Inky Blue Flames - Chapter 69 - thursday_moonrise11 (2024)

Chapter Text

✦ 30th November1891✦

The Daily Prophet, Monday 30^th November 1891

Article by Cecil Aribeus

ORDER OF MERLIN HONOURS LIST ANNOUNCED, HERO OF HOGWARTS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND

The list revealing the witches and wizards awarded a coveted Order of Merlin was released yesterday.

Extraordinary witch Annabella Courier was awarded first class honours for eradicating a pack of werewolves by the Kent coast, while Jack Lour received a second class naming for inventing self-mending trousers.

However, the most shocking omission was the Hero of Hogwarts, Phoebe Jane Honeyball.

Miss Honeyball is best known for being a muggleborn witch, joining Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry later than her peers at fourteen. She is also known for defeating and killing the goblin Ranrok in a duel under the school.

Miss Honeyball was awarded a Barnabus Finkley Prize two months ago.

The news of the muggleborn’s absence has received conflicting opinions. Professor Colin Cromwell of the Ministry of Magic’s Research Unit said, “how often do you hear of students achieving such incredible feats like defending a school against a violent insurgent? Miss Honeyball deserves an O.M. more than anyone else on the list this year. It is an outrage she is being overlooked, and I bet my Galleons it is because some on the committee have a problem with her blood.”

Mary McLavender of the Order of Merlin Committee responded, “we choose awardees based on rigorous criteria, and witches who are yet to complete their education are not ordinarily considered. Miss Honeyball just didn’t make the cut.”

The full list of honours is on page 12. If you have an opinion about this article, tell us all about it via owl post. Send to the address below…

✦

“Do you understand, Miss Honeyball?” Professor Weasley repeated, tapping on her desk impatiently. She sighed at the lack of response from the Ravenclaw sat opposite, pushing her half-moon glasses up her face and turning to face Professor Hecat, who was standing to her right. “Am I correct in saying we can expect a visit before Christmas, Professor?”

Phoebe barely heard those words as she was too preoccupied with staring with funereal pensiveness out of the latticed window of Professor Weasley’s office. Following the article in the Daily Prophet published that morning, she was called into an impromptu welfare meeting with the deputy headmistress and the head of Ravenclaw house.

At first, the questions asked were mostly about how Phoebe was managing without Professor Fig and if she was coping with the mountain of N.E.W.T. level schoolwork. They were being awfully cryptic at some stages, questioning her about any out of school expeditions since all those times she snuck out during fifth year. It was plausible that they may have caught her slipping out of the castle when going to Isidora’s hideaways, but she could no longer be reprimanded for that. She was an upper year, now, with greater travelling freedoms.

Then, unfortunately, they asked if Phoebe had read the Daily Prophet that morning. As if she were oblivious to the wizarding world’s incessant obsession with her.

If she were frank, she didn’t care about not receiving an Order of Merlin. Yes, it would have been nice to be recognised for all the trouble she went through, but she never did any of it for acclaim. In fact, going down in history as an O.M. awardee sounded like more trouble than it was worth. Hopefully, as a result of this, the articles would fizzle out, the relentless ogling would lessen, and Phoebe could return to a normal life. Well, as normal as life can be at Hogwarts.

It was draining. All of it was. Even this conversation, and Phoebe barely had the attention span to recount how she was feeling for the millionth time. Of course she’d never be how she once was again – Professor Fig died.

Exhausted. She was utterly exhausted at having to explain why she didn’t have the ambitions of others and why she wasn’t distraught at this news. The professors seemed downtrodden and remorseful about her not getting an Order of Merlin, and truthfully, Phoebe wanted to be anywhere else. It was such a bright day out and she had several readings to catch up on for Transfiguration and Summoner’s Court club to prepare for. Not to mention her research into ancient magic.

“Miss Honeyball?” It was Professor Hecat calling her name this time, with a pointed sternness that finally caused Phoebe to cease her sulking.

“Apologies - yes, professor?”

Professor Weasley suspired loudly, pressing her lips tightly together. Professor Hecat continued to regard Phoebe with frankness when she said, “were you listening when Professor Weasley said the Ministry may be visiting?”

Phoebe stilled, eyes flitting worriedly between the professors. She had not heard that during her daydream, fantasising about being anywhere else, even a Professor Binns lecture.

They can’t be serious.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Professor Weasley said quietly. She clasped her hands together and leaned over the desk, “Miss Honeyball, we have good reason to believe some members of the Ministry will be visiting Hogwarts soon.”

“Why?” Phoebe asked a second too quickly. Her palms began to perspire.

Professor Hecat responded, “sometimes they visit to check in on the school’s progress. Hogwarts is under the jurisdiction of the Ministry after all, so it is not usual to see officials make the trip, but…” Another look was shared between the professors, and Hecat also clasped her hands together while forming the next words, “but, given the events of last year, we’ve been informed that a larger party is being sent. From across departments.”

Despite herself, Phoebe’s voice was quiet with shaky anticipation, “what does that mean?”

“It means our speculation about the Ministry’s interest in what happened with Ranrok is proving true,” Professor Weasley answered this time, observing Phoebe through her half-moon glasses glinting in the light radiating in from the window, “some officials will be from the Auror office, the Minister’s office, as well as an unnamed representative.”

Phoebe glanced to Professor Hecat, who didn’t react. Unnamed often insinuated something secretive, an Unspeakable, perhaps?

“All right,” Phoebe vacillated, feeling like she should say more, but words failed her. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Now, there’s no reason to be worried. This is a fairly routine visit, after all. But I would prepare yourself for some questioning about what happened,” Professor Weasley said, “but like I said before, you won’t be left alone with anyone. We’ll be there to make sure you’re comfortable and to do most of the talking. They may only want to hear your accounts firsthand. Oftentimes they do this when writing up reports.”

Phoebe nodded slowly. Her throat increasingly becoming dry. She swallowed but it did little to stop her croaking, “how long are they staying for?”

“Not sure. Professor?” Weasley turned to Hecat.

“Certainly until Christmas,” Hecat replied, “perhaps longer, but we will have to wait and see.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Is this happening because of how the Daily Prophet writes about me?” Phoebe blurted out. The thought had been nagging at her.

“What do you mean?” Professor Weasley frowned as she peered over her glasses.

“Since they keep calling me that… that ‘notable muggleborn’, all I ever see is debate about my blood. Of how it’s impossible some witch of my status could even levitate a feather, let alone face Ranrok. My school photograph is constantly printed, they stalk me… even my father on the day before I got on the train here! Now the Ministry…” Phoebe’s heart thundered in her chest as breathing became difficult. She looked between the professors almost pleadingly. “When will it end?”

Phoebe didn’t realise how much her voice had raised while speaking. She was short of shouting when the abrupt silence followed, and it was unexpectedly unnerving. Only the sounds of her laboured breathing and the grandfather clock to the far wall were audible.

It reminded her of where she was. This was not the Magical Theory office where she could speak freely. It was the deputy headmistresses. Melancholy embraced her once more.

Though, the beratement she expected for her outburst didn’t follow.

“I quite understand, Miss Honeyball.” For the first time since the start of the meeting, Professor Weasley’s face tempered. Her fine lines and wrinkles softer, as was her voice, “I also understand you were in detention last month because of something Master Parkinson called you.”

Phoebe wasn’t expecting the conversation to turn to Philip Parkinson of all people, but she simply nodded despite her trembling cadence, “yes, that is correct.”

A shadow of a moue graced Professor Weasley’s face for a brief moment, as if she was trying not to embarrass Phoebe by showing too much pity. Phoebe was quite thankful for that; any direct sympathy would make her burst into tears. The worry that had seized her at the mere mention of the Ministry made her feel as though she were about to combust.

“Despicable,” Professor Hecat murmured, barely audible, but it made Phoebe’s lowered head snap up. Instead of pity, the professor was glowering.

“Despicable, indeed,” Professor Weasley agreed, “such language has no place at this school, or elsewhere. I know it can be difficult with certain individuals within the faculty doing so little, but both Professor Hecat and I are willing to intervene if such a thing happens again.” There was a momentary smile, but a look of disappointment followed, “I don’t have the powers of a headmaster, nor as a Daily Prophet editor, but I do have some influence over these matters, which is better than none,” she turned to Hecat, “wouldn’t you say?”

“Unequivocally, professor,” Hecat nodded before regarding Phoebe, “change is a marathon, not a sprint, but it can be helped if you tell us of any altercations in the future. We only heard of your detention after the fact, which made us powerless.” Her expression similarly softened in a way that made her seem youthful, despite her old age, “but don’t worry yourself with the opinions of the few.”

Phoebe thought of what Asterius said but decided against disclosing the details to them.

“It’s not a few,” Phoebe uttered sadly with a desolate pout, “it’s many.”

“Not as many as you might think. What of your friends, Miss Honeyball? It’s not you against the world.” Professor Weasley stood, “anyway, I won’t keep you from your lunch any long. As we said, do tell us of any issues in the future – we would be grateful to know. And, we are incredibly happy to see you’re settling back into school after what happened. I’m even happier to see that you, Master Sallow and Master Gaunt are spending more time together again, too.”

What? It was impossible to feel pitiful when the mortifying revelation that your teachers kept tabs on your relationships strikes you out of nowhere. Phoebe turned scarlet and stared at Professor Weasley in horror from the chair, before realising it was her cue to finally get up. It made both teachers begin to cackle when Phoebe stood abruptly, trying to hide her face from view as she thanked them and left the office.

✦

Once Phoebe exited the Transfiguration classroom, she let out a laboured sigh and slumped into the now closed door. She had lost a chunk of her precious lunchtime to that conversation. Now, with the threat of the Ministry breathing down her neck, her transient moment of peace at Hogwarts looked to be fraught once more. Brilliant.

If the Ministry were coming and snooping around the school, Phoebe knew her secret wasn’t safe. Nor was her research. The Room of Requirement could technically be accessed by anyone. Her blackboards, Isidora’s journals and her chaotic notes would have to be moved… somewhere else.

Is it a crime to not disclose a magical ability?

Could they arrest me for what happened with Rookwood?

Are they allowed to use Veritaserum on me?

While she was stewing on her gloomy thoughts, Phoebe didn’t see the person lingering near the doorway attempting to pass by as she took a lengthy stride forward.

“Honeyball?” Samuel said, leaning forward so he was in her eyeline. In response, Phoebe stammered and stumbled, almost tumbling over her own feet. So much so, Samuel held out a cautious hand in case she did fall prone, “woah there, apologies I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Immediately flustered by her lack of composure, Phoebe straightened and held her arms to her side, far away from Samuel’s and shook her head vehemently, “no, you didn’t! Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I can see that,” Samuel chuckled, and his breath looked like a cloud of smoke in the frosty November air. His Hufflepuff scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, and his Head Boy badge attached to his robe shimmered in the crisp daylight as if it had been recently polished, “you just come from Professor Weasley’s office?”

Obviously, Phoebe wanted to say, as she stood directly outside the Transfiguration classroom. But she didn’t want to be rude to Samuel, not after their last encounter, “yes, she and Hecat just checked in on me.”

“Ah, forgive me.” His smile dwindled and his hand rested on his chest politely, “I’m sorry about you not receiving an O.M.”

Phoebe suppressed her groan. That was all anyone wanted to talk to her about that morning. Sorry this, sorry that, you should have been on that list, just wait until next year, etc, etc… Frankly, she was bored of it. Could no one comprehend that she didn’t care?

Quickly, she shook her head and pulled a paltry but placating smile, “don’t be sorry, I didn’t want it anyway.”

“Oh – you didn’t?” He co*cked his head. His green eyes were vivid like a meadow on a spring day.

“No – so it’s all good.”

“But you certainly deserved one.”

“Still doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well,” he nodded slowly and pursed his lips in apparent approval, moving his hands to behind his back, “less be said on that subject in that case! Are you off to lunch?”

“I am, in fact. I’ve lost most of my hour already and I’m ravenous.”

“So am I, so join me?” He asked hopefully, raising an eyebrow and offering an arm, like how gentlemen often do, “I haven’t spoken to you properly in a while.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes in jest and hooked hers in his, “fine, lead the way, Greengrass.”

✦

“Which team will you be supporting on Sunday?” Samuel inquired as they crossed Central Hall. It was pleasantly busy in the castle, with mainly the younger years loitering by the fountain as the stone mermaids swam magically around the statue. Sparks of variegated magic flashed in bursts and inanimate objects like books and quills streaked overhead, which was not an unusual occurrence at Hogwarts. Every time Phoebe returned from her Muggle village, she was awe-struck once more at the enchanting, magical grandeur of the castle.

Magic never ceased to amaze Phoebe. So, she was still distracted from Samuel’s question when she looked back up at him, readjusted her arm in his and said, “oh, Slytherin.”

The first Quidditch match of the reinstated inter-house competition was almost upon them – kicking off with the famed Gryffindor versus Slytherin derby. Excitement had been building for months, so much so, that it seemed the entire school and all the teachers were unable to stop talking about it. Dotted throughout the castle were flags, banners and posters with the teams’ colours fighting for dominance. Somehow, even in the Ravenclaw common room, someone stuck a Gryffindor poster on the message boards. Both Hector Fawley and Mauve Molina, the seventh-year prefects, were livid about it.

“Hostile propaganda in our common room?” Hector fumed, snatching it off the board and ripping it up, “not on my watch. Not until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.”

“Was that not a bit of an overreaction?” Mauve had said, Samantha besides her trying to stifle a laugh.

Hector had dusted his hands once he disposed of the poster in a flash of smoke, “if we left it, then they’d think they can put anything here!”

Clearly, Quidditch was so sorely missed, more than what was customary in terms of promotion was done to celebrate its return. There were some new banners and posters pinned to the schools’ walls in the lead up that Phoebe had never seen before. In particular, it was unbeknownst to her when this photograph was taken, but there was one print of Imelda Reyes in full kit standing confidently beside her sleek broom with the tagline ‘Star of Slytherin – Britian’s next best CHASER’ just outside the Great Hall. It caused such a ruckus, that a hundred posters with the Gryffindor team’s photograph from the previous year were plastered across the school, much to Mr Moon’s increasing enragement at how cluttered the castle was becoming.

But there wasn’t a world anymore where Phoebe wasn’t supporting Slytherin when Ravenclaw weren’t playing. Much had already been established in the Undercroft on her birthday.

Phoebe turned seventeen just the previous week. To celebrate her freedom from the Trace, she enjoyed a hearty meal with her friends in the Great Hall, some festivities in the Undercroft with a reconciled Sebastian and Ominis, then she was permitted to miss some classes and go home for a few days.

Without an apparating license, Phoebe used most of her floo powder to get as close as she could to Derbyshire before hopping on a train at Sheffield. Once she spied the frosted sprawling hills and quaint cottages dotted on the hills, a nostalgia so powerful swept over her, she practically sprinted home. It was a struggle not crying when she finally embraced her father and Emma.

The next few days were spent in genuine delight. Her father was still shaky and relied on a cane to alleviate the pain in his leg, but he was mostly mentally sound. Emma, too, was gleaming, having met a man, a miner in the village over, she had taken a shining to.

“If we look away even for a moment, that lad will whisk poor Emma to Gretna Green as soon as he can,” Phoebe’s father chided one night at the local pub, necking his glass of gin. His friends – Archie and Mr Brown – were tittering across the table as they finally stopped asking Phoebe about her ‘poncy’ boarding school (though she took no offence to this).

“Don’t be silly, Da, Em is more sensible than that. They’ve only known each other a matter of months.”

“Emma is, yes, but he’s not!” He then clasped Phoebe’s hands in his. His blue eyes had faded with age, but he looked at her with sincerity, “when your time comes, don’t be as flippant, otherwise I’ll have words.”

“Da… can we not talk about this here.”

“I mean it!” He scoffed but the movement caused him to wince. He rubbed his knee to sooth some flaring pain, “I don’t know what your…” he glanced around sheepishly and lowered his voice in the bustling establishment, “the magical folk do, but they must be much more proper and conservative than the rabble around here.”

It was the opposite, but Phoebe didn’t tell him that.

“Anyway, I can’t believe my daughter is seventeen – where has the time gone!?” He said and lifted his glass to toast. She did also, “one minute you were a shy bairn, now you’re a wonderful young woman. Your Ma would be so proud, darling.”

After her break, Phoebe was genuinely happy upon returning to Hogwarts. When returned to her dorm, she spied that Samantha had laid her unopened letters neatly on her bunk. Some were reading lists, three Daily Prophets and finally, a rolled-up piece of parchment. The latter was the first she opened, knowing exactly what it was.

It was a large scroll-like piece of parchment tied with string – simple, without a wax seal. Back in their birthday routines, Sebastian’s present to Phoebe that year was one that brought tears brimming immediately in her eyes.

It was a portrait of Professor Fig. So detailed he appeared alive. It found a home on her bunk’s wall amongst other posters and sketches gifted to her.

“I thought so,” Samuel said, inhaling sharply, “luckily for you, you’ve probably chosen the winning side.”

He was right – Slytherin were proving to be particularly good that year.

“Who will you be supporting?” Phoebe asked.

“Well, as a Keeper myself, I can’t be picking between my competitors – they’re both threats to the yellows, if I’m honest. But, because of my ‘duties’, I have to be with Nancy in the faculty stands.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Phoebe giggled while they headed to the large iron doors leading to the Viaduct.

“It would be nice to be with everyone else in the crowds.”

“In which crowds?”

“In Slytherin too, I reckon.”

Phoebe frowned, “I thought you’d be supporting Gryffindor.”

Through the doors and plunged back into the freezing air, they approached the Viaduct Bridge. In the distance, the chiming of Hogwarts’s melody sounded from the Bell Tower, ringing thirteen individual bells to signal the time – one o’clock. It was merciful that Phoebe had a free period after lunch, otherwise she would have been rather cantankerous about all that time lost in Professor Weasley’s office, even if it was an important conversation.

You should move those research notes this afternoon – the earlier the better.

However, Phoebe’s attention was elsewhere due to something else – because of all the eyes on her and Samuel. Each group that passed stared at them, and then their linked arms. Initially, she boiled it down to the fact most of the school were still intrigued at her ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ status (many would still try and talk to her for that reason alone). But these stares were different. Instead of general astonishment, these were… curious. Samuel was revered for his reputation and charming disposition, and often garnered attention regardless. However, Phoebe couldn’t quite place why these looks perturbed her. Linking arms was not absurd – such a gesture was commonplace even a hundred years before her time.

Perhaps it was because they were pitiful of her. That blasted Order of Merlin…

Samuel peered down at her. A waft of air sent a pleasant scent of citrus her way from him, “what makes you say that?”

“Because Camilla Booth is in the team.”

“And Titus is in Slytherin.”

And Asterius. “Fair point.” Phoebe mused, readjusting her Ravenclaw scarf with her free arm. The wind was bracing as they walked across the bridge. Since Halloween, the weather had turned from cloudy and mild to clear but glacial. Regardless, the weather never subtracted from Hogwarts’ and the surrounding area’s vivacious beauty. The picturesque landscape ahead had a frosty sheen to it, revealing muted, icy colours of silver and pale green rarely seen in other seasons. Phoebe’s breath swirled in front of her, mixing with the light mist already hanging in the air. The sun glared harshly off the stones of the bridge, so she covered her eyes with a hand. It was a severe yet stunning time of year. A sign of good days to come.

“Why do you ask?” Samuel questioned, also shielding his eyes from the sunlight. They still were a spectacular green even in the shade.

Phoebe shrugged, “I just thought you’d be more suited in the Gryffindor stands, or… happier? Not sure really.”

Samuel hmphed, “well, sometimes you have to keep up appearances – I’m no different.”

Phoebe’s head darted sideways at that comment. For the longest time, she had suspected much of Samuel’s appearance around certain Slytherins was for show. Ominis had suggested as much from his observations during the Walpurgis Club. She didn’t doubt his friendship with Titus Nott from what she knew of their shared experience with a Dementor in their youth, but it seemed farfetched for the Hufflepuff and Asterius Black to be more than acquaintances. Even if they seemed perfectly amicable the night Asterius threatened her, Samuel insinuated that Black was notoriously difficult. She guessed, out of everyone at that school, the Head Boy probably knew that best. There was also the fact that, as a pureblood, he should have been sorted into Slytherin, so perhaps he was only associating with them to keep his family happy – as many of them were.

And the ‘sometimes you’… as if he knew of Phoebe’s conundrum.

“Sometimes you do,” Phoebe nodded in understanding, “at least this time you don’t. I’m sure sitting beside Professor Ronen will make up for what you’re missing out on.”

“Aside from getting to sit beside you?” Samuel said breezily, like it was not a comment of significance Before Phoebe could embarrass herself by stuttering, faltering or blushing, he continued, “Ronen might not be the best viewing partner, for his love of other sports, but Weasley? She is a fanatic of the game. I think that’ll be a reassurance to see her trying to contain her excitement.”

Phoebe giggled, almost completely appeased by Samuel’s further comment, “now I wish I was able to see that.”

“I’m sure there will be other times, perhaps if you become a prefect... but anyway, this match won’t be the biggest festivity to happen this year, I can assure you.”

“It won’t?” Phoebe laughed sardonically as they entered the courtyard. Already grey and stark, its appearance had dulled since the start of winter. Thankfully, some of the wind was suppressed by the stone walls and pillars of the courtyard’s corridors, “what else is there? I don’t even think the Yule feast will compare at this rate.”

“Well, I think you’ll be surprised – a rather significant announcement is coming that could change that.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed, “what do you know, Samuel Greengrass?”

Samuel smirked and raised his arm in humorous defence, “I’ve said too much already.”

Phoebe scoffed, trying to obscure the fact that she was intensely curious and was repressing an urge to corner him to ask all he knew. Suspense and surprise were not one of her strong suits, “all right, I’ll await it keenly, then.”

They turned a corner into the main courtyard which was buzzing with students. Mostly from the younger years, but Phoebe spotted some unmistakable silhouettes by the far-left wall, surrounding a completed game of gobstones. Leaning against one arch was Garreth Weasley, facing Natsai Onai and Poppy Sweeting.

Garreth noticed Phoebe and Samuel’s entrance almost immediately and waved ferociously. Natty and Poppy nosily turned around then followed suit, beckoning them over.

Phoebe instinctively went to run ahead to them, but a hand on her elbow held her back. Almost crossly, she whipped around to Samuel, who said in a hushed voice, “wait - before we go over, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

The touch made Phoebe flare up, and opposed to her initial reaction, she suddenly felt awkward. The courtyard was already staring at them, including her friends, and even if that move to touch her was somewhat inconspicuous, it was still far too obvious. So, she uttered, “what is it?”

Samuel chewed his lip for a moment, beginning to speak several times and stopping himself. When he finally formulated the words, he let go of Phoebe’s elbow, unhooked arms, and whispered, “I know Black said something to you the other night. Something unpleasant. Can you tell me what it was?”

Phoebe’s heart dropped. She spent those last couple of weeks thinking about anything but Asterius Black. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen him in the halls much. From what she heard from Sebastian; he was taking his duties as Slytherin Quidditch captain rather seriously. Despite this, Phoebe took Black’s warning very seriously – she did not step out of line, did not cause any trouble; she became a mouse. Even when Philip Parkinson and Violet McDowell were being particularly mean in Potions the other week, adding rogue ingredients to her concoctions and causing them to explode spectacularly. Thankfully, Garreth took the fall for her, saying that it was his fault, and she promised to buy him a Butterbeer at some point as compensation.

Most notably, Samuel sensed something was wrong that night he stumbled across Asterius and Phoebe – that was clear as day. Phoebe had just hoped he had forgotten about it. It would make it much easier to keep Ominis at Hogwarts if fewer people knew of the threats.

Phoebe raised one finger to her friends to signal she would be over in a moment, then returned to Samuel, “I told you; it doesn’t matter.”

She was always a bad liar.

“Phoebe, come on, I know that’s not true. I know what I saw, and… you asked why I would care if you were… that word.”

“What did you see?”

“Phoebe-”

“What did you see?” Phoebe challenged.

“I don’t know,” Samuel acquiesced momentarily, his mouth tightening, “but I’ve never seen you so shaken before. I know Black. I know… he’s tricky, so I implore you to tell me what he did.”

Phoebe went rigid. This was dangerous. She liked Samuel, of course, but she had no idea if she could trust him with such information. What if he went straight to Asterius, which propelled a letter to tell Ominis’ parents about his associations?

Faintly, Phoebe replied, “I can’t tell you.”

Samuel appeared taken aback, “why?”

“I just can’t.”

He bowed in closer, “you can tell me.”

Phoebe mumbled, “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Just trust me.”

“What has he threatened?”

“How do you know he’s threatened anything?”

“Because I just know, Phoebe.” Samuel’s throat bobbed and a muscle in his jaw feathered as he tried to keep his hands down. He, too, clearly knew the number of eyes on them, “this is not the first time it’s happened, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Please, even if it’s a hint.”

Phoebe glanced around, feeling tremendously exposed, so she hugged her body. There was a lot at stake, but Samuel had already observed some facts about the situation, so she could at least admit that, “all right. He wasn’t pleasant that night, but I can’t tell you more than that. I’m serious, Samuel, it’s best if we end this conversation. I’m grateful for your concern – I really am – but I can’t say anymore.”

Samuel didn’t seem to like that answer, “you know I could help, subtly.”

“I don’t need anyone to help me.” Phoebe declared, not spitefully, “I have this figured out.”

“All right,” Samuel seemed to relent, before he leaned down slightly, “I will say this, though: I bet it’s something to do with Black’s beliefs. The beliefs most of his family hold. You should know I don’t agree with him. In fact, I loathe it. I know this will make me appear poseur, but I’m not scared of him, so if you need an ally, I’ll happily step in. It’s the least I can do. Professor Fig wouldn’t want you hiding yourself away.”

Another show of defiance – first from Weasley and Hecat, now Samuel.

Phoebe’s expression tempered, as his words reminded her of Ominis. She knew what he meant by those comments, “isn’t that dangerous for you?”

He shrugged while he forced a smile, probably for any spectators, “not as dangerous as the situation you’re in. I have protections I can call upon if needs must.”

“Okay, but, please, Samuel. Don’t say anything about this, or what you saw of Black. I’ve got it under control.”

Samuel pursed his lips and Phoebe knew he didn’t believe her. Evens still, he replied, “all right. But do remember what I said.”

Phoebe smiled, marvelling at Samuel’s ability to adjust the mood of any conversation. She nodded, “fine – I will.”

“Good,” Samuel grinned and placed a hand on her shoulder, swivelling her towards the courtyard, “now, let’s not keep your friends waiting any longer.”

Phoebe played with a loose strand of hair as they walked over to hide the shade of crimson she had turned by having Samuel’s hand on her (at least she could blame her appearance on the biting cold wind). Being in the wizarding world still did not eradicate the Muggle sensibilities she was accustomed to. Wizards were certainly more liberal in terms of public displays of touch.

Garreth, Natty and Poppy had resumed chatting while Phoebe and Samuel had their conversation, and they only noticed the pair’s approach once Phoebe wrapped her arms around Poppy’s shoulders. The Hufflepuff beamed at their arrival, turning and pulling Phoebe’s hands into hers.

They all exchanged greetings, and mercifully, none of her fellow sixth years asked what she and Samuel were discussing. Unfortunately, though, they apologised for Phoebe not getting an Order of Merlin, to which she shrugged it off. Then, they fell into step with each other rather quickly, and no one seemed bothered by the fact the distinguished Head Boy was conversing with them. Even Poppy – who Phoebe hoped was smitten with Ominis still – was acting very nonchalant despite how she used to be around her fellow Hufflepuff. Though, she still could not look at him directly without blushing.

“Weasley, you reek,” Phoebe covered her nose and mouth with a flat hand to banish the foul scent that kept wafting over from the Gryffindor. She had been holding back the comment for a good few minutes, “I’m sorry, it’s unignorable.”

“That’s because Natty walloped him at gobstones,” Poppy giggled, while Natty looked deservedly smug.

“Should’ve figured,” Phoebe snorted and removed her wand. She recited an incantation she read during her lessons with Nurse Blainey to eradicate odious smells. In a flash, Garreth no longer smelt like a dirty bathroom, but the juice from the gobstones remained as a stain on his red waistcoat, “that’s better.”

Garreth sighed in relief, “oh – bless you, Honeyball. Teach me that, will you? Natty refused to do anything about what she did to me!”

“I bet she has good reason.” Phoebe snickered while she and Natty shared a conspiring look.

“Not a good reason, but a reason.” Natty said as they all laughed, apart from Garreth.

“Anyway, are you coming to the lawn, Phoebe?” Poppy asked, jerking her head backwards, “Natty and I are; Prewett has challenged Fawley to a Summoner’s match. Apparently five galleons are on the line.”

“Five?!” Samuel gawked, crossing his arms and tilting his head, “I’m surprised Fawley is content with parting with so much. In that case, I’ll join, if you both don’t mind.”

Poppy instantly turned red – perhaps redder than Phoebe had been, “ah- o-of course!” She said, “it would be an honour.”

“An honour?” Natty repeated, looking down at the Hufflepuff, nonplussed.

“Yes!” Poppy stammered. “Or… er, shall we go? Phoebe?”

Phoebe laughed at first, “I can’t, I’m going later anyway, and I need some lunch after being held back by Professor… Oh! Actually,” she pointed to Garreth, singling him out, “I was hoping I could speak to you, Weasley.”

Garreth pointed to himself warily, “me? What have I do now? What’s Dale told you?”

“Nothing!” Phoebe scoffed, “it’s about a potion.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say that first?! Of course, Honeyball.” A silly smile grew on Garreth’s cheeks, “I can’t bear to watch that poor sod Prewett lose any more money to stupid bets. You all go ahead.”

With that, Natty and Poppy left with Samuel in between them, off back where he and Phoebe came from. After how Samuel said he was heading to the Great Hall because he was also hungry… it perplexed her as to why he was now heading in the opposite direction – even if the prospect of watching Leander and Hector play against each other was rather enticing.

“So, what do you want to discuss?” Garreth asked, “I hope it’s not whatever Onai keeps hounding me about.”

“What – the potion you and the other Gryffindor boys are trying to smuggle from Sharp?”

“SHUSH!” Garreth hissed loudly. He peered guiltily around at the students who clearly couldn’t care less about their conversation. Even still, he acted like a momentous secret had been revealed, “shush, shush! Merlin, Honeyball, you’re usually softly spoken. Lower your voice! Let’s not talk here, come on.”

Garreth led Phoebe through the entrance doors into the lobby before the Great Hall. Scents of sublime foods wafted through which made her stomach grumble in warning. She tried to ignore it for just a moment more.

“So, what can I do for you?” He asked, leaning against the wall, regarding Phoebe like she was a client. Long red hair flicked back dramatically.

So, she explained her situation (omitting Isidora and the whole Keepers saga, of course). Mainly about needing a solution to fix burns on an enchanted portrait, saying it was for one she found in Mr. Moon’s storeroom. The excuse for why she wanted it revived was because she was interested, for schoolwork, obviously.

“Burns?” Garreth squinted, more out of disappointment than suspicion, “is this painting that special?”

“Oh yes,” Phoebe nodded and crossed her arms, leaning her head closer, “I think it would really help me in some inches I need to write for History of Magic. And anyway, I’m just curious about what they might say.”

“And you can’t test your own concoctions on your toad?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Fine. You know, for all you’ve been through, Honeyball, I thought your request might be a little more exciting.”

“It is exciting.”

“Sure,” Garreth sighed as if it truly bothered him, but his eyes told a different story. They were talking about potions, after all. “It’s certainly something I can look into in my spare time, but I’m a busy man, Honeyball,” he said, echoing his words from fourth year when he taught her all he knew about potions. Little did she know that such a lesson would propel her into academic success with Professor Sharp. For how destructive Garreth’s potions were, he had clear promise in the field of potioneering. More so than anyone else at that school.

A half-smirk curled on Phoebe’s lips as she also leaned against the wall. She reduced her voice, “is that because your time is taken by whatever scheme you, Prewett, Davies and Northcott are brewing?”

“Shush! Again - stop being so loud!” Garreth scowled and hissed again, guardedly glancing around them. Barely anyone was in the hallway, but he still pulled Phoebe by her shoulders to a shadowed corner, “seriously, Honeyball, one would think you would be more grateful for how I took the fall for you in Potions.”

Phoebe’s smirk faltered immediately, “sorry, Weasley. I am appreciative of you saving me. I think Parkinson and McDowell have it out for me…”

Garreth’s scowl disappeared just as quickly as it appeared and he put a friendly hand on Phoebe’s shoulder, “I know they do. Adding leeches… what were they thinking?”

Phoebe knew exactly what they were thinking when they added that ingredient.

“Either way, thank you for stepping up for me,” she said, genuinely grateful, as Garreth’s hand fell from her shoulder, “apart from a Butterbeer, (which I’ve not forgotten about!), is there anything else I can do to repay you for this?”

Garreth grinned for a moment, his eyes twinkling and his lips pursing. Each movement made him appear more simultaneously jittery and excitable than Phoebe was used to seeing him like, “well,” he coughed, “there might be something.”

“What is it?” Phoebe raised an eyebrow.

Garreth peered around them again, as if they had eavesdroppers. There were magical ways of listening in on conversations – such as with enchanted ears from Zonko’s – but Phoebe figured no one was particularly interested in their chat. Garreth talked enough rubbish to anyone who would listen as it was.

Tilting inward, Garreth anxiously rubbed his chin and chewed his lip. His green eyes, though more subdued than Samuel’s, like leaves in a darkened forest, were sharp when he asked, “who is Dale supporting on Sunday?”

Phoebe’s eyes widened in surprise. She wasn’t expecting his question to be about Samantha.

“Oh – I don’t know actually,” she responded truthfully, “why?”

Garreth pulled the collar of his shirt like it was boiling hot in the castle, “just wondering. I was hoping she won’t be in the snake stands this time. Or-or the rest of your lot. I know you’re a lost cause, Honeyball, but…”

Garreth had re-achieved his place as a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and was particularly proud, since try-outs were competitive that year. He wasn’t the only person who was putting a lot of pressure on themselves for that kick-off match.

“She’s made no comments about who she’s supporting, yet.”

“She hasn’t?” Garreth let out a sigh of relief then clasped his hands together, “Honeyball, I need to ask you something, but you have to promise not to tell Dale. No matter how much you’ll want to.”

“You’re asking me to not utter a word to my closest friend?” Phoebe co*cked her head.

“I am.”

“Well, for all that you’ve done for me, I can certainly make an exception.”

Garreth’s eyes brightened, “a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. Right… all right, this is what I need you to do: get Dale to watch the match from the Gryffindor stands.”

“What?” Phoebe blinked twice, “that’s it?”

“Uh – yes.” Garreth scoffed, “since you joined Hogwarts, she’s always been in their stand at the big games.”

“Not at the final game of fourth year.”

“Yes, well, that’s beside the point! She’s not been supporting us as much as she should.”

“And why do you care, Weasley?”

Garreth’s face turned as red as his fiery hair, “I just don’t like seeing good friends fall to the allure of snakes when they were perfectly happy supporting the lions.”

Phoebe became smug. She knew enough of why Garreth asked this of her, “you want me to subtly convince her to support you on Sunday?”

Garreth bumbled a lot, but not this much. He went through several sentence starters such as ‘um’, ‘yes’, ‘er’, until he said, “please, if you could, Honeyball. That would suffice in payment. But I’m serious, don’t tell her – I’ll never hear the end of it if you do.”

Phoebe nodded and stuck out her little finger, “I promise… this is a ‘pinky promise’… no, don’t pull that face! It’s not an unbreakable vow, Merlin! It’s a Muggle tradition,” she pulled his little finger and curled it around hers, “I promise not to say anything, but I will try and get Sam to support Gryffindor on Sunday.”

With that, Garreth smirked, and pinky promised her. To Phoebe, this was only enacting something she wanted to for a while. Garreth and Samantha were good for each other, friends or otherwise, and she had observed Garreth’s affections since the very beginning. The difficulty was going to be getting Samantha to crumble her walls for him.

Anyway, she didn’t need such an incentive, but it was the least she could do to repay Garreth for agreeing to help her with her portrait situation. Now, all she needed to do was eat, smuggle the ancient magic research down to the Undercroft and meet Ominis and Sebastian there later.

✦

“Excited for Sunday?”

“If you’re asking if I’m excited to win, then yes.”

“I don’t know – Booth looks rather good on her broom this year.”

“Not as good as Reyes does.”

“Reyes can’t carry the whole team.”

“No she can’t, so it’s lucky I’m there.”

Phoebe snorted, but she agreed. Sebastian glanced at her with an audacious smirk, knowing he had made her laugh.

They were sitting on the floor side by side while Ominis played Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik on the old antique brown pianoforte. It was a jaunty, spectacular melody regardless, but Ominis’ musical talent made it quite a remarkable show. He had already played them several songs while they reclined together after a busy school day. N.E.W.T.s were proving to be much more laborious than O.W.L.s.

Though, school didn’t matter down in the Undercroft, and Phoebe was just enjoying being back there with Sebastian and Ominis like how they used to. The chamber still had a stubborn darkness that time hadn’t yet eradicated, but the space was no longer unwelcoming or suffocated by terrible memories. That was impossible when Ominis was playing the piano so delightfully and with Sebastian cracking light-hearted jokes.

“Anyway, who put up those posters of Imelda?” She asked, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head was rested on one as she watched Ominis lose himself in his art. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard him play, but she vowed that it could never be without it for so long again.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Sebastian said. He was resting back on his palms with his legs splayed out in front of him. His head rocked to the tune.

“It wasn’t Imelda, was it?”

“Merlin, absolutely not. She loves being centre stage but even she wouldn’t be so theatrical. She’s a superstitious one – probably thinks she’d jinx her ever becoming a proper Quidditch player if she printed such big proclamations.”

“Star of Slytherin is quite the title,” Phoebe agreed, “I’m more surprised you haven’t done one for yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Sebastian leaned forward. “and what would be my title?”

Phoebe pondered for a moment and sniffed a laugh, “the Skunk of Slytherin.”

“Skunk?”

“You smell.”

“Merlin’s beard, that was the most tragic thing I think you’ve ever said, Phoebe,” Sebastian shook his head and stifled a bellowing laugh, as to not disturb Ominis, “you can do better than that.”

During their conversation, Phoebe tried not to stare at the far corner of the Undercroft – where her research now resided. Spooked by a possible Ministry investigation, during her free period, she stuffed every last piece of parchment and transfigured blackboard-turned-planter in her enchanted book bag and ran for the Undercroft. Sebastian and Ominis were in classes, so she found a nondescript corner with old barrels stacked as high as the ceiling and hid them behind. No one ever went over there, so she hoped they would go unnoticed. Though, adding to her work was going to a struggle now that Sebastian and Ominis could walk in at any time

Feeling slightly reassured after doing that, she went to Summoner’s Court Club and rejoiced in winning three matches. It also turned out that Hector Fawley lost and had to part ways with his five galleons. Leander was insufferable as a result for the whole duration of the club’s meeting.

“Well, if you want the truth, I think you’d deserve a title for your Crossed Wands achievements!” Phoebe said.

“Now we’re talking,” Sebastian gleamed, “like what?”

She shrugged, “the simple ‘Hogwarts’ best dueller’ works well in my opinion.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, “I like it, I like it. Though I’m surprised you’re giving me that title, Hero of Hogwarts.”

Phoebe flew and arm out to swipe at Sebastian, “hey, you know I hate that name!”

“I know,” he smiled, thankfully not bringing up the Order of Merlin. Neither he nor Ominis did – they knew her thoughts on it all already, “but it does work.”

“If you’re not careful, I will take back that title I just gave you.”

“I don’t really deserve it anyway – you beat me in a duel on your first day.”

“Yeah, well, I still think you’re a better duellist overall. Anyway, ancient magic is a bit of an unfair advantage.”

“As is being the only person in the year thus far to cast a corporeal patronus.”

“You’ll be able to cast yours soon.”

“Perhaps, but maybe we should have another duel to settle the matter. We know way more spells than we did two years ago.”

Unfortunately, we do.

“I don’t know, I can’t imagine duelling you now,” Phoebe admitted.

Sebastian tilted his head quizzically, “how come?”

She shrugged again, “it feels wrong. Think I’ve spent too much time duelling alongside you to imagine going against you.”

Even after what you did.

A soft smile graced Sebastian’s face at that, “charming.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it! The ‘unstoppable duo’ has a certain appeal to it over ‘Hogwarts’ best dueller’, in my humble opinion anyway.”

Phoebe stopped watching Ominis to smile sweetly at Sebastian. She was delighted to find he was returning the expression. In fact, she was pleased about the whole situation – being able to do this again.

“I agree,” she said, “two good duellers are more menacing than one.”

“True, though I’m not sure I could duel you now either,” Sebastian then said, “I don’t think I could bring myself to.”

There was something poignant about the way he delivered that statement, and Phoebe couldn’t put her finger on why. Though, it was nice to know that he, too, only saw her as an ally.

“Because you know I’d floor you?” She joked.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “remind me to never bother with niceties with you again, if that’s how you’re going to take it!”

Phoebe started to laugh and pushed Sebastian’s shoulder in jest, attempting to hide her blushing, just as Ominis finished up his song. With one final note struck on the keys, lingering notes echoed in the Undercroft, followed by raucous applause from Phoebe and Sebastian.

“Bravo, Ominis!” Phoebe cheered.

“Encore, encore!” Sebastians shouted.

“Thank you, thank you,” Ominis said graciously, “but I am quite weary of the dramatic stuff, now.”

“What else have you got?”

“What hasn’t he got?” Phoebe said. “Honestly I do wish I could play. You look brilliant when you do it.”

“So do I – then we wouldn’t have had that argument in fourth year.” Ominis laughed.

Phoebe felt instantly guilty at that. She once caught Ominis playing alone before they were friends and when he wasn’t happy with Sebastian revealing the Undercroft to her. Phoebe then mistakably assumed he was being a pompous pureblood berating her for not being able to play an instrument.

Oh, how far we have come. Now, Ominis was the one person she felt truly comfortable with.

“Well,” Phoebe stood, “teach me something now?”

“Teach you?” Ominis’ eyes narrowed and his mouth moved into a contemplative downwards crescent, “I’m afraid I’m not a very good teacher.”

“Nonsense, you never know until you try.”

Ominis’ mouth turned upside down and he smiled, “very well,” he patted the bench beside him, “take a seat.”

Phoebe grinned and skipped over, planting herself to Ominis’ right.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Sebastian protested, “you never agreed to teach me.”

“That’s because you’re a difficult student,” Ominis quipped while he turned to face the piano again, and it made Phoebe giggle conspiringly, “but if you can find room, then I guess you join.”

Sebastian and Phoebe shared a look and his eyebrow raised in intrigue. This is going to be a disaster, Phoebe thought to herself, internally laughing.

“How can I refuse?” Sebastian said, standing up and striding towards the bench.

“Wait,” Phoebe fretted when Sebastian loomed over her and Ominis, “I don't think there is room-!”

Sebastian ignored Phoebe’s protests and planted himself to her right, so she was squashed between him and Ominis.

Phoebe had been this close to both of them before, on countless occasions. But there was something strangely intimate about having their bodies and pressed together, with nowhere to wiggle away to.

“You should probably sit on my other side,” Ominis said, his hands stretching to feel the width of the piano, “so you can follow my movements.”

“I can follow from here.” Sebastian declared. Flashing a toothy grin at them both.

Phoebe laughed nervously then stared down into her lap, and watched how her skirt was creasing in the centre from being compressed. On the small bench, Ominis’ right leg was straight and still resting on the peddles, while Sebastian’s left leg tilted outward, which caused it to push Phoebe’s leg inward.

She had to remind herself that while being pressed to Ominis wasn’t unusual, there was also nothing odd about being this close to Sebastian either. They were friends. A trio once again.

And despite her worrying, she found herself smiling to herself. Too much time had been spent grieving over the loss of their friendship to feel embarrassed by this. Because ultimately, she knew this moment would be seared into her mind forevermore whenever she thought of their times in the Undercroft.

“Very well,” Ominis said and stretched his fingers out in front of him, “we can try a fairly simple one first. A personal favourite – Chopin. Waltz in A Minor.”

There was a silence which caused Phoebe to glance up. It sliced through her thoughts because of how heavy the atmosphere suddenly felt. She turned behold Sebastian beside her who had his head lowered just how hers once was, and his hair obscured his eyes. It casted a shadow over his features

“Anne loved that one.” He said quietly.

“I know.” Ominis replied simply, “we used to play it together.”

Phoebe twisted to look at Ominis. While not sunken like Sebastian, the slight curve of his eyebrows was enough of a signal that he was similarly despondent at her absence.

Phoebe placed a comforting hand on both Ominis and Sebastian’s shoulder. At that, Sebastian raised his head to meet her gaze. It had been some time since she observed him this closely, and she had forgotten how many freckles graced his face. For a moment that struck her body like lightning, so couldn’t pry herself away. Oh no.

“Then let’s do it,” Phoebe said quickly, “for her.”

Sebastian was still watching Phoebe, crestfallen. Even still, he swallowed and nodded slowly.

“I would like that.” He said.

“If I’m a good teacher, then you can both play this for Anne when she’s back,” Ominis said. His head tilted towards Phoebe and Sebastian, and for once, there was no underlying venom in his tone for how Sebastian drove his twin away.

They all missed Anne, and Sebastian and Ominis’ love for her would only grow and ache until the day she returned. Phoebe just hoped that when that day arrived, they could play this song together, and she was able to take Anne’s curse away, once and for all.

✦

✦ 5th December 1891 ✦

A momentous day was upon Hogwarts. The return of the Inter-House Quidditch Cup had anticipation brewing long since Professor Black announced its reinstatement, and that morning, the thrill was palpable, as if the air was electrified for the opening match. No Muggle competition compared, except for perhaps the races… though, Phoebe was not posh enough know what those were like.

That morning, Phoebe, with her Ravenclaw housemates – Samantha, Constance, Everett, Andrew and Amit – were walking towards the Quidditch pitch amongst a noisy crowd of students all heading the same direction.

An icy sheen coated the grassy banks and a low mist hung over the grounds. Light enough, however, that it proved to be perfect conditions for the first match of the year. Visibility was decent, and despite the chill, those whizzing about the skies were going to be far too padded in their kits to notice. Less could be said about the spectators who were bundled in thick coats and scarves.

The closer the students got to the pitch, the louder the cheers became. In the stands above, a crowd so high up they appeared like a tiny army of ants were already seated in the gallows, waving flags and hollering while waiting for the match to begin.

“Merlin, how are we going to get a seat?” Samantha huffed out a cloud of air when they reached the side of the pitch. Phoebe had never been to a Quidditch match so packed out before.

“No idea, but I’m not going to wait around to see if there aren’t enough for everyone. See you later folks,” Andrew said as he headed for the Slytherin stands. In the distance, Phoebe could just make out Magnus Sorensson’s silhouette, as her housemate turned to embark for his friend.

“Likewise,” Everett saluted the girls and Amit and turned for the faculty tower, where he would be commentating the match, “see you tonight.”

“We’ll see you later, Pheebs,” Constance waved with Amit in tow. She would be at the Gryffindor stands to support her younger sister, Audrey, who had just become one of their Chasers, “Sam, are you coming?”

“In a minute, just going to make sure Pheebs gets on her way safely,” Samantha called back.

“Hey – I’m perfectly fine on my own.” Phoebe scoffed.

“(Shut up)”

“(Make me!)”

Phoebe and Samantha bid farewell to their housemates, quietly bickering, until they were alone. Only then, did they face the pitch while linking arms. It was an unexpectedly beautiful day, and the cool tones of winter were brighter than ever. There was a Great Blizzard at the beginning of that year, and the remnants hadn’t diminished for the final act.

Phoebe had already forgotten about asking why Samantha wanted to stay behind when she was hit with a sense of déjà vu. She looked around to see if she could spot anyone she knew. Unfortunately, it was void of any sixth year. Instead, she pulled Samantha closer to the pitch side, in hopes she could get a better view.

What happened next was much better. In a repeat of events in fourth year, they caught a glimpse of the teams warming up and having a pep talk before the match.

Phoebe could see Sebastian stretching in his full Quidditch uniform near Imelda and Titus. The leather straps against the green undershirt stitched with a large white ‘S’ pulled and stretched along with him. He looked lean and muscular, and distinctly pleasing. She sometimes forgot how tall he had become, and how he had really grown into his features in the last year especially. It was funny to think they were both now able to wield magic without the Trace tracking them. He was a fully-fledged wizard.

Phoebe was struggling to look away. Things were markedly good since they reconciled. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an echo of their once unmovable friendship.

However, what came with it was a terrible situation that she was reluctant to admit to herself: that she was enamoured with Sebastian. In a way that was both disastrous for their friendship and her sanity.

The penny dropped once more when she looked into his umber-brown eyes on that piano bench.

If anyone knew, they would probably slap some sense into her after what he did over the summer, and for his descent last year. Ominis especially, and definitely Samantha. But she couldn’t help it. What is one supposed to do when your oldest friend in this world is also the one person you’re unable to stop thinking about?

“He looks great, doesn’t he?” Samantha muttered beside Phoebe, her voice low.

“Yes-” Phoebe began to reply, until she realised Samantha had just commented on Sebastian’s appearance. That was, until she whipped her head around to regard Samantha and found her looking in the opposite direction. In her fellow Ravenclaw’s line of sight was Garreth bellowing a laugh with Nellie Oggspire and Eric Northcott. Like Sebastian, he was in his Gryffindor kit under the leather straps of the protective gear. His hands were on his hips while he let out another guffaw, and his long red hair waved in the slight breeze

Rather than teasing her again, Phoebe let Samantha stare. After Garreth implored her to nudge Samantha to support Gryffindor, the task wasn’t as tricky as she was expecting. Her fellow Ravenclaw was almost relieved to not accompany her to the Slytherin stands, saying, “honestly, I always thought red suited me better. Green just washed me out.”

Repayment had been successfully and partially achieved. Honestly, given the progress with Ominis and Poppy and now Garreth and Samantha, Phoebe thought herself a stellar matchmaker. If only she were so lucky in her own life.

“Good morning, Honeyball, Dale.” Sebastian appeared out of nowhere, startling Phoebe out of her wits. He was moderately flushed from his warm-ups, but his cheeks certainly matched both girls’ who gawked at him in astonishment, “Well, I can’t help but wonder where your Slytherin scarf is.” He looked at Phoebe then nodded to Samantha.

Phoebe closed her jaw and touched her own scarf nonplussed, which was her old Ravenclaw blue one - the only one she owned at Hogwarts. So, she turned only to find Samantha, by contrast, suddenly wearing a Gryffindor one.

Phoebe co*cked her head in bewilderment – she wasn’t wearing it on her way over to the pitch. She could have sworn it was a bog standard Ravenclaw one.

Though, she knew Samantha well enough not to goad her about it in front of others.

“I’m not so sure.” Phoebe lifted the end of her scarf by the tassel, inspecting it, “blue rather suits me, does it not?”

“Perhaps to you.” Sebastian smirked, peering down at Samantha as well as Phoebe. “Unlike your friend here in heinous red.”

“Don’t be bitter, Sallow, you got three matches out of me. That’s all you’re getting.” Samantha said, sticking her tongue out at Sebastian. He clutched his chest like he had been struck with an arrow.

“Trying to smuggle more supporters to your side, Sallow?” Garreth teased as he suddenly joined them also, jogging over and whipping his hair from his face theatrically. Samantha instantly averted her eyes to the ground. “The Slytherin gallows are looking pretty meagre.”

“Sod off, Weasley.” Sebastian scoffed, crossing his arms and making the kit tighten around his biceps. Phoebe tried not to stare. “Anyway, your side doesn’t have the Hero of Hogwarts supporting them.”

“I’m not so sure. Honeyball would be one to switch sides to keep you on your toes.” Garreth tittered, making Samantha giggle too.

“If you can buy a round of butterbeers, Garreth, I’ll consider switching.” Phoebe interjected, opening a suggestive palm that she knew would annoy Sebastian. Even after their time apart, wit like this had not been lost. If anything, they both rejoiced in a little repartee.

“Why are you always trying to run my pockets dry? You owe me a Butterbeer, remember?” Garreth moaned in jest, shooting a warning look at Phoebe and covertly sticking out his little finger, as if she had forgotten their promise.

“Why?” Samantha and Sebastian asked in unison.

“No particular reason,” Phoebe giggled, cheekily sticking her tongue inside her cheek at Garreth and ignoring the others’ questions. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be happy enough with Sam supporting you.”

“Somewhat.” Garreth mumbled, shooting a wry smirk at Samantha.

Unlike her usual response, which would be to appear utterly disdainful with him, she just blushed and twisted her foot on the spot. Phoebe and Sebastian shared an inconspicuous look.

“If you’re going to be that unenthusiastic, I’ll just leave.” Samantha muttered to the ground, in a genius move to perturb Garreth. If anyone knew how to bother the young Weasley, it was her.

“No! We need you, Dale. Your superb cheers are wasted on their side.” Garreth put his hands together in a pleading motion. It was so pitiful, even Samantha faltered to laugh. Sebastian shot Phoebe another light, quizzical look. He knew she would explain it to him later.

They finished up their tittering, and in another turn of events, Garreth personally walked Samantha over to one of the Gryffindor stands. They looked to be walking closely side-by-side the whole time, and Phoebe could have sworn they were centimetres away from each other’s hands. Either way, it left her alone with Sebastian, who still had a smirk plastered on his face.

“I should find Ominis, and a seat.” Phoebe said, peered up at Sebastian, who’s smile seemed to stumble at her expression. He really looked handsome in the harsh daylight. Against her wishes, it was killing her. She could have killed him for kissing her once upon a time – she was sure that was the turning point for her. If that never happened, then perhaps she would be blissfully enamoured with someone else. Someone who would return those feelings…

“Yes, but before that, I just wanted to thank you for coming today, Phoebe.” Sebastian said in a low voice, beckoning Phoebe to come closer. She immediately obliged. “If Slytherin wins, we’re hosting a celebration in the common room after. You should come.”

Phoebe pulled back and shot Sebastian a mischievous look. She had not been in another house’s common room in some time, and the Slytherin common room was one she had yet to visit.

“You already know I’ll be there.” Phoebe replied, stepping from foot to foot giddily.

“Good, I was hoping-” Sebastian began, but his attention was abruptly averted to behind Phoebe. She frowned and turned to see what he was looking at.

Her stomach twisted. It was Asterius Black – dressed in his Quidditch captain kit – merely watching Sebastian by the changing rooms. After a brief moment of holding his stare, he averted his eyes to Phoebe’s. He squinted with a harsh expression, as if to say, I’m watching.

Once upon a time, Phoebe might have been bold. She might have stormed towards Asterius and given him a piece of her mind, slapped him, jinxed him, or whatever. However, she was never one to engage in theatrics, especially when she had so much as stake.

But the question remained, why was Asterius regarding Sebastian in such a way? Sebastian was a pureblood wizard, but not like Ominis, or Samuel, or any of them. Black never cared about their friendship before, and their implicit deal didn’t extend to Sebastian. Or did it?

Sebastian mouthed ‘what?’ to Asterius, to which the Slytherin captain only responded by pulling his lips into a thin line and lightly grimacing at them both. He then walked by wordlessly, while Philip and Violet – who were both on the Quidditch team as a Beater and Chaser respectively – also shot daggers at the pair as they passed by to join their teammates.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sebastian asked to no one in particular. It was almost a throwaway comment, but Phoebe was so disturbed by the sight, she couldn’t offer any nonchalant quip in return. Sebastian noticed, “and what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Phoebe responded too quickly.

Sebastian pursed his lips as he assessed Phoebe’s disposition. Eyes scanning over her until he finally caught her drifting gaze and co*cked his head sideways, “it’s clearly not nothing.”

“It is.”

“No – what has Parkinson said this time?”

“It’s not Parkinson.”

“So, it is something,” Sebastian noted, turning around to glimpse at his Slytherin teammates. Asterius, Philip and Violet had begun stretching alongside Imelda, Titus and Grace Pinch-Smedley, talking as if nothing was awry. He turned back to Phoebe, “Was it, Black?”

Contrary to her initial response, Phoebe stumbled for a second too long this time before affecting indifference, “I told you it’s nothing.”

Licking his lips in contemplation, he glanced around at the lines of students still filtering into the arena – surely noticing how many of which were staring at them. For a moment, Phoebe expected him to drop it, only to pick up in the Undercroft at a later date.

Instead, she felt fingers wrap around her bicep, and then Sebastian led her away from the pitch and to the nearest stand.

Since their reconciliation, Phoebe and Sebastian barely touched. Aside from when he sat next to her by the piano, their encounters were devoid of physical contact. They hadn’t shaken hands, not hugged – only friendly or playful patting. Not even on her birthday. It was a struggle for Phoebe to hide the look of mortification on her face as Sebastian weaved through the crowd with her in tow. The younger years eagerly stepping out of his way, with some seeming particularly interested in where the eminent Slytherin Beater and ‘Hogwarts best duellist’ was taking the Hero of Hogwarts. Honestly, Phoebe thought, it’s like he forgets how much has changed. One can’t simply have a quiet moment anymore; does he not know that?

Once through the thicket of students, Sebastian parted the yellow hanging cloth and stepped into the foundations of one of the stands by the dressing rooms. It was a maze and cluster of wooden beams, obscured by the stairs leading up to the seats high above. The thundering of footsteps was almost deafening, and the only light was offered by streaks of sunlight pouring through the slits in the structure. Sawdust swirled in the beams, scattering sporadically, disturbed by the forces of witch and wizard passing through.

Sebastian held firmly but not harshly onto Phoebe’s arm as they walked to a tucked away section of the structure, far from the prying eyes out on the pitch.

Once hidden, he then let go of her arm slowly, almost reluctantly, and turned to face her. His eyes being the only illuminated part of him from a severe ray of sunlight. He squinted but his irises were vividly bronze. With one final glance behind Phoebe to check no one was following them, he said, “right, now tell me what’s going on.”

“This is ridiculous, Sebastian,” Phoebe retorted, straightening her coat, “the whole school saw us go in here.”

“I don’t care. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

“And I don’t care, it’s not something I want to talk about.”

“Come on, Phoebe,” Sebastian’s voice turned pleading, “I know things haven’t been great between us, but I don’t want us to be unable to divulge in each other once again,” he chewed the inside of his cheek, “has this anything to do with the detention you received for jinxing Parkinson?”

Phoebe watched him as he spoke and internally stewed about whether to tell him about Black. It was Sebastian after all – someone she would never think twice about confiding in before. Yet, from what she saw of him last year, and his subsequent actions, she hadn’t forgotten how volatile he could be.

At the same time, how could they ever move on if she never gave him the chance to redeem himself? She believed that such precariousness had turned into compassion, so why not test the theory?

“Somewhat,” Phoebe admitted, glancing over her shoulder to triple check no one was eavesdropping through the structure, then crossing her arms tightly over her chest, “though, it’s a lot more complicated than that.”

So, Phoebe told Sebastian the story. Reminding him of Asterius’ comments before her sixteenth birthday, and then divulging the threats he made to her a few weeks back.

She didn’t know what possessed herself to do so, but she also told Sebastian about how Asterius threatened her. Perhaps it was the familiarity in telling Sebastian about something consuming her life, like how they used to discuss matters of ancient magic and Ranrok. The craving to return to normality, to receive his consideration, clouded her judgements, and she immediately regretted it when she saw the fury in his eyes.

“He did what?” Sebastian growled. Looking at her as if she were the one who threatened Ominis’ place at Hogwarts.

Phoebe raised her hands in an – albeit futile - attempt to placate him, “I know how it sounds, but I only let him because retaliating would have made the situation far worse.”

Sebastian laughed harshly, “Listen to yourself! No – he’s gotten away with it for far too long. I should have done something about it last year, but he’s now threatened you and Ominis. I can’t stand by and let that happen.”

“No!” Phoebe almost shouted, forgetting that they weren’t completely alone with the crowds heading up the stairs above them, “you can’t say anything. If you do, he’ll know I told you, and he’ll go to the headmaster out of spite. You won’t just get Ominis in trouble, but me as well. He has the power to expel us both… no, Sebastian, don’t you dare think about it - I’m being serious!”

The fire in his eyes was reminiscent of the time he punched Philip in the face after the aggressive Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match in their fourth year – when Imelda broke her arm and Mauve’s leg and head were mashed. Mixed with the expression he pulled after Leander struck her with a basic cast in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Deep in there, she also saw a flicker of something from that day in Feldcroft’s catacomb.

He's still unstable, you fool, Phoebe.

“Do you really expect me to just stand by after he’s hurt you?” Sebastian asked in a voice barely audible through bared teeth. “After what he’s putting Ominis through?” He pointed to the ground insistently, “it’s outrageous!”

Phoebe thought it an interesting comment to make after what he did to them both during the summer, but she held her tongue.

“I know, but that’s exactly why you can’t do anything.” She said, backtracking, “please, just trust me here. I need you to reign your anger in this time.”

“This time?” Sebastian’s glare was now clearly at Phoebe, as if he didn’t hear the rest of her words.

“Yes, this time, and don’t be proud. You can’t do anything stupid here, Sebastian. I mean it. It’s not your battle, and I have it under control. I told you about it because I’m choosing to trust you. Please don’t make me regret it.”

Sebastian’s chest heaved and his nostrils flared as he inhaled several deep breaths, possibly to quell his raging fire. All the while, the sun continued to irradiate his face. The inferno tempering in his eyes, but Phoebe found herself counting the freckles on his nose while she waited for his response.

The second the flames were extinguished entirely was clearly discernible the moment Sebastian’s brow softened and he dropped his head. Phoebe watched his mop of brown hair, already windswept from the match warm-up, until he brough his eyes back up to meet hers. An internal debate had just progressed in his mind, and finally, she knew by the look alone, he realised.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t bear the thought of Asterius’ hands on you.” He croaked finally. Sorrow as well as remaining wrath lacing his words. He frowned, as if remembering what Phoebe told him, “that slimy bastard, he’ll regret it – one way or another.”

Phoebe inhaled a deep breath of her own, trying not to trip on his words, when she said, “but do you understand what I’m saying?”

A whistle blew out on the pitch. Both turned their heads to the sound, listening to some hollering, whooping and thunderous applause from the stands above, vibrating the wooden structure.

Out of nowhere, hands gripped onto Phoebe’s shoulders. She twisted to face Sebastian, finding him inches away from her now.

Despite wishing she was poised and unaffected, her heart clamoured, her eyes widened, and her mouth curled down in a half-crescent lune while looking into Sebastian’s wild eyes. Never before had she both regretted and was glad of telling him something. The embers burnished in those gold-specked eyes, and it ignited her own fire.

“I won’t let anything like that happen to you again,” Sebastian declared while his thumb dug into her skin. Firm, but reassuring. His breath warmed her cheeks, “let him try while I’m around.”

“Sebastian-” Phoebe went to protest, but like a flash of lightning, he let go of her, and stormed off in the direction of the pitch. Leaving her to hyperventilate against one of the wooden beams.

Reflexively, Phoebe curled her arms around herself, tracing where Sebastian’s hands had just been. The warmth lingered on the spot, contrastive to the cold consuming her elsewhere. A shaky exhale followed in a cirrus while the crowds seemed to be riling up. There was a metal clanging and some hissing before Everett’s voice boomed so loud, he could have been standing right beside her.

“WELCOME ALL AND WELCOME BACK. TODAY MARKS THE FIRST MATCH IN THE INTER-HOUSE QUIDDITCH CUP!” He bellowed, “HERE THE TEAMS ARE FINISHING THEIR WARMUPS, READY FOR A MOMENTOUS MORNING INDEED.”

Phoebe caught her breath and lowered her arms. Digging into her skirt pocket, she retrieved her wand to cast the Disillusionment Charm. Sebastian may not have any qualms about being seen emerging from this clandestine meeting, but Phoebe had a reputation to maintain. More so than he did. So, she snuck out, and over to the stand she agreed to meet Ominis in, regretting almost every decision she made up until that point.

Because there wasn’t just a fire in Sebastian’s eyes, but a distant yet mounting storm.

✦

“Where have you been?” Ominis questioned with clear concern on his face when Phoebe finally greeted him. She was once again exhausted from hauling herself up the hundreds of steps leading to one of the Slytherin gallows, undoing the Disillusionment Charm halfway up. It was packed out, and she had to fight her way to the front, barely able to see Ominis in the far corner until she saw the red blinking light of his wand.

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe huffed as she squeezed herself in between Ominis and a fourth year Slytherin, who appeared very upset by her pushing. Especially since she was practically the only student from another house in that particular stand, “I got caught up.”

“Doing what?”

“Honestly – speaking to Sebastian.”

“Oh – wishing him good luck?”

“I wish,” Phoebe sighed, leaning on the wooden barrier which protected the spectators from the fall. Ominis had probably been there ages before she arrived to secure such a good spot. She felt awful, especially since it didn’t matter where he sat; he was relying on Everett for the commentary, which could surely be heard in the dungeons, it was so loud.

“What happened?” Ominis asked, sensing the flatness in her voice. At the same time, another whistle blew, and several figures lifted into Phoebe’s vision. On their brooms, both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams zipped into the air and began doing their rounds. Waving and cheering at their supporters and generally showing off their skills in the broom.

Imelda, who had been missing Quidditch the most, did several loops and flips which garnered intense ‘oo’s’ and ‘ah’s’. So marvellous, even the house-proud Gryffindors were reluctantly in awe. The lions had a very impressive team that year, especially with Natty joining and having captain Camilla Booth as a legacy player, but Imelda was the breakout star of all of Hogwarts, there was no denying that.

“I told him about what Black said to me,” Phoebe said in a low enough voice that only Ominis would hear, while the stand was too busy watching Garreth and Leander whizzing by overhead, “but, Ominis, there is something else which I didn’t tell you only because I didn’t want to worry you.”

Ominis stiffened beside Phoebe. He slowly leaned his head down to meet her height while gripping the wooden barrier in front, “tell me.”

Regretfully, Phoebe revealed to Ominis the final part of the story while Everett announced the teams. On the Slytherin side was Sebastian and Philip as Beaters once again, Imelda, Titus and Asterius as Chasers, Violet as Keeper and Grace Pinch-Smedley as Seeker. On the Gryffindor team, Garreth and Camilla regained their positions as Chasers, with the new addition of Audrey Dagworth. Nellie was Seeker once more, Leander and Eric Northcott as Beaters, and Natty as the new Keeper, since the previous one left Hogwarts the year before.

“Phoebe,” Ominis said once she stopped talking. His voice almost drowned out by the cacophony of cheers, “when will you stop keeping secrets?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe uttered pitifully, “at the time, I didn’t see that part as necessary to tell. The meaning behind his words remains, it doesn’t really matter if he did that.”

What? It means everything,” Ominis scoffed, his head turned straight ahead, “how could you let him do that and not tell me?”

He was annoyed, and rightfully so. Even still, Phoebe defended herself, “I don’t expect a man to understand my choice of actions.”

Ominis was quiet for a moment while the players took their positions. Phoebe shielded her eyes from the harsh and oppressive sunlight, trying to distract herself from Ominis’ disappointment in her by watching Sebastian assume his position. His hair swept back, head lifted and smiling for the first time since he’d been out on the pitch.

Phoebe followed his line of sight and found the only person there to be Nellie Oggspire. Phoebe’s stomach dropped as Nellie stuck her tongue out at Sebastian. There was no denying the pang of jealously coursing through the Ravenclaw at what she had just witnessed. Sebastian, in his absence from Phoebe and Ominis, had been spending more time with the Gryffindors. Training with them still. The thought that Nellie and he had gotten closer as a result was sickening. Illogically.

“Sebastian already knows about Black keeping tabs on me,” Ominis finally said, “I didn’t tell him how I knew, because I didn’t know you were comfortable with me divulging what happened. Especially after how he acted last year,” he turned his head, the momentary iciness in his demeanour melted, “how did he take it?”

“I don’t know,” Phoebe said truthfully, chewing the inside of her cheek so much, she tasted blood, “he didn’t promise me not to do anything about it, but I did implore him.”

Ominis nodded, and for the third time that day, Phoebe felt a hand on her arm. She looked down to see Ominis’ long pale fingers wrapped around her bicep. Softly, “then all we can do is trust him.” There was a pregnant pause, just as the crowd fell silent in anticipation of kick-off. In a whisper, Ominis said, “next time Black comes near you, use some of that magic of yours. Don’t hold back anymore, and certainly don’t for my sake.”

Phoebe snorted lightly, turning to Ominis, wishing he could see the ghost of a smile he put on her face as she whispered, “maybe next time, I won’t.”

“And Phoebe,” he said. “no more secrets.”

Phoebe inhaled. She had no good response, so she just patted him on the arm thrice.

Then, the whistle blew, and the Seekers shot into the air.

✦

Slytherin won. 320 – 295 after Grace swiped the Snitch before Nellie could, securing the snakes a victory when they were mostly behind on points.

Suddenly, Phoebe found herself being carried away with the Slytherin crowd through the caslte, clutching onto Ominis like her life depended on it, descending into the dungeons in rapid speed.

“Wait,” Ominis said with a gleeful smile (seemingly no longer angry with her), lifting his arm out of Phoebe’s and holding onto her scarf and murmuring an incantation. Looking down, she watched as all the blue from her Ravenclaw scarf washed away to make way for green. The eagle twisting and coiling until it became a snake, “if I’m to sneak you in, you have to look the part.”

Phoebe laughed, “how did you know I was wearing a Ravenclaw scarf?”

“I didn’t,” Ominis said, hooking his arm back in Phoebe’s and holding her up against the stampede, “but I figured whatever it was, you wouldn’t dare let Sebastian dress you in Slytherin colours.”

“Yet, you think I’d let you?” Phoebe elbowed him in jest.

“Of course, and you’ve not transfigured it back, have you?”

Phoebe giggled and relented, following Ominis and the excited Slytherins through the dimly lit halls of the dungeons. Most of the first through to fourth years were in the Great Hall to make way for the older years to begin their soiree in the common room. Littered in the crowd were several students not in Slytherin – notably Edie Dagworth, Hector Fawley and Mauve Molina from the year above.

“They’ll stagger who comes in from other houses so it’s not suspicious to faculty,” Ominis leaned in to say, as if he read Phoebe’s mind.

“And the other prefects?”

“They’ll be joining I imagine, even they won’t be snitching.” Ominis said, then asked, “wait, has Ravenclaw never hosted a party in your time here?”

Phoebe shook her head, “not to my knowledge.”

“Not surprised. Your house doesn’t like debauchery on its own turf.”

She hmphed, “can’t imagine why.”

Quickly, they approached the Slytherin common room entrance. The stone snake slithered up the wall, revealing a tall doorway. One student at the front whispered the password so that none of the other houses could hear it. No one particularly liked uninvited guests in common rooms outside of designated events – it risked faculty clamping down on the wards surrounding the common rooms. This was an unspoken rule (one that Sebastian broke in fourth year to get Phoebe to the restricted section, but thankfully none of the prefects saw).

In haste, the students shuffled and filtered into the Slytherin common room. A crowd minus the Quidditch team, who were still at the pitch and would remain so for a little while longer with Madame Kogawa.

Phoebe bet that the professor was giving the players a warning about on-pitch behaviour. Professor Black reinstated the tournament on the basis that they all play fairly. However, the tensions within the Slytherin team were noticeable, even from the high up in the gallows. Sebastian and Philip were uncoordinated, and both Sebastian and Imelda barely listened to Asterius’ directions. Much like previous matches, Philip whacked the Bludger far too hard at some players, even managing to knock Eric off his broom at one point. Thankfully, the Gryffindor clung on for dear life and was able to scramble back onto the seat. Even still, no one was unaware at the tense display unfolding in front of them.

Though, for the moment, none of that mattered, because they were on the winning side. More cheers exploded as they trotted down the stairs, and chants began such as, “SS-SS-SLYTERIN!”

Though, Phoebe could barely focus while the room revealed itself to her.

The Slytherin common room was absolutely huge, grand and very gothic. It did indeed have hues of green and an air of regality, much like the Ravenclaw common room, but in a dark, sepulchral way. Phoebe, though she dared not admit it for too long, thought it was perhaps the grandest out of all she had seen, and she wasn’t feeling hopeful about Hufflepuff’s stakes in the fight, thinking it’d be more like Gryffindor’s.

“SLY-THER-IN! SLY-THER-IN!” The crowd continued to chant; a chorus filling the common room, and Phoebe worried that the windows holding the Black Lake at bay would crack and give way. Glancing to Ominis, she found he had a pleasant smile on his face. She wondered if it must be strange, as the whole room was effectively shouting his family name, another one that he loathed.

To the wings, some Slytherins ran through some archways, still enthralled in the giddy daze of celebrations. Phoebe craned her neck to see where it was that they were heading, when Ominis said, “welcome to our humble abode.”

“Humble?” Phoebe sniffed, glancing around the room, “I dare say this is almost grander than my common room.”

That was true. The Ravenclaw common room was stunning and certainly opulent, but it was divided into three sections, making it appear smaller in comparison. Though, what the other common rooms didn’t have was an observatory. If Ominis was allowed in more generally, she’d suggest they have their night meetings up there.

Ominis shrugged, walking towards a seating area near a burning fireplace to the wayside. A black leather armchair and a plush green sofa faced the flames, which instantly warmed Phoebe’s frigid bones. “It’s definitely a lot more echoey than the Gryffindor’s,” he said.

Phoebe smiled and glanced up at the high, domed ceilings and tall windows looking out to the turquoise, hazy Black Lake. Her eyes fell to where the students were coming in and out of the archway again, also from on the opposite wall. “Where are they going?” She asked.

“Hm? Oh – I think you’re asking about those getting drinks. Most keep them stashed away in their dorms,” Ominis answered, leaning on the back of the armchair. Appearing very relaxed, which was always a pleasing look on him.

“Brilliant,” Phoebe gleamed. It had been some time since she attended an event on such a scale. Not since the Gryffindor soiree two years before. Though, she cursed that she didn’t know about this earlier, so she could have dressed more appropriately. Her brown jumper over a cream blouse and woven skirt were more practically casual than what was suitable for a party, but there was no point dwelling on it. She turned back to Ominis, “do you have your own contraband?”

Ominis hummed and raised an eyebrow, “I do, in fact. Sebastian and I share a collection.”

“Aren’t you going to get it?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone in an alien space.”

“I’m not a baby,” Phoebe jested. She glanced around at the other seating areas and found Nerida Roberts standing alone near one opposite. Pacing and reading a book, “I can occupy myself for a while.”

“Very well,” Ominis pushed off the armchair and his wand began blinking again, “excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Once Ominis left, disappearing through one of the arches (which were practically asking to be explored at that point), Phoebe walked over to Nerida and waved at her. The Slytherin lifted her head at the movement and grinned. Her mousy brown hair still in its usual style – a fringe with the rest gathered in a low, loose bun.

It turned out Nerida was waiting for Imelda, so they found a spot on the sofa by the black leather armchair Ominis was just leaning on to wait. Around them, it seemed as though the whole house was quickly erupting in festive spirits. It was getting busier by the minute, and some tables had been either summoned or transfigured to host an assortment of snacks and hors d'oeuvres – more fanciful than the ones presented in the Gryffindor common room.

While the celebrants proliferated, Nerida was telling Phoebe about how merpeople and wizards could positively interact. Possibly through some sort of council, since relations were especially sour, and the aquatic creatures were not represented like goblins, house-elves or centaurs, despite being highly intelligent. The conversation sparked Phoebe’s own curiosity at Muggle and goblin-wizard relations. Nerida proved to be a fantastic sounding board for this, and they egged each other on with their ideas. It was nice to know there were other witches who sought peace – especially in Slytherin.

Phoebe was so enthralled in the conversation, that she almost loathed hearing even more deafening cheers blasting in the common room. Even still, it roused her, and she turned to find a parade coming from the entrance stairway – the Quidditch team had arrived.

“SLY-THER-IN! SLY-THER-IN!” Chanting restarted as a cluster of bright green Quidditch kits walked down the steps, followed by more students who definitely were not in Slytherin house, and clearly had transfigured scarves and jumpers with half-snakes, half-whatever other house animal. It was a testament to Ominis’ deft transfiguration skills that Phoebe’s was so immaculate.

Suddenly, Imelda and Grace were in the centre of the fray, being lifted by the swarming crowd – the stars of the match. Their teammates joined in and bounced them along in a procession.

Phoebe found herself grinning and clapping along.

Once in centre of the common room, in between the arches leading to the dorms, Imelda was propped straight on Titus’s shoulders. She threw her fists in the air, whooping and hollering, flapping her arms up to rile the crowd up. Beside her, Grace put her hand to her ear. Students were waving their wands in unison, casting flashes of light that turned into transient green confetti. Reaching as high as the ceiling, a firework formed a snake slithering like a flying broom, which made everyone jump before falling into jolly laughter.

Within the chaos, Phoebe watched as Philip Parkinson slipped an arm around Violet McDowell’s waist. She seemed to giggle and scrunch her face at him in a way that made Phoebe want to violently throw up. She had to look away when Silas Faber and Harry Engels – the two blood purists from the year below – greeted them.

Grimacing, she watched the rest of the team, and only then did Phoebe realise Asterius was missing. She let out an unsteady breath she didn’t know she was holding. Though, that lungful was hitched when another figured emerged from the huddle. Parting it like it was the Red Sea.

Sebastian, still in his Quidditch uniform, spotted Phoebe almost instantly. It was a relief that despite their conversation earlier, a smile was etched onto his ruddy face.

Phoebe was beginning to loathe herself – she also couldn’t stop her stupid grin from forming at seeing him come straight to her. It was a sight to behold – Sebastian with wilder hair than usual and in a green kit that suited him marvellously.

But she didn’t allow herself to stare as she exclaimed, “you were brilliant out there!”

Sebastian stopped before her and Nerida and flashed a wide grin, his face still rosy while he rubbed the back of his neck, “thanks, keep those praises coming, will you?” He chuckled and looked to Nerida, “where were you? I didn’t see you in the crowd when we did our rounds.”

“Oh,” Nerida stammered, “I arrived late, and left early. Sorry! I saw your performance still, though, you were very good, Honeyball is right.”

Sebastian laughed thinly, “fair enough. I’m not the Quidditch police though – you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Roberts.”

Nerida rolled her eyes, “try telling Imelda that. Speaking of which,” she tilted her head, spying that Imelda had finally climbed down from Titus’ shoulders, “I should go see her. Nice speaking to you, Honeyball!”

“You too,” Phoebe said, waving her off. Sebastian too, before he turned to face Phoebe once again. With hands behind his back, looking rather smug, he jerked his head, “so, thoughts?”

Phoebe shook her head, clueless, “of what?”

“My common room,” Sebastian pretended to peer at the surroundings as if they were new to him. His sudden jolly demeanour worked in making Phoebe forget about their earlier conversation, “is it not the best one?”

Phoebe scoffed, “you’re unbelievable.”

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“All right – it is nice. I still think mine surpasses it, however.”

“You would say that,” he snorted, meeting her eyes again. He pursed his lips, “I will admit, it is odd seeing you here and in our colours.”

“I told you; green doesn’t suit me.”

“Oh, quite contraire,” he nodded to the transfigured scarf still around her neck, “I can see quite clearly how it compliments your complexion. Did you wear that the whole match? Who gave it to you?”

Phoebe blushed and quickly removed it from her neck. It was getting warm in there, anyway, “Ominis transfigured it so I could get in. That’s all.”

Sebastian knew he riled Phoebe up, and his signature smirk followed, “next time, I’ll give you one of mine, so you can be an authentic supporter.”

“Good luck trying to get me to wear it.”

They both laughed, wrinkling their faces and delighting in the easy joy of their tittering. Phoebe was sure, as she was, Sebastian rejoiced in how they slipped back into step with each other so quickly once the air was cleared.

Though, as their laughs petered out, Phoebe couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room in that Sebastian might do something about Asterius once he appeared. His recklessness during the match, while not destructive, certainly made both Phoebe and Ominis tense.

Phoebe went to open her mouth, daring to bring it up again just to get some reassurance from Sebastian, when Ominis emerged from one of the archways – two bottles clutched in his arms and one floating, following behind.

“Perfect timing, old friend. You’re one step ahead of me,” Sebastian remarked, clasping a hand on Ominis’ shoulder, which made him jump rather dramatically.

“Merlin, Sebastian, you got back quickly,” Ominis huffed, clutching onto the bottles that almost fell, “Kogawa give you a bollocking?”

“Unfortunately,” Sebastian sucked in a breath through his teeth, “didn’t have time to change out of my kit as a result.”

“So that’s what the stink is.”

Sebastian resisted the urge to slap Ominis on the back, lest he actually drop all the bottles this time. Even still, Phoebe snickered, which made Sebastian say, “what do you expect after all that arduous flying?!”

“Just making an observation. You know Phoebe has a spell for it.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, “I know it too.”

“And you’re not going to use it?”

“I was going to.”

Phoebe snorted. If she were honest, Sebastian didn’t smell. It was clear he had been exercising, but it was by no means a foul scent. Quite the opposite. Though, she still laughed at how deftly Ominis’ satire riled him up.

Ominis sniffed, laying down the bottles on a side table. The one following him also settled gracefully besides the others, “want a drink?”

“Please,” Sebastian groaned, “I’m parched.”

“I don’t think this will quench your thirst,” Phoebe disputed, ambling over to the bottles and picking one up. She glanced over the extravagant label – detailed with ivy and an intricate font – and her face dropped. She held up the bottle, “Ominis – this is expensive stuff.”

She had seen the bottle in Professor Fig’s office once. Upon asking, it turned out it was a wake gift from a Ministry connection when he lost Miriam, and Phoebe almost fainted when he told her how much it cost.

“I know,” he replied, picking up three chess pieces from a nearby board and transfiguring them into glasses, “I guess there are some perks from being in such a vain family.”

“Hear! Hear!” Sebastian chimed in, accepting one glass from Ominis. Though his head was down at the mention of the Gaunts. It was a rift still being filled.

“I took it from my father’s collection years ago,” Ominis continued, handing one of the other glasses to Phoebe, “it’s so vast, I know for certain he has no idea it’s missing.”

“Well, I have no objections of you stealing from your father,” Phoebe snorted, lifting her glass so Ominis could fill it with the rich, amber-coloured liquid, “I’ve never had expensive drinks before.”

“Expensive doesn’t equal good,” Sebastian said, swirling his now poured beverage and sniffing it. Phoebe did the same and her eyes instantly burned. It was a sharp sting and unmistakably spiritous. And that was before even tasting it. In terms of potency, it surely put any Butterbeer or drinks she had at the Gryffindor soiree to shame.

They all suddenly felt distinctly older with neat drinks in their hands.

Ominis had finished pouring his drink and had lifted it to the air, “shall we toast?”

“Are we toasting to your win?” Phoebe asked, mirroring Ominis.

“That,” Sebastian simpered, lifting his own, “and to us.”

“Us?” Ominis inquired, tilting his head quizzically.

“Yes,” Sebastian nodded to him, and then to Phoebe. His eyes lingered on hers, “well, to you two, more like. For giving me this chance. I’m staunchly grateful.”

Phoebe couldn’t stop the sad frown she pulled, “Sebastian…”

“I’m serious – if anyone deserves a toast, it’s you two for putting up with me. I… and… and Anne are very lucky to have you,” Sebastian’s voice cracked for a brief moment, but he pushed his glass forward to mask it, “you’re the family when we had none. So, on behalf of us both - here, to Ominis Gaunt and Phoebe Honeyball – the best friends a man could ask for.”

Friends. Those who would always have a seat at his table.

Ominis raised his glass higher in response to that, and Sebastian beheld his oldest friend with an incredibly soft look. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Sebastian elicited one of Ominis’ big, genuine smiles, that only they and Anne could bring to light.

Phoebe, too, stepped forward and raised her drink up. She openly grinned at Sebastian, “to us.”

The smile that Sebastian returned was so sweet, Phoebe suddenly felt she might cry from happiness this time.

“To us, to and to a good years still yet to come.” Ominis chorused.

They all leaned and clinked their glasses together, and a tuneful ringing followed as if Ominis had actually brought some lavish finery instead of transfiguring it.

“To us,” Sebastian added, beaming between them, “to love for you both, and for Anne. May she be well, wherever she is.”

“Hear! Hear!” Phoebe and Ominis cheered and cheers’d, followed by each other tipping the drink into their mouth and swallowing the lot.

Phoebe overestimated her capabilities with alcohol. She hadn’t had a strong drink in some time, only consuming mild Butterbeers when at the Three Broomsticks. Not to mention whatever rich spirit this was from the Gaunt’s – of all families – collections was perhaps the pinnacle of its calibre.

As Sebastian said, expensive didn’t equal good, and Phoebe began coughing immediately after necking the drink. It’s oaky flavour burning her throat like how her ancient magic used to singe her skin before she mastered it.

Ominis patted Phoebe on the back until she stopped hacking up her lung, while Sebastian watched her, hysterically laughing. Phoebe was too preoccupied wondering how they weren’t dying as well to be embarrassed about her ineptitude.

“Merlin,” Phoebe croaked, wiping her mouth, “that was despicable.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Ominis said in a poor attempt to make her feel better.

“Probably not,” Sebastian snorted, glancing behind him to the archways. “Right, I’m going to get changed out of these sweaty clothes.” He announced, facing back around and shaking his arms. His hair now stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks were still flushed, “if you excuse me, Ominis, do pour me another drink, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Stupidly, Phoebe waved him off, and watched as he disappeared into one of the archways, headed for his dorm.

Whether it was the drink or the jolly atmosphere, Phoebe found herself unable to stop smiling. A giddiness followed as she observed the alien common room bustling with their peers, until she found normality in Ominis’ silhouette in front of her, pouring three more drinks.

In that toast, Phoebe also made a personal wish for a good year. One to maintain the happiness of those days. Because to hell with the Order of Merlin; Dark wizards; the Ministry of Magic, and to an especial hell with Asterius and all his pureblood supporters.

Phoebe deserved some happiness. She knew that. So, that’s what she set out to do, even when Asterius emerged later in the night looking particularly smug and surrounded by his fellow purebloods.

What Phoebe tried not to focus on was how Nancy Abbott and Samuel Greengrass, the Heads, were in tow.

✦

After their heartfelt toast, the celebrations really commenced. Once the entire Quidditch team had changed into their good clothes, another round of applause and cheering took place, until the groups began to mingle for the revelry. Thankfully, some seventh years managed to smuggle some liquids from the kitchens to water down the harsher drinks – mainly sweet cordials of varying flavours. So, Phoebe no longer had to drink the spirits straight, much to the disappointment of Sebastian, who had now changed into a green jumper rolled up to the elbows and brown trousers. His hair also back to its usual style and he surely used the spell to remove smells, because he came out smelling of nothing.

Despite arriving at the common room with Asterius Black, Phoebe also had a pleasant conversation with Samuel Greengrass, who tried to get her to stay with him and the seventh years for a while. She politely declined, opting for any other company aside from Asterius and Titus. Asterius was effectively ignoring her, which was a solace, but she didn’t want to wake the bear.

“I wish Samantha were here.” Phoebe said to no one in particular, swirling her drink – which was whatever was in Ominis and Sebastian’s stash mixed with something sugary. They had found a spot under the right-hand window outlooking the lake. Sebastian had constructed a space for them to lounge using some cushions and blankets, much like the one’s he once brought to the Undercroft. In a circle, they sat and chatted about nothing and everything for hours.

Phoebe didn’t care she wasn’t mingling with the seventh years, she was having a lovely time with the two Slytherins she cared for the most.

Quickly, it became evening, and Phoebe was lounged cross legged with her skirt wrapped around her knees and her shoes tossed to the wayside. She picked the best spot, with her back to the window so she had a view of the common room. When she tilted her head back over the cushion propping her up, it felt like she was submerged in the Black Lake, like a mermaid gazing into the watery abyss.

“Will she not be coming with Weasley?” Ominis asked, who was also idling on a couple of the large cushions opposite. If any of them appeared regal, it was certainly Ominis. His leg was folded with one knee skyward and he laid back. His grey shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his lean arms. A glass with the expensive spirit – neat – held causally on his bent knee.

“Garreth’s coming?” Phoebe sat up, puzzled. “Won’t he be far too sour after the loss?”

“Hopefully.” Sebastian ribbed. He too, was leaning back into some cushions, but his knees were up close to his chest, and he was holding his drink (the spirit with a splash of something to water it down) while resting his elbows on them. “I can’t imagine the whole team will come, but since it’s a big day. I’m sure more people will be wanting to celebrate the event that Quidditch is back. Plus, Weasley is not one to shy away from a party.”

“Nor Prewett.” Ominis added.

“Northcott, too.”

“Onai.”

“Booth.”

“Oggspire.”

Phoebe glanced up at Ominis’ mention of Nellie. Sebastian didn’t seem to notice when he said, “well, I can’t imagine they’ll all come. Booth won’t allow it. What does that do for the rivalry if we just allow our foes into our base?”

“True, but it’ll be nice having other non-Slytherins here.” Phoebe mused, shooting Sebastian a smirk of her own, since he hadn’t stopped observing her. It was curious, the more he had to drink, the more he casted lingering looks. Well, it wasn’t just her, but he was doing the same to Ominis too.

“Is Clopton not here?” Sebastian frowned, straightening his back and looking back at the common room. “I saw him drag Larson in, so I’m not sure he’ll still be around.”

“Oh, and no one told me my fellow housemates are here?!”

“Well, they have been here for at least an hour,” Sebastian said then waved at the crowd, standing up in a swift motion, “speak of the devils. They’re all over there.”

Phoebe perked up and, indeed, a host of sixth years had made their way in. Everett and Andrew were greeting Samantha, Constance, Garreth and Leander by the drinks table. Instinctively, Phoebe jolted up and followed Sebastian in heading over.

To Phoebe’s surprise, the Gryffindors were in good spirits for having lost the first big match of the season. Sebastian was right – they couldn’t turn down a party, even if it was their rivals’.

Samantha gleamed upon seeing Phoebe and pulled her into a tight embrace, giggling and swaying side to side gleefully. Phoebe and Constance did the same, and they all laughed at the transfigured Slytherin scarves around their necks in order to get in.

“I thought red was your colour, Sam,” Phoebe jested.

“Shush!” Samantha whispered, peering embarrassedly at Garreth, who was too enthralled in a quipping match with Leander and Sebastian to notice Phoebe’s comment, “honestly, they’re both subpar. I miss my blue one.”

“You’ll have ample opportunity to wear blue at our match against Hufflepuff next weekend!” Constance bubbled, almost jumping with excitement. She had regained her position as the house’s Seeker.

“True,” Phoebe chirped. She scanned the group, “where is Natty?”

“Not coming,” Samantha sighed, “neither is Camilla. Think the sentiments on the pitch made them choose the Great Hall over here.”

“That’s a shame,” Phoebe pouted. She was looking forward to spending some time with Natty. “Sophronia?”

“Not coming – she hates Quidditch and crowds. Anyway, Sweeting and Oakes might come later,” Constance added, swinging on her heels and eyeing the drinks table, “anyway, can we do something? I’ve had enough of sulking at the loss, I want to have fun!”

“Good idea.” Phoebe said, also keen to get away as she spied the group of seventh years by the stairs, with Harry and Silas lingering around Philip and Violet still. She wasn’t ready to alert them to her presence. She was having far too much of a good time.

So, after some more chatter, and more banter between Sebastian, Garreth, and Leander, the group got some more drinks and brought them to the window seating area. Phoebe brought some nuts from the food selection for Ominis to munch on, since he mentioned he was getting famished.

Thus, the evening progressed, and by the time the Black Lake was no more than a void of blackness, the group had become rather tipsy. More so for Phoebe, Sebastian and Ominis, who had several drinks before the other sixth years arrived.

Phoebe was no stranger to alcohol, but seldom did she drink this much. The occasional Butterbeer and sherry or gin on holidays paid no comparison to how giddy and light-headed she began to feel. The world became soft at the edges, and she found herself becoming more thankful than usual of her little life and friends surrounding her. Rarely did she leave Samantha’s side, and often she found herself simpering at people, swaying sometimes, even. But she had no sense of embarrassment. Not yet anyway.

It was jolly, and the most fun Phoebe had had in a while. Now with eight people in the circle (Andrew was with Magnus again), they all huddled together, and became increasingly close the more they drank. Phoebe sat between Samantha and Ominis, while Constance sat to his right, then Leander, Garreth, Sebastian and then Everett.

Then, when Poppy and Adelaide arrived, Phoebe let Poppy slot in between her and Ominis. Mercifully, the lights in the common room had been lowered, casting it into a dim green haze, so no one could see Ominis’ reddened cheeks. If they weren’t close in proximity before, the group certainly was with the addition of two new witches.

Phoebe and Sebastian shared numerous, knowing looks throughout the evening, mostly because of Ominis and Poppy, who had their knees pressed firmly together. Phoebe wondered how nice it would be to do something like that with someone. And for it to mean something.

Those glances were frequent. Several times, she glanced up and caught Sebastian looking away from her. Facing Garreth and laughing along to whatever he said to Leander or Everett.

It happened once again when Phoebe felt eyes on her. Sometimes, much like this moment, they shared looks that were not conspiring, or for any particular reason. Each time, Sebastian averted his eyes. Phoebe knew better, but couldn’t stop the funny feeling in her stomach now that she had a few drinks. Every so often, she dared to observe him for a second too long, and half the time, Sebastian would meet her gaze. It became a game, until that time, when she caught him, she mouthed ‘what?’.

Sebastian lingered, mutedly letting out a single laugh, and wiped a finger across his cheek.

Phoebe flushed and wiped her own cheek, cursing that she had been sitting there with something caked on her face. That’s why he was looking at her.

Though, when she looked at her hand, there was nothing there.

“I hate you,” Phoebe said, audibly this time.

“No, you don’t,” He laughed, his words drowned by the others twittering and taking a swig of his drink, appearing rather smug at his jest. For a moment, Phoebe wished she never overheard his conversation with Ominis in the Undercroft, because she would like to pretend, even for a moment, that Sebastian may see her as anything other than just a friend.

That thought was quelled abruptly when Garreth cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the whole group, who all halted their conversations to face him.

“Slytherins - and Ravenclaws… and Hufflepuffs. Ahem, Hogwarts’ finest, shall I say. I have something to share with you all.”

“We’re not trying it,” Samantha cut in, pulling a grimace, “whatever it is, keep it in its bottle.”

At that, everyone had a similar reaction. They frowned nonplussed, flitting between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

“How did you know?” His mouth was ajar, but a smile trickled onto his cheeks, “you don’t even know what it is yet,” he scoffed, “honestly, Dale, I thought you birds are meant to be curious.”

“I’ve long since been curious about your concoctions, Weasley.”

“Oh, but you’ll love this one,” Garreth said, smugly pursing his lips and sitting up straighter.

While Garreth was fishing in his pocket, Samantha’s face dropped. She leaned forward and scowled, “no. You’ve done it, haven’t you? You stole from Sharp’s collection.” She pointed at him and Leander, “this is what you boys have been planning since we got on the Hogwarts Express.”

Garreth’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly, beholding Samantha with lingering awe, “remarkable. Dale, you have certainly earned your top ten position in the year with that. Though I will say, you’re only half right.” He stopped rummaging in his pocket, and tilted his head down to peer at Samantha through his brow, “now, impress us some more with that brain of yours – what do you think I have in my pocket?”

Samantha, clearly trying not to smile at the praise, crossed her arms and scowled at Garreth’s pocket. With two taps on her elbow, she said, “you’ve brewed Amortentia, haven’t you?”

At that word, each and every one of their heads snapped back to Garreth. Phoebe’s jaw was on the floor when she saw the Gryffindor’s lip curl and his green eyes glint.

In response, Garreth pulled his hand out of his pocket. Within his grasp was a vial. He held it up to the light, marvelling at the rosy contents sparkling, “someone get Dale another drink – she’s spot on.”

Phoebe’s body froze at the words. Against all odds, Garreth Weasley had actually managed to brew a love potion. She remembered him explaining this particular one to her in fourth year, and how it was his mission to brew it.

Merlin help us.

“Amortentia?” Everett gawked; his eyes fixated on the vial. He huffed out a laugh, “you? How?”

“With great skill of course.”

“Here I was thinking it was going to be another stink bomb,” Sebastian added, and for once, all of his attention remained on the vial. Fixated on how the pink liquid swirled as if there was a flushed galaxy within it.

“You’re having us on,” Adelaide scoffed, wrapping her arms nervously around her knees, “it’s a notoriously difficult potion to brew.”

“Oh – it’s real,” Leander vouched, “I’ve smelt it, it really does show what your heart desires.”

“Oh, did you smell Onai, then, Prewett?” Sebastian teased in a feigned cutesy voice, tilting his head in a way that would infuriate Leander, especially because Everett was snickering along.

Leander glared at Sebastian. Their feud was still ongoing, and Phoebe was sure Leander would love nothing more than to see Sebastian on his backside as retribution for what he did in Defence Against the Dark Arts two months before.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ominis said, which caused another round of snorts at the expense of Leander, who had turned a burning red.

“No!” Leander protested, “but I smelt… Agh! It just works, all right!”

“He’s right,” Garreth said, still twisting the vial to the light, “it’s in perfect working order.”

“What did you smell then, Weasley?” Phoebe smirked, hugging her legs. She flashed a quick look at Samantha, who’s eyes were wide, set on the vial. She didn’t even notice the jest.

“Where’s the fun in just telling?” Garreth flung his arms out, “why don’t we all play a game, and if you lose, you have to tell everyone what you smell.”

“That’s absurd.” Poppy protested anxiously.

“You don’t have to take part, Sweeting. But it will reflect poorly on you. We’ll just have to guess and declare what you desire, and you can make no objections.”

“That’s even more absurd!” Poppy rolled her eyes, “you’re putting us into a corner.”

“Not at all, it’s just a bit of fun. Be happy I haven’t yet mastered Veritaserum! Aren’t you all curious to see what it smells like.”

A pensive silence followed. Looks were shared, and despite how crazy this idea was, Phoebe sincerely wanted to know what it smelt like. The fact you could smell what your heart desired was remarkable, and if Garreth truly had brewed this, then asking him about a burn-removing potion was a well-placed hope.

“So, who wants to go first?” Garreth put the vial in his pocket and clapped his hands together. “I have a lovely set of Zonko’s playing cards – we can play higher or lower.”

“Why don’t you go first, since you so lovingly brewed it?” Phoebe piped up again, hoping she could get him to go first.

“Absolutely not, we need stakes.” Garreth scanned the group and looked at Everett. “I think we all know yours, so why don’t you kick us off.”

“Fine.” Everett agreed, surprisingly, sipping his drink. All eyes were on him as she shuffled forward.

“Good man,” Garreth grinned like a Cheshire cat and pulled out a set of wacky, animated playing cards with magical creatures as decoration, setting them out on the floor in the middle of the circle, “let’s get to it!”

✦

“Blast!” Everett exploded, making the boys around guffaw. Garreth whipped out the vial sensationally and passed it to him. He had lost on the third round.

“Make sure you don’t drink it though, otherwise you’ll be smitten with me.” Garreth said as Everett accepted the potion.

“Sod off, Weasley, no one wants to be smitten with you.”

Garreth shrugged and Phoebe resisted the urge to look at anyone else, especially not a certain Ravenclaw, while Everett lifted the lid of the vial, and gave it a hearty whiff.

“I’m getting… sea air, leather and something bitter, I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly.” Everett described.

“That’s so Imelda.” Adelaide pointed and giggled. “She’s always in Quidditch leather flying about the coast.”

“All right, that was no fun. We all know Clopton is smitten and scared of Reyes,” Leander grumbled, “it’s pathetic, honestly.”

“Come on, you and I are in the same boat, brother,” Everett said, passing the Amortentia back to Garreth, “I don’t see Onai reciprocating your affections either.”

“f*ck off.”

“Okay! Anyway,” Garreth rubbed his hands together. He scanned the group, while most were trying not to make eye contact with him. Though, the alcohol had made Phoebe’s reactions slower, and unfortunately for her, she caught his gaze.

“Honeyball?” Garreth raised an eyebrow, “you look like you’re vying for a go. I’ve not forgotten your promise to test out my brews.”

Sebastian, who was lounging back up until then, slowly straightened and leaned forward, glancing incongruously between them.

Phoebe suddenly had no inhibitions, and curiosity was taking over at how Garreth managed to brew such a difficult potion. She desperately needed to know what it smelt like. She had a very good guess at what it would be…

“Fine,” Phoebe huffed, “let’s do it.”

For a game based on luck, Phoebe was remarkably unlucky. The first card drawn was a seven; right in the middle. She guessed higher, and Garreth drew a three. Gasps and several whoops followed the swift defeat, and all curiosity drained from her as she realised the sudden reality of what was about to happen in front of an audience, no less.

“Honeyball, the stage is all yours.” Garreth passed Phoebe the Amortentia, and her stomach grumbled in warning. Anxiety suddenly hit her like a train, and she had to pretend like her hands were not shuddering.

Why did I think this would be a good idea?

Sebastian was looking over intently opposite – no longer smiling. Samantha besides leaned over and placed a hand on Phoebe’s leg as she keenly watched, much like the rest of the group. Ominis, who was obscured by Poppy, leaned forwards to listen and was eagerly awaiting.

Exhaling, Phoebe popped open the lid, and brought the vial to her nose. There was no point delaying. With a hearty whiff, absorbing the strangely warm emanations, she almost couldn’t believe it. The aroma was several distinguishable things assaulting her all at once.

“What do you smell?” Poppy asked in a small voice, her large brown eyes fixated on the potion.

“It smells like…” Phoebe sniffed again, “parchment, rain… and Butterbeer.” She answered truthfully, letting her shoulders relax. Whatever happens, happens, she told herself. “Oh, and… ash.”

Though, she didn’t say all of what she smelt. Suddenly her jumper was far too overbearing and hot.

“Interesting.” Garreth frowned. Phoebe put the lid back on the vial and scanned around at similar, perplexed faces in the group.

Her heart was thundering as she handed the Amortentia back to Garreth. Once back in her seat, she couldn’t bear meeting anyone’s eyes, and sunk her face downwards. To Phoebe, admitting what she had smelt made her feelings incredibly obvious. Even with the puzzled faces of her friends, she couldn’t help but feel like an open book, where they could all read why each of those smells were significant to her.

“Well, tell us then.” Leander blurted out with annoyance.

“What?” Phoebe asked, finally lifting her head, “the game is to say what we smell, not who it relates to.”

“She’s right,” Constance added in defence.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Leander whined.

“The mystery!” Samantha scoffed, shooting a glare at the Gryffindor.

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Just because everyone knows who you like, doesn’t mean you can force people to admit theirs,” it was Ominis who said this, and Phoebe couldn’t stop the grateful expression on her facw.

Leander gawked, turning crimson again, “what, and you think we don’t know who you fancy, Gaunt?”

Poppy shuffled awkwardly, but Ominis was stolid when he shrugged and said, “speculate all you like – naming wasn’t the game we decided upon.”

“Boring. Anyway, we all know Honeyball’s was about Greengrass.”

If Phoebe wasn’t red before, she certainly was upon hearing that comment. However, the drink had imbued her with fortified boldness, so she quickly retorted, “are you done, or can we carry on with the game?”

Leander rolled his eyes and muttered, “not denying it, then?”

“Right - my turn.” Sebastian suddenly announced, downing the rest of his drink and sitting up. His voice cut across Leander’s and drowned out any remaining speculation.

Phoebe’s eyes finally met his briefly as Garreth set up the card game once more. The nagging at her stomach resurfaced as she watched Sebastian fly through several rounds, correctly guessing higher or lower each time, coming the closest thus far to getting Garreth to reveal his deepest desires.

Crucially, however, he guessed wrong at the last card, and he planted his face in his hands as Garreth raised victorious hands in the air.

“Can’t win everything, Sallow,” Garreth teased while Leander and Everett chortled along. The vial was once again passed and given to Sebastian.

The world moved slowly for Phoebe. Her heart had not stopped thumping since her turn, and it had been permeated with sudden ardour at seeing Sebastian hold the love potion in his hands. Never before had she been so curious.

Rolling his shoulders back, clearing his throat and taking several deep breaths, Sebastian made a spectacle of his inhalation. Swirling the vial as if it were a fine whiskey and looking to the ceiling to detect the notes and aromas. The display made Phoebe unable to draw her gaze away. Unlike her and Everett before, he seemed so unperturbed about the action – like he was sure of its scent before his nose came within distance of the vial.

“What are you smelling? Hints of Oggspire, perhaps?” Leander teased from the side, while Sebastian furrowed his brow and flared his nostrils.

“Fair play, Weasley, I think this actually works.” Sebastian mused, laughing as if he were bemused.

“We know this! Just tell us what you smell.” Garreth threw one of the cards at Sebastian in exasperation.

Sebastian took another whiff, and then closed his eyes. Silent for a moment.

It was an eon before he uttered, “I smell spring… like dandelions in the fields… leather-bound books, Butterbeer, and….”

A pause. A hitch in his voice.

“…and?” Adelaide questioned what everyone was wondering, turning out a palm.

“That’s it.” Sebastian declared, opening his eyes, fitting the lid back on the vial and tossing it to Garreth.

“No, it’s not,” Leander scoffed, “you were going to say something else.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were!”

“Honest mistake – it was just the notes of Butterbeer again.”

“Well, Honeyball also smelt Butterbeer,” Leander pointed accusingly at Phoebe.

Phoebe raised some hands defensively, “hey, we all go for Butterbeers. That could quite literally be anyone.”

It sounded better in her head, but her voice was thin upon projection. She knew Leander wasn’t going to be convinced by such words, nor was anyone else, but she cursed herself, nonetheless. She couldn’t even bear to see Samantha’s reaction.

Phoebe also knew Sebastian was watching her, but she couldn’t look back. No - that would be too mortifying.

“I think most of ours will have Butterbeer,” Poppy added, nodding to Phoebe reassuringly, “we all frequent Sirona together. No one is unacquainted with the Three Broomsticks…”

Phoebe wanted to kiss Poppy then for such a save.

“Anyway, before Prewett ruins yet another evening, how about Dale goes next?” Everett suggested, which caused Samantha to recoil in horror.

“Me?!” Samantha gawped, pointing to herself, “no.”

“Come on, Dale,” Garreth waggled a teasing finger while displaying the Amortentia in the other, “don’t be a sour puss – you have to at least play.”

Thus ensued several more rounds of higher or lower, in which Garreth won every time. Samantha was not delighted to admit she smelt Butterbeer, Asphodel and fireworks, while Constance smelt firewood and newspapers.

Upon being questioned about that, Constance blushed and said, “I couldn’t possibly begin to understand who that’s about. Could be anyone!”

Then, it was Ominis’ turn, and he also lost.

“What do you smell, Ominis?” Adelaide asked keenly and not so subtly flitting her eyes to Poppy.

Ominis spent a good while smelling the Amortentia. Lowering his arm and lifting it again several times. Everyone watched with bated breath, especially Poppy, until he said, “I smell autumn air, frost, daisies and, I think… magic? I don’t know, but it doesn’t smell like anything I’ve actually smelt before.”

The whole time, Phoebe hadn’t stopped thinking about what her potions smelt like. It was a wonder they thought it was about Samuel, because it was crystal clear to her about what it truly meant. However, she stilled at Ominis’ words. Barely any of those smells related to Poppy. Was it Anne? Magic could be about her, maybe, but… how? What did that mean?

Ominis could still be an enigma to Phoebe, that was clear.

Finally, when it was Poppy’s turn, she actually won. The Hufflepuff correctly guessed higher or lower five times, which meant the game mercifully ended, and Garreth had to disclose his deepest desires.

“See, I already know what it smells like – I had to conduct many tests to be sure!” Garreth said as he dramatically held the vial up and lifted off the lid.

“Yeah, yeah, just uphold your end of the bargain and tell us,” Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“Are you not sad the game has ended?”

“No!” Everett answered, pointing towards the far end of the Slytherin common room. Possibly due to the copious amount of alcohol consumed by the fifth, sixth and seventh years, a mini ball had begun near the stairway. A group of students were dancing, and the rest were generally being merry and loud around the tables. It seemed like good fun, “I’d much rather this be over so we can be there,” he pointed.

“Fine! Hold your horses!” Garreth grumbled, swirling the Amortentia and smelling it, acting as if he had never smelt it before. But when Phoebe expected him to disclose his desires immediately, Garreth froze. As if he stumbled and was internally deliberating telling them. It took a good few moments, and both Sebastian and Leander turning out their palms until he said, “Asphodel and Butterbeer”

Phoebe stopped her jaw from dropping as she smiled. In that split second, Samantha and Garreth were still.

“Right!” Sebastian said loudly before anyone could say anything, slapping his knees and hauling himself up, “my legs are aching from sitting here, shall we?” He jerked his head to the party in the centre of the common room.

Phoebe glanced between their friends, and strangely enough, there wasn’t a keenness to go, apart from Everett. Her attention was on Samantha, who despite her usual coolness, was silent. Hugging her legs and playing with a thread on the hem of her skirt. Poppy and Adelaide had already resumed chatting to Ominis, and Leander was grumbling something to Garreth, who seemed to refuse to look in the direction of the Ravenclaw girls. Everett had already left to rejoin Andrew Larson in the crowd.

Though, Phoebe couldn’t let Sebastian stand there alone, so she stood and titled her head towards the commotion, “I’ll come.”

Sebastian grinned as they left their fellow sixth years and headed towards the food and drinks tables.

It had somehow gotten much busier since the early evening. Clearly more students from other houses had been smuggled in, as well as some kegs and bottles that were not there before. Even still, Sebastian quickly ran to retrieve the expensive bottle of liquor from a side table obscured from the wider party before returning to Phoebe’s side.

“Trust Weasley to actually brew a blood love potion,” Phoebe shook her head and grumbled as she collected her and Sebastian’s glasses, “can you believe he sprung that on us?”

“Oh, I can believe it,” Sebastian reckoned, uncapping the bottle and tipping the contents into the glasses, “he’s an idiot, but a brilliant idiot, sometimes.”

Phoebe hmphed while Sebastian handed her a glass, “either way, I think Poppy and Adelaide are relieved they didn’t have to participate.”

They cheers’d. Over the brim of his glass, Sebastian watched Phoebe take a hearty swig with intent, and even when she grimaced, he didn’t laugh this time. He only observed, which slightly unnerved her. She lowered her drink and tried to banish the sickly feeling in her stomach, both at the effects of the whiskey, and by his bronze flecked eyes situated on her.

Then, it was suddenly obvious how close he was. They were both leaning sidelong against the table facing each other, closer to shy away from the crowd surrounding them. Despite the number of the bodies in the room, Phoebe felt strangely anonymous, and perhaps it was the alcohol, but she wasn’t embarrassed by returning the gaze to Sebastian.

“What did you think?” Sebastian asked after a moment.

“Think about what?”

“What you smelt,” he cleared his throat and adjusted his lean, “is it what you expected?”

Phoebe was mildly taken aback, “oh, I mean, yes. Somewhat, I think. Though, it was kind of obvious.”

Sebastian frowned, “you think so?”

“Yes – do you not?”

Sebastian took another swig of his drink. A ruddiness returned to his cheeks, much like it had been post-match, but this time, it provided a background to define his freckles. His hair hadn’t truly recovered from the wind and it stuck up in random places, and to further his wild look, his shirt’s collar was slightly unkempt. It all suited him in a ruggedly handsome way.

Sebastian hissed after downing a gulp of his drink, setting it aside on the table. There was an uneasiness about him that Phoebe couldn’t put her finger on.

“Did you think mine was obvious?” He asked.

Phoebe pursed her lips and peered around. No one seemed to be listening in, or even cared that they were conversing. All were far too preoccupied in whatever debauchery they were engaging with, “truthfully, no.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened for a brief moment, “truly?”

“Truly.”

Similarly, Sebatian also glanced at their peers. Chewing on his lip, he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “truthfully, Phoebe, I was dishonest in my accounts.”

Phoebe almost recoiled, “how so?”

Sebastian’s gaze became burning. His eyes like a flaming hearth, “I just didn’t say all that I smelt.”

“I knew it!” Phoebe playfully pushed his arm, “I knew you were hiding something.”

Sebastian snorted and held up a hand in surrender, “nothing gets past you.”

Phoebe giggled, but the reality of the comment struck her like rogue lightning.

Oggspire.

It was a painful revelation. Sebastian was being secretive because he for one, didn’t want to reveal he was thinking about Nellie, and two, because of what happened between him and Phoebe, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

She pursed her lips to fight off a frown, “so, what else did you smell?”

Sebastian shuffled awkwardly. His arms were crossed across his chest defensively, and there was an elongated pause. In those brief moments, Phoebe prepared herself for the worst. She knew she had girlish daydreams, and that they were unlikely to ever be true. In many ways, she had accepted the reality that if she were ever to love, it would not be Sebastian. And that was okay.

“Shall we discuss this elsewhere?” Sebastian asked with a knotted brow. He looked up and to an archway, “somewhere without an audience?”

Phoebe, too inebriated for foresight, nodded and followed Sebastian. Plopping her unfinished drink on the table. They weaved through the cluster of students, far too preoccupied with their jollities to notice them. Students both in Slytherin and other houses were passing through constantly – so the sixth years managed to slip through one archway and into the dorm’s corridor. Before them was an iron walkway bending around a moon-shaped hall, stone-walled and cavernous to remind Phoebe that she was in Hogwarts’ dungeons.

Sebastian stopped before a first-year dorm and leaned against the metal fencing. It was obscured enough from the party that they had some solitude, but not so much so that others would grow suspicious of a witch and wizard seeking a clandestine spot. It was suitably placed.

Shuffling to readjust his positioning, Sebastian almost stumbled over before quickly regaining composure. Phoebe snorted sillily, forgetting for a moment that he, too, was intoxicated. Though, he seemed to be holding himself much better than she was. She had to hold a hand on the rail to stop herself from swaying too much.

“So, tell me,” Phoebe asked giddily smiling. Forgetting about Nellie momentarily, and focusing on drawing a piece of gossip from Sebastian, “what did you actually smell?”

“Keen, aren’t you?” Sebastian grinned, his eyes slightly hooded and glazed, “I thought we could have a little talk first.”

“We’ve been talking all day.”

“Yes, but not just us.”

Phoebe snorted loudly, “and what is it that you want to discuss?”

Sebastian shrugged as if he were indifferent, but then he didn’t speak for a moment. Even with delayed reactions, Phoebe titled her head in question.

“Come on, what’s wrong with you?” She asked.

“Oh, erm,” Sebastian coughed and thrusted his hands in his pockets. He leaned his shoulder against the rail in apparent relaxation, but the tenseness in his arms was visible, “just thinking about it.”

“The game?”

“Yes.”

“What about it? Was it Garreth and Sam by any chance?”

“No, we all knew that was coming.”

“Ominis’?”

“No.”

“Well, out with it, Sebastian. Merlin! Why else are we here?” Phoebe smiled, but the thoughts of Nellie came back again. Assaulting her mind. His awkwardness with her just then. It was all too much, and her cheerfulness faded.

If Sebastian noticed, he didn’t let that be known when he said, “fine, but…” He looked to the archway to see if anyone was there, before returning to Phoebe, “I don’t think here is the right place. I know I took us here, but…”

“This is better than any,” Phoebe said all too quickly, wishing he would just cut to the chase and put her out of her misery, “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

Sebastian stared at Phoebe in disbelief. His mouth parted and his brow crinkled in surprise, “you do?”

“Yes, I suspected it for a long time,” she sighed, but with a forced smile, “so, don’t feel bad about it.”

“Bad?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes, “Phoebe, I was going to say that like what you smelt, I-”

“What’s going on here?”

Phoebe’s blood went cold. It was the same snotty, pompous voice she had grown to loathe. Always there, lurking in the corner, waiting for a moment to pounce.

Sebastian’s face turned sour also, and Phoebe turned around to regard not only Asterius, but also Titus with Samuel and Hector following curiously from behind.

Samuel caught Phoebe’s eye and he stopped by the archway, obscuring their view of the ongoing soiree and raised his eyebrows in question.

But she had no response. There was something suddenly treacherous about the atmosphere, and she couldn’t stop flitting to watch how Sebastian and Asterius were regarding only each other.

“Trying to slip into the broom cupboard?” Titus teased them, his eyed the small wooden door just down the hall in between dorms. “That’s an old favourite of mine. See, Honeyball, do you know where Dale go to?”

“Oh, that’s disgusting, Nott. Don’t talk about such things when there’s a young lady in our presence. Apologies, Honeyball.” Hector grimaced, crossing his arms and poking Titus in the back. He seemed to be the only person in the whole common room still dressed head to toe in Ravenclaw colours, “I thought we were getting some more of that Dragon Barrel Brandy? See, I don’t know how you got your hands on it – their whole business is built on the fact they’re maturing it for 150 years!”

“We wouldn’t be able to taste it if we had to wait that long.”

“Speak for yourself, my uncle is pushing 130, and he’s as spritely as a spring chicken,” Hector guffawed and elbowed Samuel to his side heartily, “you’ve met him, Greengrass, he’s got twenty years left in him, wouldn’t you say?”

“If they can give him some Skele-Gro to fortify his crumbling knees, then sure.” Samuel bantered along, but there was a flatness in his voice. He glanced back at Phoebe, as if also sensing the dreaded atmosphere. He followed her line of sight to Asterius while Titus and Hector continued bickering. He went to say something else, but another voice lifted.

“Something wrong, Sallow?” Asterius challenged, his gaze remained on Sebastian. His mouth upturned in a subtle goad, “why the sour face? Are you not relishing in our win?”

Contrastingly, Sebastian’s expression was frozen with underlying ire. With that brewing storm lurking in the distance. Phoebe knew him so well; she could discern most of his emotions by his eyes alone. If she didn’t quell that fury soon, she feared the worst may happen.

“I was until you spoiled the mood with your presence.” Sebastian replied. Phoebe swallowed at how rigid Samuel, Titus and Hector became at his tone.

“Woah, Sallow, what’s wrong with you?” Hector asked, peering between the Slytherin captain and Beater.

“Ask Black.” Sebastian said in seething quiet, transfixed on Asterius.

Asterius’ smirk remained, but his icy blue eyes slipped to meet Phoebe’s. A ghost of a question on his features, determining whether she had told Sebastian anything. Unfortunately for her, Asterius was observant, and she struggled with hiding her emotions. Her silence spoke volumes.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Asterius sighed as if it were a burden to be talking, he glanced at Sebastian and then behind to his friends, but he spoke to Titus specifically, “how many years did you say that brandy had been aged-?”

“Enough!” Sebastian thundered. In the blink of an eye, he had withdrawn his wand, and the tip was pressed ferociously to Asterius’ cheek. Gasps followed from the observers, while Asterius lifted his palms in placation, eyeing the wand pressed to him as he once did to Phoebe. Sebastian gritted his teeth, “I think you know what I’m talking about, Black.”

Phoebe froze with her hand to her skirt pocket.

Asterius looked up from the wand to Sebastian. Sickeningly, the same smile the graced his face the night threatened Phoebe reappeared. If she knew Sebastian well at all, that gesture would have infuriated him more. He knew Asterius longer than she did – played alongside him and shared a common room – but they hadn’t had an altercation like this before. Even when Sebastian punched Philip Parkinson in fourth year, only curt words were exchanged between the Quidditch players. No one would have expected there to be bad blood between them. Hector certainly not by the shock on his face, but Samuel perhaps. Only because he was particularly perceptive. Especially after what Phoebe insinuated earlier that week.

“Merlin’s beard, Sallow!” Hector scoffed, checking over his shoulder to see that the party continued unaware of the fracas taking place by the dorms. “Do you want to crash the party? The faculty will be called if you do anything brash.”

By that, he meant he would call the faculty, since he was the head Ravenclaw prefect. Second to the Heads.

“There will be no crashing unless Black admits what he’s done.” Sebastian lashed.

Samuel squinted and stepped forward slowly to stand beside Titus, as if to hear better. “What’s he referring to, Black?”

“I have nothing of matter to disclose to you all,” Asterius answered all too casually.

“Sallow, I know you’ve been through a tough time recently, but there’s no need for this,” Hector spoke softly, “we’ve all had a lot to drink, and we can blame it on the bloody good stuff our good friends here have provided us.

“With all due respect, Fawley, but this matter is none of your concern,” Sebastian responded as he flicked his wand on Asterius’ cheek as a reminder it was still there, “we can all return to the soiree once Black admits what he’s doing.”

“I told you there’s nothing to disclose,” Asterius said, but then his head turned to Phoebe, “unless Honeyball has anything to say?”

A challenge. To support Sebastian or to stay quiet, as expected. A precarious situation to be in when Phoebe and Ominis’ place at Hogwarts was at stake.

For a moment that felt like years, Phoebe just stood there. Staring in disbelief at the situation before her. Sebastian glancing over his shoulder, his wand still to Asterius’ cheek, squashing it, waiting for her to affirm his outburst. Behind Asterius, Hector gawked with his hands up much like Black in attempted placation. Titus remained as still as he had been since he arrived, unmoving and keenly interested at how this would play out. Samuel beside him, watching her the most intently. He appeared the least shocked, and his eyes never left hers, and she quickly noticed his hand pressed to his side. By his pocket, ready to withdraw his own wand. His expression a permanent question requesting an answer from her on whether to intervene.

But Phoebe couldn’t stop the frustration building inside of her. Not just at Asterius, but at Sebastian.

Once again, he didn’t listen. His anger overcame reason yet again. Her reasonings that she and Ominis may be expelled if Black is angered were superseded by his overwhelming need for reprisal.

Yet again, she was at the mercy of him running in headfirst. She hoped things had changed, but maybe she was naïve to think it would happen so quickly.

So, while she was somewhat remorseful for this comment, she said with forced solidness, “no – I have nothing to say,” she beheld Sebastian alone, “drop your wand, please.”

Sebastian’s face scrunched, collapsing from fury to disbelief. His arm faltered as his eyes asked her a million silent questions. In response, she didn’t relinquish her posture – standing as tall and poised as she could at that moment. This was her battle, not his, and he needed to know that.

Somehow, in that look alone, Sebastian seemed to decipher what she was requesting. His arm dropped; his wand hanging limply in his left hand. As a result. Asterius slowly lowered his own hands and straightened.

“Good lad, Sallow,” Hector sighed in relief, “I don’t think this hall could withstand a duel!”

“This hall has definitely seen worse,” Titus said, “now that’s over, shall we go? Black?”

Black was still smirking, practically in a sneer, at Sebastian. His hands thrusted into his trousers as he raised an irritating eyebrow.

“I hope you enjoyed the match today, Sallow,” Asterius said, passing Sebastian and stepping backwards with confidence, “I hear Engels has had his eye on your position for some time.”

With that, he walked down the curved hallway until he disappeared from view. Hector and Titus followed, cautiously and stolidly respectively.

Samuel remained, seemingly analysing both Phoebe and Sebastian. He had his ‘Head Boy’ face on. For a moment, she felt as though he were a professor deliberating on their punishment. If we get a detention, then sobeit. We’re no stranger to them.

Instead, Samuel stepped forward slowly. Sebastian’s back was still to him as he faced the direction of the dorms, quietly seething as if Asterius was still before him.

Then, Samuel placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. It was done softly, but it was clear Sebastian was not expecting it as he seized up and twisted to regard the Head Boy.

“I understand your frustration,” Samuel declared, “I really do, but sometimes we have to choose our battles.”

Sebastian continued to stare at Samuel. He was facing away from Phoebe, so she couldn’t discern his expression. Even still, Samuel remained level as he continued, “I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through, Sallow. My deepest condolences remain for the loss of your uncle, and the absence of your sister from school, but don’t let Black impose another strain to your life. He enjoys being a provocateur, so don’t let him get under your skin. The best thing you can do is ignore him.”

Sebastian was still, as was Phoebe. Samuel lingered for a moment, before patting his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. His lips pulled to a thin, paltry smile before let go and walked down the hallway. But not before giving Phoebe one last, prolonged glance.

She watched him go, until the footsteps ceased, and she and Sebastian were alone again. The only sounds were of the ongoing chattering, music and jollity from the main common room.

In the dreaded atmosphere, Phoebe dared to lift her head. Sebastian was already looking at her. Without the fury seeped into the creases. She read his expression as guilt. Good. She agreed with Samuel.

“Phoebe…” Sebastian started, turning his body towards hers. She could see the glassiness in his eyes from inebriation, or regret, or anger. She didn’t care.

Phoebe shook her head, “when will you learn I don’t need you to fight my battles for me?” She stopped for a moment, and a sadness grasped at her insides. She no longer wanted to be there, “I think it’s time I go. I would like to get some sleep.”

Sebastian slumped; his brow scrunched and his hands out-turned as he stepped forward. He lowered himself to her height, “no, no no, please. Don’t do this again,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking-”

Worried he was about to drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness, as he did once in the Undercroft, Phoebe held up her hands, “it’s all right. I’m not angry,” a white lie, she thought, “I’m just frustrated you didn’t listen to me again.”

Sebastian lifted his hands and palmed his forehead. After rubbing his brow, he ran his hands down his face, breathing deeply as if keeping something at bay, “I know, I know. I just can’t stand him. After what he did to you,” his palms were out again, “please, can we just go back-?”

“Sebastian~!” A voice cooed from the archway. Phoebe’s heart dropped.

Sebastian lingered on Phoebe, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment at the sound of that particular voice interrupting.

It was Nellie Oggspire with Adelaide Oakes. It turned out the Gryffindor had come to the party after all.

“Oh,” Adelaide said, flitting her eyes between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin curiously, “have we interrupted something?”

Because Adelaide had been part of Garreth’s Amortentia game, Phoebe wanted to quell any prying thoughts that she and Sebastian were sneaking off somewhere. She didn’t need to give people more about her to talk about.

Phoebe pushed forward off the rail and forced a thin smile, “no! Sebastian was just going to get some drinks. I was going to wait here to help him bring it back through.”

Sebastian continued to regard only Phoebe; she could feel his eyes burning into her cheek.

“Brilliant! I can’t stand Sorensson’s firewhisky. It must have gone off it’s so ancient,” Nellie shivered.

Adelaide shook her head, “no, the older it is the better. That’s why they’re aged.”

“Not in this case it isn’t,” Nellie said, then nodded to Sebastian, “are you going or not?”

Sebastian finally turned to the girls, “in a moment.”

“Good – and when you’re back you should hang out with us. You’ve been couped up in that corner since I got in here!” Nellie crooned.

“Maybe in a little bit.”

“Come on, it’s getting good in there!”

“When everyone’s celebrating your loss?” Adelaide asked Nellie in a tease.

“I’ll be upset about it tomorrow,” Nellie refuted, waving off Adelaide counters. Then, she simpered at Sebastian in a way that made Phoebe’s heart plummet, “anyway, Sallow and I need to finish our game.”

Sebastian went rigid.

“What game?” Phoebe asked, all too quietly.

“That’s a secret,” Nellie tittered, “Come on Sallow, be quick! Oh, and Honeyball, you can come too.” She paused for a moment, “if you want.”

If you want. Phoebe had no qualms about Nellie as a person – she was very nice and welcoming when the Ravenclaw first started at Hogwarts. But Phoebe knew those words had underlying meaning, and that was fine, because she wanted to leave anyway. She couldn’t bear to be there any longer.

“Actually, on second thought, I’m getting quite tired. I think I’m going to go back to my dorm,” Phoebe said listlessly. She rolled her shoulders back and waved between them, not able to see Sebastian’s reaction. That no longer mattered, anyway.

“All right – see you,” Nellie waved and Adelaide copied, both smiling pleasantly while Phoebe passed by and back into the common room.

It was somehow louder in the middle of the impromptu ball in the centre of the Slytherin common room. As it descended into nighttime, Phoebe lamented that she was leaving just as the party was beginning to peak. Over at the far end, her friends were still lounging by the windows. Laughing and being merry.

It seemed like good fun, but her capacity for socialising had been irrevocably severed the moment Asterius Black showed his face in that corridor. Giving Sebastian a reason to upset her again.

Suddenly feeling a little teary and sorry for herself, almost certainly from the alcohol, Phoebe marched forward through the fray until she found the stairway that led to the exit.

It was much quieter in the stairwell – empty, dark and thick enough walls to drown out the sounds of the party. With a sniffle, Phoebe wiped her nose and eye threatening to brim tears as she laboured each step.

That was until she heard footsteps behind her.

“Phoebe, wait!”

She turned around to the warm light seeping up from the common room. A shadow hurriedly swept over the walls until the darkened silhouette of Sebastian appeared, running up the steps towards her.

“Wait,” he repeated, panting and stopping on the step before her. She could barely see him in the low light, but she could discern his shoulders quickly rising and falling. She banished the fleeting, happy thoughts that he left Nellie to run after her.

“What?” Phoebe asked exasperatedly.

“Don’t go,” Sebastian replied simply.

Phoebe began to shake her head.

“Please don’t. Not yet - it’s still so early.” He added. She hadn’t heard him this pleading in a long time.

“Can you just tell Sam and Ominis I’ve gone to bed because the whiskey made me sleepy or something,”

“But, but,” Sebastian stuttered and raised a gentle hand to the air, “okay, fine, I will. But are you all right?”

“I’m absolutely fine.”

“Truly, though?”

“Honestly, I just want to be alone – I’ve been here long enough as it is.”

Sebastian reached forward and grabbed Phoebe’s hand, “why do you never tell me how you’re really feeling anymore?”

Phoebe froze again. Staring down at her hand in his, she felt despondent. How long had it been since this happened? His skin was still like a furnace against her own. The imprint of his fingers on her would linger long after this moment. Still, no matter how much she wanted to stay like this, it wasn’t enough to make her forget about all that happened that day. She put out her other palm, “evidently when I do, you ignore my wishes and do exactly what I don’t want.”

Sebastian clearly didn’t like that answer, but he stifled his initial response. With a swallow and slightly tensing his hand over Phoebe’s, he said, “I am so sorry.”

“I know you are,” Phoebe said, “you don't need to keep apologising.”

“All right, but... we didn’t get to properly talk.” Sebastian whispered. Shadows obscured most of his face to the point where Phoebe’s eyes were playing tricks on her. Her head began to spin, and she worried she was about to throw up, or burst into tears.

“We don’t need to talk. It all spoke for itself.” She shuffled and pulled her hand gently from his. Then, she turned her shoulders towards the upper stairway, “anyway, don’t you have a game to play with Nellie?”

Sebastian was uncharacteristically silent again, which was enough of a confirmation for Phoebe about her prior thoughts.

Glumly, she said, “now please, let me go. I’ll see you in classes on Monday.”

“Not the Undercroft tomorrow?” Sebastian queried. His breathing was uneven.

Phoebe could detect how he regretted his outburst. He was hesitant because he was worried about losing the progress they made in rekindling their friendship. She was angry with him, but not as much as she was sad about what happened after.

“Sorry, I forgot about that,” Phoebe said, still turning as she felt herself falling apart, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was unknown to Phoebe what Sebastian’s response to this was because she wasted no time in heading for the common room’s exit. All the way up the stairs until she practically burst through the doors and back into the dimly lit dungeons. Behind her, the stone snake slithered down into the ground to hide the entrance, inherently knowing that she was not a Slytherin, and did not belong.

And Sebastian did not follow.

Most of the prefects were at the soiree so Phoebe’s journey back to Ravenclaw Tower was relatively easy. The hard part was returning to her dorm and getting into bed without Sophronia knowing or Flora stirring. Because, while she kept it in during her walk through the castle, Phoebe couldn’t hold the tears that burst once her bunk’s curtains were closed.