones-- caught in the rain, misplaced keys, harsh words spoken by people he cares about-- to life-altering, fate-changing hellish days. he's been around for centuries, and admittedly conjured himself up some pretty shitty karma. this day, however, tops the list.

because the moment solomon realizes he's in love with you is the moment he realizes he'll never have you.

it's a rare moment the both of you are sharing. the two of you are alone in a coffee shop in some quaint corner of the human realm. your trials with the sorcerer society have been wearing on you, so solomon saw it fitting to sweep his adorable little apprentice away for some well-deserved down time.

it's dawn here. sunlight peaks through the clouds, painting the gray skies a vibrant orange through the shop's large windows. the sunlight tickles your cheekbones, occasionally catching your eyes and making them flutter as you dodge the blinding sunbeams. how long has it been since solomon's seen you in the daylight? the devildom is beautiful, but it's dark and dim during all hours of the day. he's used to seeing you under city lights, shop signs and advertisements in neon colors dancing across your features. or under the warm-but-artificial house lights in all the buildings down there, cozy but not quite the same. no, you look best in daylight. golden, pure daylight, trickling through the cosmos just so he can see every detail on your face.

he wants to memorize you. he wants to etch your features into his brain so that he'll be able to remember you far into the future. the coming days are uncertain. licensure into the sorcerer's society is not exactly easy-- you'll have your work cut out for you if you continue down this path. maybe somewhere along the way you'll find yourself content instead with a simple life in the human realm, shedding the devildom like a winter coat in spring when your life begins a new chapter. he's always worried about you, about losing you, about a day when you'll bid him goodbye for good. obsessive? he likes to think of it as "sentimental". and he's never been this sentimental for anyone else but you.

you take a sip of your drink with a small smile. it's cold outside, the subtle chill of autumn beginning to fade into the biting cold of winter. the drink in your hands is warm, and you cup it between your between your palms for warmth. he smiles. his own drink is smooth and a little bitter. solomon he grabs the last sugar packet from the center of the table and dumps it in, swirling the mixture around the distribute the sweetness. then he folds the trash into a compact ball. there's a dink! as he flicks it at you, hitting your cheek gently before it falls onto the table. you laugh at his antics. it's the best sound he's ever heard.

"gotcha."

"what are you, seven?"

"you're just mad i have good aim."

"yeah, yeah, whatever, old man. do... do you mind if i ask you a question?"

"anything."

you proceed to ask him how he found this place. technically, it's not even in the country you're from... he laughs and explains how he found it. he likes when your attention is focused all in on him. your eyes get this certain glint to them as you listen, like he's the only person you care about in that moment. he'd kill to see that look anywhere else-- could you imagine the faces of the demon brothers should you look at him so attentively around them?

solomon swallows down the lump of jealousy rising in his throat. that's the thing. you don't look at him like that in front of anyone else.

his next sip of coffee tastes bitter, more so than before-- he can't blame the shop, nor the sugar packet for the taste, but instead the acid creeping up his throat from the mere displeasure of the idea. it's so very solomon to ruin his own good time with a nasty thought.

why?

why does he do this to himself? to cherish something so delicate even though he knows it will shatter under the weight of life's circumstances?

that's because solomon's in love with you. and love doesn't always listen to reason.

he has toyed around with the idea of loving you for awhile. he doesn't want to. he doesn't want to always be the petulant, lost child he once was, always reaching for things he was never destined to have. when he was young, he craved freedom. as an adult, power. and now, further along in his life, he wants you.

you seem to notice the sour look on his face. your eyebrows furrow as you ask him what's wrong. it's instinct that guides him to brush you off, to give you a big smile and feign attention into whatever you begin talking about next.

does he deserve you? probably not. his sins probably outweigh that of any lower demon. he's lied and cheated, fucked people over in ways unimaginable to someone like you. you're a blank slate, a clean ledger, yet to ruin your own life. or maybe you won't. you've always been better than him that way.

will he ever distance himself to heal from the wounds of unrequited love? probably not. he'll stick by your side as you inevitably choose one of the demon brothers or angels or royals over him-- he won't blame you. of all the fascinating people you've met, he understands the allure of a human like him is dim in comparison. no hard feelings. he can't ever seem to muster up anything sour towards you.

"are you listening?" you finally ask, loud enough to grab his attention. he shakes his head with a small chuckle.

"sorry. i'm... a bit scatterbrained today. what were you saying?"

you huff. "i was telling you a story, but i bent my straw too far and it broke."

you bend it again to show him the damage. sure enough, it's snapped under the weight of your fidgeting. solomon's lips curl into a sympathetic pout.

"i can grab you another."

"nah, it's okay. i've got it."

you rise from your seat and walk to the counter of the coffee place. solomon takes a deep breath and steals his resolve. all this self-loathing and pining is making him a bad friend, and you deserve much better than to talk to a brick wall. he sighs. so what if he's in love with you? so what if he's lost in the tumult of his own feelings? he needs to get it together and enjoy this time with you before you return to the devildom, and he has to share you aga--

"excuse me?"

"yes? how can i help you?"

"can i get another straw? oh, and can i get some more of those little sugar packets? my boyfriend used the last one on the table."

"of course! give me one moment--"

...

what?

his brain almost completely shuts down hearing those words leave your lips. he subtly looks around to see if anyone else is in the coffee shop-- there's a man in the corner reading his paper and two teenagers huddled over iced coffee. no, none of them are at your table, using the last sugar packet like he did, your boyfriend--

"close your mouth. you're attracting flies," you say quietly, sliding a few sugar packets over to him.

he's... flabbergasted, honestly. during the entirety of his downward spiral, never once did he anticipate this outcome. you... you wanted him?

his lips pull into a smirk-- it's more of a grin than he wanted, but he just can't help himself right now. he's damn near giddy at your indirect confession.

"boyfriend? you wouldn't happen to be referring to me, would you?"

"that's why you brought me here, right?"

that question catches him off-guard. honestly, no. he just wanted some time to breathe with you, without obligations or demons ready to pounce for your attention. but the way your lips curl around the straw between them makes his heart race.

"... and if i did?"

"then i would say this is a pretty good date spot. now, pay attention when i talk, old man."

as attentive as he aims to be, he just can't stop his mind from wandering. you're his. all of the fear and angst wash away as the sun shines brightly on your table, illuminating the delicate wood grain beneath his trembling fingers. and for once, solomon doesn't worry about what will happen if he lets himself love you.

maybe this day isn't so bad after all.

taglist for this series: @deepseafragments // @darkflowerav // @annoying-and-upset

[ivediedmorethan20times]

Barbatos: I really wish you were found guilty during the Salem witch trials..

Solomon:…I wasn’t even alive in that time period. I was born 20 years after it ended

Barbatos: Then I will send you back there do NOT test me

[still-a-morosexual-help]

SHUT UP SHUT UP CONFIRMATION THAT BARBATOS HAS BEEN LOOKING AFTER DIAVOLO SINCE HE WAS A CHILD!!!!!!????

DIAVOLO'S SO DESPERATE FOR APPROVAL AND ACCEPTANCE FROM HIS FATHER BUT HIS REAL DAD LOVES HIM SO MUCH, THINKS HE'S ADORABLE AND WOULD BURN DOWN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE FOR HIM

also gives more layers to the fact that in Diavolo's trial it was a vision of Barbatos who was telling him he'll never get his father's approval

Also going insane about the Barbatos-Solomon-Thirteen friendship could literally write an essay length post about their dynamic

Obey me's so fundamentally about found family that it's killing me there's lilith & the brothers & MC, there's simeon & luke, there's barbatos & diavolo, you could even say that there's thirteen & solomon though neither of them would admit it

[postmoe]

Obey Me! Student Council Pet Reader

im just feeling some obey me yanno. non-con, sharing, dub-con, female reader for the end part, pet darling, demons being pervy, cum eating, idolisation, humiliation

.

imagine though that you're the pet of the student council. You had to go through all these trials and such for a seat at the table, or more so, beneath the table and tending to the members.

Ha! You really thought a mere human could be on par with literal demons? You're funny.

Most meetings start with everyone filing in as you're done servicing someone, usually Diavolo or Lucifer. On the bright side, it is very rare anyone misses them anymore!

Barbatos helps prepare tea for everyone, and you're dressed in maid rendition of the school uniform to serve everyone as they talk.

"How about you, (Y/n)? Any ideas for the upcoming festival?" Diavolo will still include you in decisions and such, he thinks your ideas are cute and likes to watch you stammer.

Good luck getting a full sentence out without someone cutting in with something snarky or cooing. "Uhm... Maybe we could have a fairy floss machine that creates different moulds- aaHh~"

Mammon snickers, the control in his hand turned up as the vibrator inside you goes hard. Various games and good behaviour can get them to be in charge of you, to 'play' with you during meetings.

On one of the boards is a star chart and when a member gets fifteen stars for good behaviour or doing something that helps RAD, they get to have you all meeting.

Oh and don't think you can't participate during the meetings because punishments aren't fun. You can try and skip meetings but they can find you easily, especially when there's magic involved. Hiding in a corner won't work either. You better engage with everyone.

One form of punishment had you tied tightly and kneeling on the council table, gagged and blindfolded and exposed for everyone to probe and ogle. By the end you were a crying, wet mess.

Then there are the public punishments, being walked around the school on a leash, only allowed to bark or meow when someone talks to you. Do tricks and obey, don't you dare bite back or they'll make you piss like a male dog in front of everyone again.

You're treated much nicer when you follow their rules. Don't be so uptight, though, a little bratty behaviour is fun! Just... Judge their reactions carefully because if someone isn't in the mood then...

You go between HoL and the Demon Lord's Castle, shared amongst everyone. How caring they are to share you.

It's not just the council though, their friends get some taste as well. Solomon, Simeon, Raphael...

...

Mephistopheles swallows thickly as he stands outside the barely open door to the student council room. His cock is throbbing as all he can hear is the schlicking sound of your pussy getting fucked. The question of 'by who?' is soon answered when his most revered idol speaks.

"You're doing so well, my pet. Just a little more," Lord Diavolo groans, and only Mephisto's mind can fill in the gaps as he dares not disturb him, even though he was personally asked to come here.

A few more sounds, yours and Lord Diavolo's long, drawn out moans, and then only panting remains when he realises that his cock is starting to hurt from all this auditory stimulation. Surely, he cannot go in in this state? He must relieve himself quickly before-

"Mephistopheles, you may enter!" Lord Diavolo calls from inside, his cheery voice making the demon visibly cringe at the state he was currently in.

The sight before him, oh dear lord. Barbatos is standing to the side of his master whose cock was still currently inside your hole. Your fucked out, skin tinged with a flush and sweat dripping down your forehead. Lord Diavolo has just finished tying your hands behind your back before he holds his hand out towards Barbatos.

Barbatos gives him a sex plug, to which he uses to plug his cum inside you once he removes himself. With a large smile, he beckons Mephisto forward, "Your most recent article was magnificent! It really captured the work we are trying to do here at RAD, we even got some wonderful reviews from the Reaper and Vampire society."

Mephisto barely looks at you, though his eyes dart to the trickle of white down your thighs, "Th-Thank you, Lord Diavolo. It's an honour to hear you say that."

His king laughs merrily, and then, he holds you out towards the reporter, "A gift, Mephistopheles. You may use (Y/n) for the rest of the afternoon. Lucifer will come to collect her by sundown."

This was... He was allowing HIM of all demons to play with his precious pet?! And not just that, but, you were still full of his majesty's ejaculate! "I- I mean-," he was wordless, is this all a dream?

As he robotically takes your tired form into his arms, Barbatos speaks, "Of course, please do be gentle with our human. You may do as you like as long as you don't harm her or mark her in any way. Of course, a few finger prints won't be an issue. Please make sure they are shallow enough so they disappear within the night. It is a great privilege my master has bestowed upon you."

Mephisto bows with you in his arms, holding you like the delicate prize you are, "Absolutely! Thank you so much, Lord Diavolo! I will treat her with the utmost care."

"That's more like it," he encourages his enthusiasm, "Now go and have fun!"

.

Mephisto is shaking by the time he reaches the Newspaper Club's room. It's just he and you, now, your arms tied neatly like a gift. He sits you gently on the coffee table and takes a seat on the lounge in front of you.

You have found your voice now as you regard him, "Mephisto. Why did you accept this, I thought you hated me?"

He scoffs, his fingers intertwined as he rests his hands at his mouth, "Your existence is inconvenient but... Fuck. Look at you. Covered in Lord Diavolo's scent."

"Ah, I see," you breathe out, shifting in your spot, "Mephisto, I'm cold."

He hums, the only acknowledgement that he's heard you is when he stands to adjust the temperature in the room. The AC blares as it evens out, and though it's nice to feel the warmth, you're still startled by the heat of his large hands on your thighs. He spreads you open and kneels before you, poking at the bedazzled plug in your pussy. Carefully, he pulls the toy out and watches in amazement as you start to leak from the sheer amount of love his lord had bestowed upon you. Mephisto brings the plug to his nose and inhales, groaning at the strong scent it held.

He lifts your arse up a bit to prevent it all from escaping, though you already feel uncomfortable by the slimy essence dribbling out of your cunt. "This feels gross, can't you clean me up already?"

The glare he gives you is comparable to disgust, "Don't speak like that about Lord Diavolo's gift to you. You are the luckiest being in existence and you still dare to complain." He hoists your legs over his shoulders, bringing you forward so that his hot breath is over your pussy, "Though, I suppose I can tidy you up a bit."

His mouth is over your sensitive cunt in no time, open mouth kisses and tongue digging into your hole to scoop out his lord's cum. Tasting Lord Diavolo's cum. Eating his demon lord's cum out of his pet's hole-!

It's enough to make his wet his pants with his own orgasm, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he ruts his face against your hips and his pelvis into the edge of the table. You're writhing, his advance far more enjoyable than you'd care to admit. It takes a lot of effort for him to pull away, panting, "No, I must save some." He stands and unzips his pants, licking his now wet face and freeing his gooey, straining cock, "I want to feel what it's like to fuck you while he's still inside you, to mix our cum. Oh, do I dare? Am I worthy enough?"

Staring at you spread open for him, a gift from Lord Diavolo himself and still full of him, the resounding silence answers back, 'Yes.'

..

By the end of your time with Mephisto, he has you wiped down and in an oversized RAD coat from the lost and found. He regards Lucifer with a tight smile, handing you over to the Pride demon, "Aha, you'll see I took very good care of Lord Diavolo's pet. Not a mark in sight. She may even want to come back."

Lucifer carries you close to his chest, your slow breathing indicating how tired you are. You close your eyes and lean against him, his fingers moving stray hairs from your face, "I'll be the judge of that once Diavolo and I go over her during our bath together. After all, we will be staying at his castle tonight."

The jab was a direct hit to Mephisto, who spouted curses at the vice president as he proudly walked away. You nuzzled into the warmth his provided, sighing, "He was actually really nice to me... Sorta."

Lucifer smiles, a light chuckle rumbling through his chest, "Is that so? I'll just have to make up the difference then, won't I?"

[neil-gaiman]

I have a question about Good Omens S2.

In 1692, Giles Corey of Salem, Massachusetts, was accused of witchcraft and refused to plead guilty or not guilty. To compel a plea so the trial could proceed, he was laid on the ground and rocks piled on top of him. With his final words, what did he allegedly ask for more of?

Also, according to the first book of Kings, when Solomon was building the Temple in Jerusalem he hired a bronzeworker named Hiram from Tyre. Among other things, Hiram created a very large basin, capable of holding "two thousand baths." In English translations, this basin is variously described as a molten, brazen, or cast what?

Weight. And sea.

[cursedonyx]

The Bars Between Us

Sebastian Sallow x MC

Oneshot AU in which Sebastian was sent to Azkaban despite Ominis and MC (named Dracaena in this fic because it’s my current favourite name) trying to keep his secrets. Ominis and Dracaena spent the next several years trying to free him, and eventually succeed. Sebastian is not the same, Azkaban has sapped him of everything he once was, but a little TLC from the woman he has always loved sets him back on track.

Word Count – 8.6k

Warnings – Angst, traumatised Sebastian, aftermath of Azkaban, engaged Ominis/MC, Ominis approves MC sleeping with Seb, seriously Seb’s been through the wringer, Azkaban is horrible, nursing Seb back to health, smut (MDNI), handjob M!receiving, oral M!receiving, sub!Sebastian, MC feels a bit guilty bc her boy is a wreck

Six years.

It had been six years since the terrible events of fifth year, and six years since Sebastian had stood trial for the murder of Solomon Sallow. Six years since he was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Six years since Dracaena and Ominis had scrambled to find out who had condemned him, and vowed to make it right.

No sooner had they left Hogwarts, not able to fully appreciate the finality of riding the little boats across the Black Lake towards Hogsmeade station, leaving behind the place in which they had matured into adults, leaving behind the wonders and horrors in equal parts, that they both signed up for jobs at the Ministry for Magic, working in Magical Law Enforcement, searching for some kind of loophole, some kind of law, some kind of anything that would get their best friend released from hell.

After four agonising years, they managed it. Together, pouring over paperwork by candlelight until the small hours for months, they built a solid defence, their unwavering logic and staunch reasoning standing up to the needlepoint scrutiny of the powers that be. Of course, they knew it was a long shot all the same. The Ministry simply didn’t care about extenuating circumstances, considering those incarcerated to be less than human, doomed to serve their time no matter what new evidence came to light.

Ominis had to throw his weight around a bit. Subtle, hissed threats, muttered warnings and an overuse of his famous glare and family name eventually frightened enough people to get those with the ability to make changes to listen. And then Dracaena came in, her fame and her charm the honey to Ominis’ salt, making promises she never intended to keep, assuring those too nervous to make the jump to support them, doing favours that left an unsavoury taste in the back of her throat.

All of it proved worth it in the end. Sebastian’s release papers were handed over, and Dracaena packed a small bag.

“I’ll be a week,” she said to Ominis. “They want him to stay in a sort of halfway house for a while, to make sure he’s not going to go mental and start hexing everyone in sight. Personally, I’m just glad he’s going to get some time to start readjusting to life outside.” She tilted her head. “Won’t you come with me?”

“Best not,” Ominis said, for the fiftieth time, his patience unending. “I don’t want to overwhelm him, and you’ve always known how to calm him down when he gets too… well.”

She chuckled lightly. “That’s assuming he’s not a complete wreck. I hope it’s not affected him too badly.”

“Dove… he’s going to be very different to what we remember,” Ominis replied, resting a hand on her shoulder as she folded her clothes. “He won’t be the Sebastian we knew.”

“I know,” she raised her hand to his, smiling as he looped his other arm around her belly and held her tight. She tilted her head back to rest against his shoulder as he brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I hope he’s forgiven us for not doing more sooner.”

“He’ll have forgiven you,” Ominis said. “He always had a soft spot for you. I rather expect, even after all this time, that he’s still in love with you.”

Dracaena kept her silence. She and Ominis had naturally fallen together towards the end of their sixth year of Hogwarts, their shared experiences and pain leading them to comfort one another, she taking Sebastian and Anne’s place as Ominis’ refuge from his family, moving in together once they’d left the school. In a small way, she was surprised it had taken him as long as it had to propose, presenting her with an elegant ring of emerald and diamond set in white gold six months ago. She’d accepted gladly, though a tiny part of her mourned what that meant for Sebastian.

She loved Ominis with all her heart and more. She adored his gentleness, his respect, his kindness and consideration. She admired his steel, the restrained fury with which he dealt with their enemies, both inside and outside of work, his searing wit and boundless intelligence. She relished his talent as a wizard, and fell in love with him over and over again with each morning they woke beside each other, still spent from their passions, safe in each other’s arms.

But she still loved Sebastian.

Ominis tightened his arm around her.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “I know how you felt about him. I know how you feel. If things hadn’t ended the way they did, I would have expected the pair of you to be married by now.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Dracaena… he’s my best friend. I want him to stay with us. We have the room, and he’d be safer than if he was just left to try and survive by himself after all he will have been through. I know you and him well enough to know you’re drawn to each other.”

“But I’m yours,” she whispered, moving his hand to brush over her ring. “Remember?”

He shrugged. “I know. I trust you. I know that if you said nothing would happen between you, I would believe you because it would be true. But you’d be unhappy. You both would. I know you’re not going to leave me for him, Dracaena, but I know you also make each other happy. He’s going to need all the love and support he can get once he’s out. I’d hope that you can give that to him.”

She tilted her head. “Ominis… are you giving me permission to… play away with your best friend?”

He chuckled. “Don’t cheapen it,” his elegant fingers found her cheek, tilting her head so he could kiss her full. “I’m telling you that if you two happen to come together again, I support it. Didn’t you once tell me you’d have liked it if you could have had us both?”

“I was drunk!” she protested, giggling as he dug his fingers into her ribs, ticking her gently. “You can’t use that against me!”

“I can and will,” he laughed, holding her tight. “I mean it, Dracaena. I don’t mind at all, so long as it’s only him. He’s my brother as far as I’m concerned, and I trust you both.”

“You might regret it,” Dracaena warned.

“If I do, we’ll talk about it, and find a way to resolve it,” he said, releasing her at last. “Go on now, you need to get to the dock. Send me an owl once he’s settled.”

“I will.”

He brushed a hand over her cheek. “See you in a week. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

_.-~*~-._

The sky was a stormy grey, and the waves below were similarly sullen. They crashed against the side of the boat, sending salty sprays onto the deck as if it was their mission to knock the vessel off course.

Dracaena sat between two stern faced Aurors, her hands folded in her lap. She’d left her bag at the halfway house, a modest, three-roomed bungalow surrounded by similar buildings, grey bricked and dour looking. She had perched on one of the rickety chairs by the small, circular dining table as one of the Aurors explained to her that Sebastian would be under careful watch for the first year following his release, and any missteps would see him sent right back to Azkaban.

She’d only half listened as he went over an itemised list for what she should do during her week’s stay at the halfway house, pinning a sheet of parchment to the wall with the details. She was only to feed him small meals, as he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything more. Nothing rich, nothing too fatty, and no alcohol. She’d frowned, asking why.

“Because the prisoners don’t tend to eat,” he’d said, gruffly. “The dementors have to force them in order to keep them alive.”

She’d shivered then, and she shivered now, remembering. They weren’t allowed to leave the halfway house, except for at specific times each day to walk around the complex for ten minutes at a time, to build up his strength. She had to write a detailed report at the end of each day to give to the Aurors, describing their conversations and activities. She was sternly warned that if she didn’t, there would be Trouble. Said Trouble was left unspecified, and she didn’t have the heart to ask.

Dracaena shifted, watching as something huge, angular and black began to rise from the waves, impossibly tall, impossibly wide, made entirely of stone. Only a few small windows lay in the surface, like knife wounds in flesh. Her hands tightened in her lap as dread began to seep under her skin, a visceral fear prickling over her neck and shoulders. She was only going to be there for a short time, to bring her best friend home. She couldn’t imagine how Sebastian would have felt, seeing that pillar of misery approach, believing he would never leave.

She loosed a soft breath, eyeing the distant, tattered black shapes swooping around outside it. He would leave. He would leave with her, and everything would be alright.

The boat approached a yawning cavern at the base of the prison, the Aurors casting a Patronus each, a mouse and a raven. There was a dock in the cavern, the blackness chased away by sparsely placed sconces in the damp, glistening walls. Standing there waiting was a hunched little man, balding on top with buck teeth and a sickly smile. He had a Patronus as well, something that looked like a cross between an ailing puppy and a wall-eyed rat.

Dracaena stepped off the boat, shivering, the feeling of dread still creeping under her clothes and caressing her skin. She set her jaw, drew her wand, and cast a Patronus of her own.

An elegant panther touched its paws to the stone, gazing around imperiously as the Aurors and the little man raised their brows, the dread vanishing from her chest as if it had never been. From the shadows around the walls, several rattling voices gurgled and hissed, as if angry.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“Cell 506,” the little man said, rubbing his hands together with a grin that seemed entirely too cheerful for such a place. “Follow me, my dear.”

The patronuses cast silvery blue light on the walls as they ascended a surprisingly wide staircase, their footsteps echoing. Reaching the first floor, the little man produced a set of keys and unlocked a heavy, barred door.

“No need for magic here,” he cackled. “No one’s got their wands, have they?”

They strode into a cell block, and Dracaena recoiled. The scent of filth was overwhelming, but it was the sounds that chilled her. Her Patronus flickered, moving to stand beside her as desperate sobs filled her ears, tortured cries and garbled, gibbering wails singing in a hellish harmony that echoed off the walls.

The sounds died down as the little man and the Aurors encouraged her on, and though she tried to face forward, to ignore the figures in the cells, she couldn’t help but notice how they scrambled towards the bars, their bony, wasted hands reaching through, stretching for the patronuses as the tattered shadows of the dementors fled their presence. The screams began again as they passed, somehow more agonised than before.

They repeated this four more times, ascending rapidly narrowing staircases and emerging into a new cell block, climbing higher and higher, taunting the prisoners with the promise of relief from their misery in their passing. With each step, Dracaena’s heart beat just a little faster, her grip on her wand increasing, the hackles on her panther Patronus rising as she bared her teeth.

By the time they reached the fifth floor, her palms were sweating. How different would he be? Would the Sebastian she knew and loved still be there, somewhere? Would his eyes still sparkle with the mischief he was so adept at making, at once sliding into fury when he was challenged, and softening whenever he looked at her? She knew he’d be different. He’d look different. He’d act different. But she had to believe he was still there.

No matter her provisions, in the following years, Dracaena didn’t think there was anything on earth that could have prepared her for what she saw when she finally reached Sebastian’s cell.

Unlike so many of the other prisoners, he wasn’t screaming or crying, and he didn’t rush to the bars to feel the passing warmth of the patronuses. He huddled by the wall, next to a narrow mattress and ratty blanket laid directly on the floor. His hair was halfway down to his elbows, thick and matted, almost black with grime. He was dressed as they all were, in a filthy pair of striped trousers and shirt, and they hung loose on his frame. His head was on his arms, resting on his knees, drawn to his chest. The hand she could see was almost skeletal, every inch of boyish puppy fat stripped from his body. His nails were bitten to the quick and filthy, as were his bare feet.

Dracaena raised a hand to the bars, her heart shattering as she took him in, watching as he shivered.

“See, he’s one of the tough ones,” the little man said, with a chuckle. “Just keeps to himself, terribly well behaved. Shame to see him go, really.”

Dracaena tightened her grip on her wand to the point she thought it might snap. She turned to the little man, letting her expression say everything she dared not voice, for if she opened her mouth, she would likely find herself in a cell of her own. The little man seemed to understand, because his sick grin slipped, and he hurried to unlock the cell door. She barged him out the way before he’d even pulled the key from the lock, striding inside and falling to her knees before the broken man she had loved.

“Sebastian?” she whispered, her Patronus sitting in front of the door and glowering. He didn’t move. “Sebastian, it’s time to go.”

He stirred, his fingers tightening on his sleeve. She reached out, brushing a hand over his arm, and he flinched.

“Bassy,” she whispered, the pet name she’d given him both foreign and familiar on her tongue. He tensed, finally raising his head. His chocolate eyes, once so full of life, were dull and defeated above hollow cheeks and a beard that reached his collar. Even so he was familiar to her, the rampant freckles scattering his skin like constellations a siren call to their bond. He blinked, focusing, and didn’t say a word.

“Bassy, it’s time to go,” she said again, cupping his cheek, sliding her thumb over the protruding bone, her fingers winding into the thatch of hair at the back of his neck. He flinched away again, his expression becoming fearful, his eyes darting around the cell.

“Happens sometimes,” the little man said sullenly from beyond the bars. “They forget who they are. Forget who they knew. He’s not said a word in five years, so don’t expect him to. He probably thinks this is some kind of joke.”

She shot another glare that could melt steel through the bars, then shifted her position, grasping Sebastian by the arms and standing, heaving him to his feet.

He came up with almost no resistance, and she staggered, almost flinging him into the air, horrified by how light he was. He made a small sound of muted alarm as he left the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, relaxing her grip. She grabbed for him again when he slumped, his legs refusing to support his weight. She glanced through the bars again as the Aurors stirred.

“We’ll have to drag him,” one said. “Prisoners sometimes forget how to walk, or they just don’t have the will.”

“You’re not dragging anybody,” she spat. She looped an arm around Sebastian’s back, bending to catch his legs, lifting him in her arms like a child. He tensed, then slumped, his head lolling against her shoulder. He was so light, so alarmingly fragile, as if he was made of parchment, ready to tear apart at the slightest movement. Her heart broke again, and her Patronus flickered as she cradled him. Without another word, she marched from the cell, heading for the doors, the other prisoners gibbering as she passed, begging her to take them too, to leave her Patronus, to kill them. She paid them no mind, focusing on holding Sebastian tight to her chest, his feet swinging, his breath rushing over her neck. His hands were folded on his stomach, and one of them slid to her, pinching the fabric of her cloak, then holding gently.

She held him all the way to the dock, refusing to release her grip as she settled back on the boat. She raised a hand to his hair, gently running over the back of his head. It left streaks of grime on her fingers, but she didn’t care. A deep, boiling anger simmered in her chest. Anger for what he’d been put through. Anger that anyone was forced to endure such a hellish place. But mostly, she was furious with herself for allowing this to happen, furious with Ominis for knowing what Azkaban was like, and letting him be taken anyway, the word of some unknown person sealing his fate.

It didn’t matter that they’d spent the next six years trying to find a way to free him. The damage had been done. She felt it in his trembling breath, in the way he held onto her cloak so gently, knowing in her bones that it was the tightest grip he could muster. She wrapped her arms around him more securely, resting her cheek against his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort as her collar grew sodden with his silent tears.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena carried Sebastian over the threshold of the halfway house in much the same way a groom carries his bride. She wasn’t blind to the imagery, and wondered if Ominis would do the same to her once they were married. Would he be able to navigate if his hands were full of her body and not his wand? Probably. He was astonishingly capable, to the point she often wondered if his blindness really was total, like he said. Perhaps he had some Seer blood in him that aided him. It would certainly go a long way to explain how he always seemed to know everything, even things he shouldn’t know.

She kicked the door shut in the faces of the Aurors that had accompanied them.

She eyed the living room of the halfway house, the low sofa facing the kitchenette and dining table. Through one of the doors was a little bedroom, and through the other was a tiny, cramped bathroom. It was towards this that she headed, conjuring a low seat, in which she deposited Sebastian. He was unresponsive as she stood back with a light sigh, gazing down at him and eyeing the stains left on her robes.

She pulled off her cloak and overrobes, standing before him in a simple pair of trousers and vest top, tossing her robes through the still open door, before kneeling down in front of him.

“First order of business,” she said, softly. “We’re here for a week, Bassy. We’ve got a to-do list, but I’ll take care of it as best I can. I’ll need your help, though. Can you do that for me?”

His throat worked a moment, then he gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. Dracaena loosed a soft breath. At least he was listening to her.

“I think you’d feel a lot better after a shower,” she said, keeping her tone low and soothing. “Would you like that?”

Another miniscule nod.

“Can you take care of that, or would you like some help?”

No response to that. She tilted her head, waiting, her hands on his knees, until he glanced at her, his eyes lighting on hers and flicking away again like a moth fluttering about a lantern. They were still dull and hollow, curtained by the matted strands of his hair. She reached up and brushed a hand over it.

“I think we need to give you a haircut,” she said. “I can’t think of a single brush that can save it, I’m afraid, it's too tangled. Can I cut your hair for you? And maybe this?” she ran her hand over the wild beard. “Much as I think a beard suits you, it could do with a trim, don’t you think?”

A tiny nod, ever so slightly more vigorous than the last. She smiled, and reached behind her, fumbling in the cabinet for scissors.

“I’ll save what I can,” she said, taking a ropey strand of his hair between her fingers. “I can’t imagine you’d enjoy being bald.”

A miniscule exhalation. She tilted her head.

“Was that a laugh, darling?”

He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder. She set the scissors aside a moment and wrapped her arms around his back, alarmed to feel the bones of his spine poking through his skin. She held him gently until his arms rose, gripping the back of her top with a featherlight touch. He shivered, his breath trembling on the exhale. She held him tighter, pressing her cheek to his.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, circling her hand over his back. “You’re safe, Bassy. You’re out. You’re not going back there, okay? Once we’ve done what we have to here, you’re going to come and live with me and Ominis. We’ll look after you.”

She felt his jaw clench a moment, then he sat back, meeting her eyes properly for the first time. He held her gaze a long moment, before it dropped to her hands, resting on his knees again. He touched her ring, his skeletal fingers brushing over the emeralds and diamonds. He sighed, seemingly caving in on himself.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the rasp of his throat.

She could have cried, then. God only knew what he’d been thinking when he was trapped in that cell. Had he been hoping she’d come for him? That she’d have waited for him? Had he tortured himself with thoughts of other people getting close to her, loving her? Had he known on some level that she and Ominis would end up together, engaged, and soon to be married? Had he loved her as she loved him once, and wished it was he that slid the ring onto her finger?

What would he think if she told him of Ominis’ offer?

“Thank you,” she said. Best not to overload him. She should have taken her ring off, but it was too late for that now. She raised a hand to his hair again. “I… I’ll be honest, I’ve never done this before. It won’t be a brilliant job, but it’ll help.”

He gave another miniscule nod, and closed his eyes. She gazed at him a while longer, then picked up the scissors, sliding them through the matted tangle of his hair before closing them with a decisive snick.

_.-~*~-._

Shorn of his beard and most of his hair, Sebastian was beginning to look a little more like himself, though his face was terribly gaunt, his cheeks hollow, the sharp lines of his jaw standing out above his brittle neck. Dracaena vanished the pile of hair with a flick of her wand, then reached over to the bathtub, turning on the shower and holding her hand in the stream until it warmed to a comfortable temperature.

“Shall I leave you to it?” she asked. “I can give you some privacy.”

He didn’t answer, his hollow gaze turned inward, slumping slightly in his chair. She took his chin and tilted his face to hers, waiting until his eyes focused. “Bassy, do you want me to help?”

He blinked, slowly, his gaze turning distant again. With a light sigh, Dracaena lowered her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, slowly prying them open, one by one. At each, she paused, looking at him until he gave a tiny nod. She withheld a wince with some difficulty as she gently pulled it from his shoulders, able to see each rib through his skin, streaked with grime. Her heart broke a third time.

“Can you stand?” she asked, gently. “We should get these off too.” She touched the leg of his trousers. He didn’t answer, so she tucked her hands under his arms and rose, bringing him with her. He leaned against her, his arms rising to clutch at her back again as she nimbly undid the drawstring. The clothing crumpled straight to the floor, far too large for his frame. She averted her eyes, helping him step under the stream of warm water, lowering him to sit, and he drew his knees to his chest.

How many times in her fifth year had she wondered what he’d look like under his robes? Countless times, lying awake at night, or daydreaming in class. Now he was here it felt somehow wrong, like a violation to take the opportunity to drink in his form when he was so vulnerable. So she didn’t look, focusing on his face as his short hair plastered to his scalp, the water turning black as it streamed over his skin. She pressed a washcloth into his hands, and he held it, but made no further move.

“Come on darling,” she murmured. “Help me out a little bit?”

No response. With a soft smile, she picked up another washcloth and slid it over his back, applying light pressure to the more stubborn patches of dirt. Sebastian closed his eyes, resting his head on his crossed arms as she soaped his back, his grip on his own cloth tightening a little. And even though she resisted, scolding herself silently, Dracaena couldn’t help but look at him properly. Under the steadily vanishing grime, his back and shoulders were as freckled as his face, fading the further her eyes travelled down his spine and arms. He was a lot paler than she remembered, but then he’d gone from an outdoorsy, adventurous nerd to a prisoner in a cell, not a speck of natural light to be found. She’d have to make sure there was a decent spot in the garden for him to relax, once they were all home.

She nibbled her lip, glancing at his slender thighs, once thick. No freckles there. A few on his calves, none on his feet. She wrenched her gaze away before it strayed any further, and she slipped a hand under his chin, tilting his head back so she could get to his hair. He closed his eyes with a tiny sigh as she rubbed suds through the thick strands, massaging his scalp gently until she was sure every speck of dirt was gone. She pressed a hand to his collarbone.

“Sit up straight, darling,” she whispered. “I need to get to your chest.”

He acquiesced, leaning back until he overbalanced. Dracaena caught him with a startled yelp, an arm around his back, spluttering a little as her head and shoulders entered the shower stream. His legs stretched out as he slumped against her arm, his head turning to her shoulder, his eyes still closed. She caught her breath, blinking water out of her eyes.

“You alright?”

A tiny nod.

She took a breath, and keeping her gaze firmly fixed above his waistline, she moved the cloth over his torso, trying not to admire the fine hair dusting his chest, focusing on removing every speck of dirt she could see. She took her time, because at some point, she was going to have to try to convince him, again, to help himself. There was only so far she could reasonably go when he was so out of it, despite what Ominis had said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look, or to touch… to taste. It wasn’t that she had any problems in taking care of Sebastian in whatever way he needed. It was that he was fresh out of Azkaban, barely four hours free, still confused and addled and traumatised and broken, and she couldn’t assume that he would want anything to do with her at all.

It was still difficult. She shifted, her arm around his back, propping him up as she gripped his shoulder, his head resting against hers, flipping her sodden hair out of her face, her top already soaked. She circled the cloth over his chest a final time, sliding it over his nipple, and he groaned.

The sound was so soft that she thought for a moment she’d imagined it. She paused, swallowed, and repeated the movement. He sighed, tucking his head more firmly against her shoulder, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a stirring.

Dracaena closed her eyes, willing herself to cool the heat rising from under her collar. She was his friend, that was all, helping him after a terrible ordeal. She couldn’t possibly take advantage of him, not now, not when he was vulnerable and needed her to help him. He wasn’t in his right mind. She had to be strong for them both. In time, perhaps she could, but…

She steeled herself and returned to the job at hand, sliding a bar of soap over his stomach and following it with the cloth. The water ran clear over his body, though it still pooled brown and grimy by his feet and legs, and-

She wrenched her eyes back up, glaring at the pale tiles of the bathroom wall.

“You going to give me a hand?” she asked. “I’m getting soaked.”

Again, no response. He slumped against her, his breathing perhaps a little quicker than before. Hardening herself, Dracaena took the washcloth to his thighs, scrubbing perhaps a little firmer than she had before, tucking a hand under his knee to bring his leg closer so she could still support him. Her back was beginning to ache, bent over the bath as she was, but she ignored the dull fire spreading under her shoulder blades, focusing on her task. All the same, she couldn’t help but notice how he shifted, widening his legs with another soft sigh, his hand sliding over her back to grip at her shoulder as she worked. She slid the cloth over the inside of his thigh, and a soft, almost strangled whimper passed his lips as he tilted towards her.

Dracaena had endured many trials in her life. Stopping a goblin rebellion, defeating a power-crazed, dragon-transformed lunatic set on killing her, as well as countless attacks from poachers and Ashwinders, defeating a powerful Dark Wizard in single combat and more. So much more. Still, if anyone had asked her in the later years what she found the most difficult trial of all, she would have said in a heartbeat that ignoring Sebastian’s throbbing erection as she washed him was among the top three.

She did steal a glance or five. She was only human, after all. And by God, he was beautiful. Not quite as long as Ominis, but thicker, a darker shade, the lush pink of Ominis’ love more a light burgundy with Sebastian, and the way he rested against his stomach, his toes curling as the shower stream rushed over him was more intoxicating than heroin. There was nothing more that she wanted than to wrap her hand around his length and draw him to the edge of bliss, to let him revel in the delights so long denied him, to hear him moan and whimper her name…

Again, Ominis’ assurances that he was not only fine with her playing away with Sebastian, but that he expected it ran through her mind. She loosed a soft breath as she moved the washcloth to his hips, his grip increasing on her arm as his breathing rushed past her ear. She set her jaw.

She couldn’t.

“I need to get some things ready,” she said, firmly. “Finish up, Bassy, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She waited until his grip on her arm loosened, helping him sit upright. It pained her to leave him alone, huddled and defenceless as she strode for the door, wringing water from her hair and drying it with a wave of her wand. But she had to. God and Merlin only knew what she would have done otherwise. He was too fresh, too vulnerable. How could she take advantage of him like that? How could she even think it?

Biting her lip, she settled at the small table and drew parchment and quill towards her, penning a short note.

My darling Ominis,

Sebastian is with me in the halfway house, and all things considered, he’s as well as he can be. I don’t want to alarm you, but he’s lost a lot of weight and isn’t very responsive, and I expect it will take some time before he’s better. You were right, he’s not as we remember, but I feel the old Sebastian is still there, somewhere.

I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait to be home with you.

Dracaena.

She wanted to add another line, clarifying that Ominis had meant what he said, hoping he would change his mind, for if he demanded she remain solely his it would be easier to deny the stirrings she felt for Sebastian. But he wouldn’t deny her, he wouldn’t refuse. He’d almost been insistent.

She sealed the letter instead, opening the door and beckoning the owl perched nearby. It took the note in its beak and flew off, soon lost amongst the clouds. She took a breath, noting the dark figures leaning against the walls of the surrounding buildings, the curtains twitching in windows. She made a face and retreated back inside. Christ, with the number of Aurors surrounding them, it was almost like Sebastian was a mass-murdering lunatic, not a broken man who had paid a price far dearer than the death of his horrible uncle warranted.

She tilted her head as the sounds of running water from the bathroom shut off. She waited as a shadow moved beyond the open door. It seemed that Sebastian could get about by himself if he needed to. That was good. She moved to the kitchenette, opening the cupboards and grimacing. Simple foods like porridge oats, rounds of dark bread and rice nestled beside tins of nondescript meat and vegetables huddled on the shelves. Dull fare for certain, and she wished she could use her Ancient Magic to conjure something more palatable, but it didn’t work that way. Sebastian had always been fond of sweet things, and there wasn’t a gram of sugar to be found.

She pulled a few items down and set about making a simple meal of white fish and rice with a side of green beans, careful not to make too much. He’d need time to adjust to eating real food again, and she had no idea what he’d been forced to eat behind bars.

Dracaena turned at a slight noise to find Sebastian standing in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning heavily against the frame, a towel around his waist. He gave her the beginnings of a tired, shy smile, only the corners of his mouth twitching. She left the saucepan and rushed to him.

“There’s clothes in the bedroom,” she said, leading him, an arm around his waist as he slumped against her. “We’ll have some dinner and get you settled for the night, yeah?”

He nodded, a firmer, more decisive action than before. Depositing him on the bed, which creaked, she ferreted around in the old wardrobe, bringing out a selection of shirts and trousers.

“Any preference, or are you not fussy?”

He blinked slowly, his eyes on her, seemingly indifferent about the clothes in her hands. With a shrug, she picked out a dark shirt and pair of trousers, leaving them on the bed.

“I’ll leave you to it, darling, if you need-”

His hand found hers, and she paused, turning to him, finding the corners of his eyes glimmering.

His lips parted, his throat working a moment before his voice found its way out, hushed and rasping.

“This… is real? You’re… really here?”

She knelt before him, taking both his hands in hers.

“Of course it’s real,” she whispered. “Bassy… Ominis and I have spent the last six years trying to find a way to free you. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, you didn’t deserve Azkaban. You’re coming home with us, and you’ll never go back, alright?”

He nodded again, a tiny smile touching his lips.

“You… got me out?”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said. “We had to bully a lot of people, rewrite some laws, and build a case. It took ages, Bassy, but we never gave up. We just wanted you home with us.”

“And…” he drew a breath, as if the act of speaking fatigued him beyond all reason. “Anne?”

Dracaena hesitated. She knew this would come up, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. The reason for his fighting, the reason for his research, the reason for his mistake. How could she tell him that the curse that plagued his sister had taken her life three years ago?

It would break him. Destroy him in ways that Azkaban never could.

“Time enough for that later,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “What’s important right now is getting you back on your feet, alright?”

It was a poor answer, and she knew it. Sebastian had never been one to let things lie, least of all something as important as his twin, whom she had buried with Ominis on a beautiful hill overlooking Feldcroft on a blossom-strewn spring morning, the pair of them shedding silent tears not just for the senseless loss of life, but because it meant everything Sebastian had sacrificed had been for nothing. But Sebastian didn’t question her further, merely nodding again and releasing her hands, reaching for the clothes.

Dracaena returned to the kitchen in time to put out a small fire that had started in the pan. She swore and pulled out another tin of white fish, vanishing the blackened mess with a wave of her wand.

Sebastian joined her at the small table not long after, clinging to the walls and countertops to support himself until she hurried over, pulling his arm over her shoulders. Though his first mouthful of food was hesitant, he soon fell upon it like a man starved, going so far as to toss his fork aside and eat with his hands. Once he was done, he held himself still, staring at his plate before the hollowness returned to his eyes, and he withdrew into himself, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, staring at nothing as Dracaena pushed her plate aside, her appetite quite gone.

“You should sleep,” she said, softly. She rose and took his hand, drawing him to his feet and tucking an arm around his waist, leading him to the bedroom. She sat him down, helping him unbutton his shirt, pausing as she reached the hilt of his trousers.

“There’s… there’s pyjamas and things in the wardrobe,” she said. “I can get them for you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, his eyes dragging with tiredness, but his hand snared hers as she rose.

“Stay?” he rasped. “Please?”

It took every ounce of her self-control to refuse.

“You’ll be alright,” she said. “You’re safe here, Bassy.”

His throat worked a moment, and he nodded, his hand sliding from her grip. Dracaena returned to the living room, setting the dinner things to wash and settling down on the sofa, conjuring a blanket and removing her clothes, lying down in just her underthings.

Ominis was on her mind as she settled to sleep, wishing he was here with her. She longed to feel his elegant arms around her, to reassure her, to comfort her as she wept silently for all the pain their dearest friend had endured.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena work to darkness and agonised, desperate screams.

She bolted from the sofa, her heart in her throat as she tore towards the sound, her mind conjuring horrors beyond mortal imagining as she burst into the bedroom. Sebastian was huddled in a corner, his arms splayed against the walls, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes wild as he tried to press himself through the brick and plaster, cowering away from something she couldn’t see.

“Sebastian!” she dashed over, grabbing for his shoulders, and he lashed out, howling, the side of his hand connecting with her temple, and she saw stars. Shaking herself, she grabbed for him again as he fought against her, yelling wordlessly. “Sebastian, it’s me! It’s alright! Calm down, please!”

He pushed back against the wall, soft, keening sounds wrenching from his throat, his eyes unseeing as she wrapped her arms around him, gasping comforting words into his ear. Eventually, his arms rose to encircle her, burying his face in her shoulder and weeping helplessly.

“It’s alright…” she murmured. “It’s alright, darling. There’s nothing here that can hurt you. You’re safe.”

Sebastian just cried, clinging to her as she settled on his thighs, wishing she could hold him tighter, wishing she had more arms to wrap around him, to hold him more securely than she could, her hand circling over his back, the other wound into his hair as he sobbed into her shoulder.

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” she murmured. “That’s all. Nothing more. You’re alright.”

It took a long time before Sebastian was able to calm down, his frightened sobs becoming whimpers, quietening to harsh breaths as he grasped at her back, shivering so hard she thought he could power a small house.

“What was it?” Dracaena asked, leaning back a little and cupping his face. “Darling, what did you see?”

He shook his head, his face tear-stained, pulling her back to him and resting his head against her shoulder again.

“I-I’m… sorry,” he managed.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she assured him. “Bassy, I’ve no idea what you’ve been through, but I’m here to help you. Tell me what you need.”

“Stay… with me,” he whimpered, holding her as tight as he could, though the strength of his arms was little more than strands of silk. “Please, Drac… Don’t leave me alone.”

With a muted nod, she tucked her hands under his arms again, levering him upright and guiding him to the bed, laying him down and tucking him in, before settling atop the covers. Sebastian turned over, his arm looping over her side.

“Will… you be… warm enough?” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Get some rest, love, I’ll be right here.”

“Come under,” he insisted, snuggling closer to her. “Please, Drac. I… I haven’t touched… another person in… years. I… I-I need to be close… to you.”

She hesitated, and Sebastian huddled up to her, his hands tight at her back, his skin fire against hers.

“Drac… I-I’m sorry, I-I know you’re… with Ominis, I don’t want… to upset you… or spoil that. I-I just need… to be close to you… please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Setting her jaw, Dracaena slid under the covers, wrapping her arms around him as he snuggled into her, his head against her collarbone, his body pressed to hers, almost as though he needed to become a part of her, to meld his flesh with hers, the pads of his fingers digging into her back.

She held him tight as he shivered, wishing she could take the pain he suffered and draw it into herself to shield him from the horrors he had endured. But she couldn’t. She could only lie there, holding him, stroking his hair as he pressed his face between her breasts, his skeletal frame wracked with shudders as guilt seared through every fibre of her being. She pulled him closer, and he groaned softly.

Dracaena couldn’t ignore the hardness that pressed against her, as much as she wanted to. Despite Ominis’ assurances, she needed to be strong, to show him she cared for Sebastian as more than just a vessel for carnal pleasure. She didn’t need that. As she was with Ominis, her own bliss mattered less than that of her partner, her delight being in when she brought him to the edge of paradise and sent him over, soaring on clouds of ecstasy. Would it be so wrong to gift the same to Sebastian, when her fiancée had condoned it?

Sebastian groaned softly, the tip of his erection nudging against the soft flesh of her abdomen, straining against his pyjamas. He nuzzled against her breasts, only the thin lace separating their skin. Dracaena drew a soft breath. No matter her concerns, perhaps this was what he needed. Had she not vowed to care for him, no matter what he needed? Her hand slid over his side, over the ridges of his ribs, gliding over the hollow between them and his hip, coming to rest on the sharp protrusion of bone. Sebastian whimpered softly, tilting his body towards her hand.

“Are you sure?” she breathed. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes…” he whispered, the word ragged, forged from a throat too unused to speaking. “Please…”

Still she hesitated, preferring to caress his body, worried that it would be too much for him, worried that no matter his assurances, Ominis would be hurt if she allowed herself to indulge, but Sebastian clung to her, the little strength he had poured into pulling her closer.

“Drac…” he whined softly, writhing against her as her hand sculpted over his chest and stomach. “Please, Drac… please, make me feel human again. Please, please touch me… please… I’ll do anything… I just… I need to feel alive again.”

And hell, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to make him feel good after everything he’d been through. She cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers, pressing her lips to his with a softness akin to featherdown and satin. But he responded with fire and fury, his hand clamping against the back of her head, pressing her close as his lips worked magic over hers, scattering the last of her restraint as she wrenched him to her.

His breath came in sharp gasps as she pushed his clothing aside, her hand dipping down to caress the length of him. He tensed, a low moan rising from his throat as she graced her hand along him, before his grip at her back tightened, and he flexed his hips, thrusting into her palm, each movement accompanied by a gasp.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Make me feel good, make me feel right… make me feel real, Drac, please.”

Dracaena sealed her lips to his, drawing his breath into her and sending it back as heaven and light, her hand gliding along his throbbing length, her movements careful and controlled. Sebastian loosed a long, deep moan that seemed to rise from the bottom of his lungs, as if such a sound had been too long caged and finally set free. He sank back to the pillows, his limited strength seemingly spent, his eyes rolling back as his lashes fluttered, and she favoured him with kisses that peppered his face and chased over his neck, pausing only at his chest to swipe her tongue over his nipple. Sebastian groaned, his head rolling from side to side, one hand at her shoulder, the slight pressure increasing as she kissed down his taut stomach.

She could take him any way she wanted. She could pin him down and ravage him until he forgot his own name, she could bend him backward and bury his delicious cock in her throat, she could even turn him over and work a magic inside him that she was certain too few wizards had ever had the fortune to experience. But Dracaena bore down on her desires. Too much could break him. There would be months, years, perhaps, in which she could show him all the wonders she had learned since being with Ominis. She could show Ominis what she learned from Sebastian. She could learn from them both, together, but only if she treated them right.

Sebastian moaned like a starved whore when she flicked her tongue over the flushed head of his cock, his head pressing back into the pillows, his free hand grasping a fistful of the sheets as she slowly kissed along his length. She tucked a hand under his hips as she nuzzled the inside of his thighs, taking a moment to savour the desperate sounds pushed up from the depths of his being, the hand at her shoulder moving to the back of her head, his grip weak but insistent.

She couldn’t deny him any longer. Dracaena flattened her tongue against him and drew it slowly to the tip, already weeping with slick, crystal fluid, his ribs expanding and contracting with each rapid, short breath, his stomach hollowing as his hips bucked towards her. Her free hand found his, and she laced their fingers together as she took him into her mouth at last.

Seven years of longing couldn’t have prepared her for the feel of him against her lips, sliding over her tongue, invading her throat, the deliciousness of his fevered skin, the subtle, peppered tang of his love so similar and yet so different to the gentle salt and sugar of her Ominis. Sebastian’s back arched, his legs falling apart, his hand winding into her hair as his grip on her hand trembled, his thighs beginning to quiver as she flicked her tongue over the underside of his head, so sensitive after so many years of neglect, his voice a wordless song of ecstasy. She sealed her lips and drew them along his shaft, rewarded by a series of frantic moans that rose in fever and pitch. She wanted to pull back, to slow down, to make him wait, the dominant side of her fighting for control, but even she was not that cruel. Instead she bobbed her head faster and faster, lashing her tongue against him until he all but screamed, his hips rising from the bed as his back arched in a curve Fibonacci would be envious of, the beautiful, creamy thickness of his passion coating the cavern of her mouth.

Dracaena drained him of every drop as if her life depended on it, relishing the way he quivered and whined, his body tensing and relaxing with each new flick of her tongue until she raised her head at last, his pale, freckled skin flushed a gorgeous rose, an arm draped across his forehead. She slid up his body to lie beside him, brushing his hair back and wrapping her arms around him as he curled into her, panting.

“You okay?” she breathed, and he huffed a breathless laugh.

“If… if I’d have known… if I had to go… to Azkaban for that…” he nuzzled into her. “I’d have… gone… long ago.”

Dracaena chuckled softly, winding her hand through his hair as he relaxed against her.

“Drac,” he murmured. “I… should have… told you. Back then… I should have said…”

“Shh,” she whispered. “You need to sleep, love.”

“I know,” he replied, already drifting. “But… I should have said… I love you, Drac. I… I always have.”

She held him close.

“I love you too,” she breathed as he slipped into sleep. “Forever and always, I love you.”

Masterlist

Part 2

[anna-the-undertaker]

Do you have hc for Solomon with a teen apprentice? (Platonic obviously) Thanks if you do this♡

Solomon & Teen Apprentice MC

A Chaotic Mentor with a Purpose: Solomon thrives in chaos, and that’s exactly how he teaches. When MC first becomes his apprentice, they quickly learn that there are no structured lessons or neatly written textbooks. Instead, Solomon prefers throwing them straight into the deep end. One minute, MC might be practicing basic spells, and the next, they’re scrambling to contain a magical explosion caused by one of Solomon’s half-baked experiments. Solomon watches with that mischievous grin, completely at ease while everything around him is in disarray. "You’ve got to be prepared for anything," he’ll say with a chuckle. "The best way to learn magic is to see what happens when things go wrong." But even as chaos swirls, there’s a method to his madness. Solomon is always watching, guiding with subtle corrections, making sure MC learns through experience. He believes in trial by fire because that’s how he learned—and in his mind, it’s the only way to become truly skilled in magic.

Endearing Moments Hidden in the Chaos: Amid all the pranks and unpredictability, Solomon has his softer moments. After a particularly rough day of training—when nothing seems to be going right for MC—he’ll sit with them, his usual playful tone replaced by something gentler. "You’re doing better than you think," he’ll say, handing them a cup of tea with a knowing smile. It’s in these quiet moments that Solomon lets his guard down, sharing pieces of his life that no one else gets to hear. Stories from centuries ago, about the mistakes he made when he was younger, and the people he’s met along the way. "I didn’t get everything right the first time either," he admits, surprising MC with his vulnerability. "But that’s what magic is—making mistakes and learning from them." And even though Solomon usually plays the role of the jokester, in these moments, it’s clear how deeply he cares about MC’s progress and well-being.

A Father Figure in Disguise: Though Solomon never outright calls himself a father figure, his actions speak louder than words. He’s protective in subtle ways—making sure MC eats properly (even if his own cooking is questionable), giving them a stern talking-to when they push themselves too hard, and staying up late when they’re struggling with a particularly difficult spell. When MC feels overwhelmed or insecure about their abilities, Solomon’s there to reassure them, but in his own, teasing way. "You’ve got potential," he says with a grin, ruffling their hair. "And you’ll get there eventually. Just don’t expect to be as great as me anytime soon." He acts like it’s all a joke, but the affection in his words is unmistakable. For Solomon, who has lived for centuries, MC is a refreshing reminder of what it’s like to be young and eager to learn. They bring out a side of him that’s more nurturing, even if he’d never admit it.

Solomon’s Pranks—A Lesson in Mischief: Solomon’s love for pranks is well-known, and he sees no reason to hold back just because MC is his apprentice. In fact, he sees it as an essential part of their training. One day, MC might be practicing a simple levitation spell, only for Solomon to tweak the spell behind their back so that objects start flying around the room uncontrollably. "Oh, you didn’t know that could happen?" he says with a laugh, watching as MC frantically tries to get everything under control. "Consider it a lesson in improvisation." Another time, he’ll give them a seemingly ordinary potion to brew, but as soon as they finish, the liquid turns into rainbow-colored bubbles that float around the room, popping harmlessly in MC’s face. Solomon just watches, grinning the whole time, enjoying the chaos. "Magic should be fun, too," he’ll say afterward, handing them a towel to wipe off the soap-like residue. "If you can’t laugh at it, you’re not doing it right."

MC Gets Even—Their Own Pranks: MC eventually catches on to Solomon’s chaotic nature and starts pranking him back, much to his delight. After one too many magical mishaps caused by their mentor, MC decides to get revenge. During one of their lessons, they cast a spell that turns Solomon’s hair into a giant, poofy cloud of pink cotton candy. At first, Solomon doesn’t realize what’s happened, too busy explaining the intricacies of spellcasting, but when MC starts giggling uncontrollably, he catches a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. His expression goes from confusion to amusement, and then full-on laughter. "Touché," he says, admiring the ridiculous sight. "I see you’re learning more than just magic." He’s genuinely proud of MC for getting the upper hand, and their playful banter only strengthens their bond. In fact, Solomon encourages their pranks, seeing them as proof that MC is becoming more confident in their abilities.

Accidentally Calling Him 'Dad': The first time MC calls Solomon "Dad," it’s completely unintentional. They’ve been working together for hours on a complicated spell, and Solomon’s been unusually patient, walking them through each step with care. After finally getting it right, MC, exhausted and grateful, mumbles, "Thanks, Dad," without even realizing it. The room goes silent for a moment, and MC’s eyes go wide as they realize what they’ve just said. They expect Solomon to laugh or tease them mercilessly, but instead, he just looks at them with a soft smile. "I suppose that’s not the worst thing you could call me," he says, his voice unusually gentle. For once, there’s no joke, no prank—just a moment of quiet understanding between them. Though neither of them acknowledges it directly, there’s a shift in their relationship after that. Solomon doesn’t bring it up again, but from then on, his protectiveness over MC becomes a little more obvious, his care a little more deliberate.

Challenging MC in Unexpected Ways: Solomon believes that the best way to learn magic is through challenges, and he’s not one to go easy on MC. One day, without warning, he teleports them to a mysterious, enchanted forest and tells them to find their way back using nothing but the skills they’ve learned. It’s a test of everything they’ve practiced—spellcasting, critical thinking, and, most importantly, trusting their instincts. MC stumbles at first, but Solomon’s voice echoes through the trees, offering cryptic hints and riddles, pushing them to solve the puzzles on their own. When they finally make it out, tired but triumphant, Solomon is there waiting with his usual grin. "Took you long enough," he says, though the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. "But you did well. See? You’re getting stronger every day."

Affection Hidden in the Chaos: Though Solomon’s default mode is chaotic, his affection for MC is always present, even if it’s hidden beneath layers of teasing and pranks. He shows it in small ways, like making sure they have a cup of tea ready after a long day of training or draping a blanket over their shoulders when they fall asleep during late-night study sessions. He never makes a big deal out of these gestures, often brushing them off with a casual, "You looked cold," or "Can’t have my apprentice catching a cold." But MC knows better. Solomon’s care might be subtle, but it’s there in every little thing he does. And though he’ll never say it out loud, he’s proud of the bond they’ve built together.

The Disaster That Is Cooking Together: Every now and then, Solomon tries to teach MC how to cook, though it’s less of a lesson and more of a catastrophe. Solomon’s cooking skills are, to put it kindly, disastrous. But that doesn’t stop him from enthusiastically throwing ingredients into a pot and declaring, "This is going to be amazing!" MC, already skeptical, watches as the mixture turns an alarming shade of green. When the dish finally finishes, it looks like something out of a horror story, and MC can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Solomon takes a bite, makes a face, and then bursts into laughter himself. "Okay, maybe I’m not the best chef," he admits, "but hey, at least it’s memorable, right?" Cooking together becomes a tradition of sorts, where neither of them expects the food to be edible, but they have fun with it anyway.

Solomon’s Quiet Protectiveness: While Solomon’s chaotic nature often takes center stage, his protectiveness over MC becomes more obvious the longer they work together. He’s not one to hover or coddle them, but if MC is ever in danger or overextends themselves, Solomon steps in without hesitation. During one particularly dangerous magical experiment, when a spell goes wrong and nearly backfires, Solomon is there in an instant, casting a protective barrier around MC without a second thought. He plays it off later, acting like it was no big deal, but the look of concern in his eyes lingers longer than usual. "Next time, don’t push yourself so hard," he says, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness. "I’m supposed to be the chaotic one, remember?"

The Bond Between Them: Over time, the relationship between Solomon and MC deepens. What started as a mentor-apprentice dynamic slowly evolves into something more familial. Solomon continues to be his unpredictable, mischievous self, always pushing MC to their limits and challenging them in unexpected ways. But there’s a mutual respect that grows between them—MC learns to appreciate Solomon’s unconventional teaching methods, while Solomon grows attached to MC in ways he didn’t expect. For all his centuries of experience, MC brings something new into Solomon’s life: a sense of connection and responsibility that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He watches with pride as MC grows into their abilities, knowing that, despite all the chaos, he’s helped shape them into a powerful sorcerer.