Refraining from kissing her would have made no difference. Their relationship had changed after their fifth year, and no matter how much he wanted to stop it, to protect her from him, his heart had gotten attached.
He wanted her.
"Um, Sebastian?"
"Hm?"
Pink tinged her cheeks, confusing him until she said, "You're...still holding my hand." She tried to slip her hand out of his grasp. "Did you hear anything I said?"
Friends.
Secrets of the Silent Stars (2), Chapter 14 [AO3] [Wattpad]
Summary: Sebastian Sallow refuses to accept your death.
by @anomalyaly
I know a year ago I said I'd never write a part 2 to right where you left me. But Sebastian.
In celebration of the one year anniversary of the Portrait Fic.
Tags: Angst, Sebastian Sallow POV, Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, open ending, suicide ideation, the part 2 I said I'd never write but did anyway, main character death
[AO3] [Wattpad]
2.6k words
Sebastian can still remember the day he lost you.
Clear as day, he can feel the weight of your broken body as he carries you to the hospital wing, your breaths shallow, your pulse slowly and steadily beating beneath his fingers. And when you were laid beneath the white sheets on that rickety cot, he refused to leave your side, even as Nurse Blainey tried to have him dragged back to his dormitory.
He hadn’t expected to fall asleep, the exhaustion from battle, from trying —failing — to save you, catching up with him.
When his eyes opened, you were already gone.
He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. To hold you, to mourn you, to tell you that he—
Your funeral hardly did you justice, at least from the little he chose to pay attention to. They had buried you on the hillside, overlooking the Highlands, so you could watch the sunrise every day. Professor Black spoke of your recklessness; your friends sang your praises in a shallow light. It made him wonder how much they actually knew of you in the short time you were alive.
If he had given a speech—
But he couldn’t. A speech in honor of your life would mean acknowledging your death. And he refused.
You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t let you be.
Every sleepless night, he would spend his time delving back into Dark Magic, searching the Restricted Section for something, anything that could return you to him. The nights that he managed even a brief rest, images of you would flood his subconscious, too painful for him to face. It had been his fault that you had been taken from this earth. The least he could do was right what had been wronged.
At first, his focus shifted to necromancy. It seemed the most logical conclusion, though he understood that he would only be returning your life force and not your soul, the part that made you…you. Was he desperate enough to bring your body back to the living world if you were no more than a mindless Inferius?
He couldn’t do that. Not to you.
Not yet. There were other avenues he needed to explore.
Days, weeks, months passed as his search continued. Ominis was none the wiser, too lost in his own grief to pay any attention, or if he was aware, refused to acknowledge Sebastian’s pain. Perhaps it was selfish of him to shut him out, but none of it mattered. If there was a chance he could return you to your rightful place, walking amongst them, it would be worth it.
And yet, he was no closer to finding any answers than he had been after that day.
What was the point of having magic if there was nothing within his reach that he could do to change your fate?
As his tireless search continued, rage and frustration began to take over, and he found himself falling into reckless behavior. It began with dueling, spells of destruction flying from his wand each session, until one day, Lucan Brattleby said that enough was enough, and the Crossed Wands club unanimously voted to have Sebastian removed.
After that, he started seeking more dangerous thrills, venturing into poacher camps and picking fights, returning to his dorm bloodied and bruised. He wore his injuries with pride, forcing his body to endure as if to punish himself for your fate. And each night, he prayed to every entity in existence, Muggle or Wizard deities alike, that his injuries would claim him. That, somehow, it would all lead him back to you.
And each morning, he awoke.
Day after day, the cycle continued, as he searched for more dangers to pursue. Nobody tried to talk him out of it. Nobody cared enough. They had given up on him.
Until, after taking a hefty spell to the head, he remembered.
The Portrait.
It had started as a joke between you. On one of your trips to Hogsmeade together, tipsy from the butterbeer, you had noticed the sign that offered wizard portraits for sale. He had meant it in jest, but you took it as a challenge and, giggling and grinning as you dragged him into the shop, you posed for your portrait to be painted and enchanted.
The day had seemed so long ago.
Before he could debate it, he apparated back to Hogwarts, recalling the last place you had hidden it — tucked in the corner of the Undercroft under a tarp. You had asked him not to tell Ominis. It would be your little secret, you had said, just like all of the others you shared. His chest warmed at the memory of how special you had made him feel. Even after you were too hungover to recall the event, he guarded the secret of your portrait like a precious treasure.
He hoped that it would work.
Not wanting to waste a moment apart from you any longer, he ran, not caring who he toppled over on the way to the Defense Tower. People treated him as a ghost nowadays, ignoring him as he floated aimlessly through the castle. They'd brush him off as mad.
Finally, finally arriving, he could almost sense your presence as he tore through the piles of boxes. You, the clever witch you were, had disguised it under a Disillusionment Charm — the one he had taught you. How strong you had grown in only a short time.
Then, there you were.
You, asleep in an armchair in the painting, breathing steadily as if you had never been gone. Your head slumped, strands of hair caressing your face, blissfully unaware of the darkness that had been swirling within him for the past several months. The perfect picture of serenity.
Frozen in time.
With a flick of his wand, he hangs the frame along the back wall. When it settles, you awaken. He gasps.
"Is it really you?"
You blink, rubbing at your eyes and standing up from your armchair. You scrutinize him, but an unfamiliar expression crosses your face, brows furrowed in confusion, and his heart sinks.
You don't remember.
He can't stop himself from rambling as you listen patiently, just as you always did when you were alive. He tells you about your time at Hogwarts, your friendship, and your quest as the Hero. He can see how pieces start to come back to you, how your eyes light up in recognition at some parts, and he tries to ignore how your eyes glaze over at others.
While the artist who created this portrait captured your physical essence with ease, they failed to retain your earthly memories.
Yet, in some ways, it’s still you.
It’s better than he could have hoped for.
Your face, your voice, clear as a bell as you try to relate to him, soothes the edges of the hole in his chest. Your kind eyes gaze down at him, soft and attentive, and he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and kiss you silly.
Still, something is missing.
Every day, he talks to you, tells you of the life you once lived. About your friends at Hogwarts who still miss you, though none as much as he does. He conjures up tales of his day, embellished for your entertainment. All he wants is to make you laugh, to see you smile.
Some days when the grief is too strong, he sits silently in front of you and basks in your presence. And at the end of each time spent with you, he hides you away behind a wooden crate.
He's told you about Ominis, and though you've asked him to elaborate on your relationship, he can’t bring himself to share you. So he continues to keep you to himself.
Until one day, Ominis discovers him talking to you.
He tries to cover you up, to lie as he had always done so easily. You and he were kindred spirits, a relationship that Ominis didn't — couldn't — understand.
But you always did what you wanted.
"Ominis? Is that you?"
He presses his body against the crate, but not before Ominis's eyes flash with recognition at the sound of your voice. Before he can stop him, his friend pushes past him, desperate, clawing at the space behind him. In his haste, he knocks Sebastian into the boxes, the tarp falling from your portrait, and the moment his wand flickers an angry red at the familiarity of your presence, chaos ensues.
Words are exchanged between the two boys, venom spewing out of their mouths from months, maybe years of pent-up resentment. You, the dam that kept them from bursting, who always stepped in to keep the peace, were gone, your portrait hanging helplessly as they fought.
Sebastian's body shook with grief. He couldn't stop the tears from pouring down his face, and soon, Ominis was crying, too.
After long moments of weeping, silence passes over them, and he turns, staring solemnly at your portrait.
This is his fault.
He deserves to be in your place.
Ominis takes a step closer, running his fingers along your gilded frame, and Sebastian stops himself from slapping his friend's hand away. He paid a pretty knut to add that special touch to it, befitting of royalty. It was the least he could give you.
"Is it…really her?" Ominis whispers, almost like he is afraid to taint the illusion. "Is it really you?"
His jaw clenches, bitterness coating his tongue. "No. She hardly remembers what happened or who we are. She's just a fragment. A memory."
And yet, still you.
He watches as Ominis reaches out to touch you, grasping for your hand through the painting. Sebastian sees the hitch of your breath, your eyes fluttering as if you are trying to will yourself to feel his friend's touch, and a pang of jealousy courses through him. It's unfair that, even in the state you are in, he is unable to keep and hide you away.
To atone for his failure and protect you now.
Ominis turns his head, sighing, and Sebastian's shoulders slump. The weight of your loss has affected his friend, too — the purple circles under his eyes have grown darker, his frame lighter, the creases in his face deeper. Sebastian's choices had taken everything from him, and yet, the selfish part of him still wants you to himself.
He places a hand on Ominis's shoulder. By the way your expression relaxes, he assumes this is what you wanted.
He doesn't like it. But he will put up a front if it makes you happy.
The days after pass in the blink of an eye. Your time is shared between them, and he finds himself stumbling over his words as he tries to utilize the limited moments he has before he must give you over to Ominis. The times that he falls silent are now a punishment to him, as if grief has robbed him, not only of your presence, but of his words and gifted them to Ominis to share with you instead.
Just like old times, he lies, and he fakes a smile as the three of you laugh.
Before he knows it, Christmas approaches. Vibrant tinsel and candlelight mock him, burning at the still-aching cavity within him from your loss. Had he known this was how he was going to be celebrating, he would have been better to you, treated you kinder. The Yuletide bells sing each one of his regrets as he drags himself down the halls.
Regardless, he creates an elaborate plan to make the most out of his time with you, even with Ominis's looming presence. For weeks, he collects all of your favorites, hoping you would remember even an inkling of them. He reads to you, places gifts in front of your portrait, and surprises you by bringing you to a new location.
The cottage in Feldcroft is littered with ghosts, and your portrait is no different. They won't be at Hogwarts forever, he and Ominis agree. This is what is best.
The saying goes that time heals all wounds, but Sebastian believed that, instead, time was dragging him away from his grief against his will. He can feel himself slipping away from you as other priorities begin to take place — first NEWTs, then graduation, and then his career and his future.
Something you would never have.
He needs to consider his future, Professor Weasley reminds him. But what future was there without you?
Ominis, though he manages to escape life with the Gaunts, no longer lives a feasible distance to be able to visit you or him. He promises to return, and he does, but his travels are few and far between, and the moments he is present are abrupt.
Sebastian has you to himself now. It's not the same.
The lonesome, monotonous days of adult life consume him, and he loses track of how long it has been since he last visited you. Each passing moment begins to blur together, and one night, desperate for companionship, he meets someone. Too afraid to be alone for the rest of his life, he decides to settle down, more out of obligation than love. It was the next plausible step, after all. Expected.
She’s fine — kind, gentle, a good mother to their children. But she’s not you.
She could never be you.
On the outside, he's living the perfect life. A job, a wife, children. The picture of the ideal family, the world oblivious to the sins of his past life. Yet you linger, a ghost in the back of his mind, haunting him, your portrait alone in Feldcroft.
The guilt of leaving you never goes away.
Time passes. He is old now, and his children are grown, long graduated from Hogwarts, far away with families of their own. His wife is no longer with him, passed on to the next life, her work in a dangerous field claiming her too early, as he believed he should have been destined to go. He wonders if she met you when she left this earth, what she would think of you. What you would think of her. Anne has been gone for ages. His classmates have moved on with their lives, having forgotten him in his grief. Even Ominis has long since passed, the first to be reunited with you in the afterlife.
He has to believe there is an afterlife. That you are worthy of living a life beyond what was given to you on earth.
He is alone.
His body grows weary as it deteriorates, the toll of dark magic in his youth catching up to him too soon. He supposes his fate had been sealed a long time ago — none of the Sallows had made it to old age.
He decides to return to Feldcroft.
The old cottage lies decrepit, the years of wear and abandonment eating away at the walls of your sepulcher. He chides himself for not caring for it, if only to give you the resting place you deserve.
But he doesn’t go in.
Instead, he settles himself in the lush grass, his bones creaking as he pulls his knees up to his chest. He talks to you for the first time in many years. It's cathartic, sharing all of the secrets he's locked up tight, even if you can't hear him. It's easier to pretend. He isn't sure he can bear to look at you, not after he abandoned you.
He knows his time is near.
He leans his head against the stone facade, muttering the words he wishes he could have told you while you were alive. His body is weak, and his eyes are heavy.
He closes them for the last time.
A final prayer leaves his lips as he takes his last breath, that when he awakes, you will be there to greet him.
"So, your roommate is out, too?" Elsie asked, interrupting the silence while he thumbed through her stack of textbooks.
The book snapped shut between his hands as he lightly placed it back onto her desk. "Ominis usually doesn't spend time in the room anyway. Outside of sleeping and lecturing me, that is."
"Does everyone lecture you?"
"Most of the time." Her eyes locked onto his dimpled cheek as he returned his attention to the photos on the wall. His gaze trailed along each face, analyzing them closely.
Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, with the severe urge to vanish into thin air, she cleared her throat. "You, uh...going to help me with my work, or was your plan to continue poring through all of my belongings?"
"People tend to decorate with what's most important to them." He shrugged. "I'm just trying to learn more about you."
How about you mind your own business?
"Then by that logic, you must deeply value used paper plates and dirty laundry."
His grin widened at her taunt, and he strolled across the room to her before roughly plopping down on the bed beside her, leaving little room between them. His thigh brushed against hers, and, before she could rein them in, her thoughts were spiraling again. The image of him lying on his back flashed in her mind, her sheets beneath them, their clothes on the floor, his warm skin pressed against hers as they—
Stop it, stop it, stop it.
"What are you stuck on?"
"U-uh," Elsie glanced at her laptop, hoping it would hide her blush. Don't think about running your fingers through his hair. "Chemistry?"
Elsie huffed a laugh. "You know what they say about wishes. If you share them before they're granted, they won't come true."
"I thought you said you didn't believe in it."
"I don't," she smiled softly. "But, as my grandmother would say, that's a secret for the stars."
He groaned, and she could picture him rolling his eyes behind her. "I bet I could guess."
"I wouldn't tell you even if you were right, not after you blurted out the details of my personal life to Ominis. At least the stars know how to keep quiet."
Of course, the AU I chose for Elsie is a modern college AU 🤭
Based on the next chapter of my fic Extracurricular (chapter 4, which I am working on slowly but surely) where Elsie invites Sebastian into her room to help her with her chemistry homework. He is, as expected, insufferable about it.
'What luck!' Says I, to find such good fortune
A few white lies later, I ran down the pier
Bought me a coat, and a cutlass or two
Jumped on the deck, and I yelled at the crew
I have so many ideas of what Elsie would dress up as, but I always love the thought of her being a pirate (albeit not a very good one 😅). I think she would just enjoy the fantasy of being free to do whatever she wants without a care in the world.
Also inspired by this art that @dom1re made for me last year that I'm still obsessed with:
I love pirates if that wasn't obvious hahaha
The song lyrics above are from "Hoist Up the Thing" by The Longest Johns
The meaning behind the Osprey Patronus is that the caster is resilient and strong in the face of danger. Her Patronus being a bird is also symbolic of her desire to metaphorically "spread her wings" and be free.
It takes a long time before Elsie is able to cast a corporeal Patronus, likely well into her adult life. She first needs to be able to gain confidence in herself and her own abilities, as well as allow herself to feel happiness rather than casting it aside out of fear.
Elsie's biggest fears are feeling trapped and isolated, and losing those she cares most about. The boggart would turn into her father.
While her father is a Muggle and she isn't afraid of him directly, he represents everything she believes is keeping her from achieving what she wants most - freedom. His expectations of her have led her to live in isolation, and she fears that one day, she will have to give up her dreams at Hogwarts, and that all of her happiness is short-lived.
The boggart would feed her lies about being unwanted and unloved. Eventually, it would switch between her worst fears of the fates of those she loves.
Probably should have guessed
He's like the rest
So fine and so deceiving
I haven't made an edit since like 2014, but @sloanesallow had this amazing idea and I just had to put it together. I posted this on TT (that I only ever use to share my screenies. I can't keep up with all the different fandom accounts 😅) but I also wanted to share it here because it took me days to edit and I'm very proud of how it came out!
This is not my usual stuff that I make though so don't get used to it 😂
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