In the Shadow of the Arena - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader
Summary: Sebastian doesn’t have the answers, and it feels like he’s lost everyone. How could anyone look at him after what he’d done?
In his loneliness, he seeks comfort in the one person who hasn’t completely turned their back on him: you.
“He did attack us. You had no choice.”
Sebastian needs you like he never has before, and only now does he realize just how many classes you skip and how many nights your bed is empty.
So what happens when the boy who took one life, burdened with the guilt of whether it was justified or not, follows you into the Forbidden Forest to the feet of a cloaked statue?
Word Count: ~3,600
Warnings: violence, blood, minor character death, language
Your desk was empty, again, and it was with escalating curiosity Sebastian realized he hadn’t seen you since your last conversation in the Undercroft weeks ago.
He’d sent you his owl a couple of times, both of which you had yet to reply to, but any additional flights would only paint him as desperate— but the irony was he was, in fact, desperate.
In the days following the incident in the tomb, Sebastian found himself thinking about you more and more.
Ominis had been avoiding him, Anne wasn’t speaking to him, and both had been convinced he should ‘pay for what he’d done,’ until you had convinced them otherwise, saved him from a fate worse than death, and — above it all — hadn’t been angry with him. No, you’d been, dare he say, supportive. You’d extended your hand, thrown a rope to him even though he’d willingly walked the plank, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around why.
Suffice it to say, if someone were to dunk Sebastian into a Pensieve, they’d be overwhelmed with his memories of you.
“Ay, Prewett,” Sebastian called, throwing his elbow over the back of his chair, “Don’t suppose you’ve seen y/n around, have you?”
“Haven’t,” the Gryffindor replied curtly, “I’d assume it has something to do with Professor Fig, but the lass hasn’t so much as stepped a toe into any classroom since the first day of school.”
Sebastian frowned. He hadn’t even noticed. He’d been too distracted by the tomes he’d slotted within his larger textbooks to realize this had been a year-long ordeal. Some friend he was.
Leander started again, “You know what, I did see her, come to think of it.”
Sebastian waited for him to elaborate, even rolled his wrist forward to spur him on, but the smug curl of his classmate’s lip told him there was a toll to be exacted. Oh, for crying out loud.
“What?” His tone caught the snap of the whipping thought.
Leander shifted in his seat and folded his arms, brows wriggling, “I dunno… you tell me, Sallow.”
“Tell you what?” He wasn’t in the mood to play this game.
Leander deflated, “Why do you need to know where y/n is all of a sudden?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“It’s not like that, Prewett. She just borrowed some old notes from fourth-year, and I need them back.”
Leander narrowed his eyes, but in the end, his white lie survived his peer’s inspection.
“Whatever you say, Sallow.” Leander said with a toss of his brow, “But if you must know, I’ve seen her trampin’ into the Forbidden Forest ‘bout nine o’clock every night.”
It was Sebastian’s turn to narrow his eyes, “You stalking her or something?”
“Oh, piss off.” He cursed, “No, I’m not. O.W.L.’s are kickin’ my arse, so I’ve been a regular at the Broomsticks. Just happened to see her crossing the Honkin’ Daffodil bridge a couple times.”
“The one with all the spider signs?”
Leander nodded with a suspicious frown.
“Thanks,” he said, ignoring whatever was mumbled under the boy’s breath, and turned to fiddle with his quill.
Just what could you be up to in the Forbidden Forest, at night? Though he, Ominis, and Anne had enjoyed their fair share of excursions into its depths, not even Anne dared to brave the biome without the light of the sun to guide them out. ‘Plain foolishness,’ is what she’d said when the Slytherin Quidditch team had entered the moonlit canopy at the hands of a post-match bet. Oh, how she had laughed when they’d come sprinting down the common room stairs covered in Shooter webs and Mongrel fur.
The memory was bittersweet, as were all memories of their time together at Hogwarts, though most teetered towards bitter in the recent days. How could it all have gone so wrong?
Sebastian slammed his eyes shut, and a familiar feeling festered in his gut. He’d have said it was guilt, but all he’d done was act on instinct. Between fending off waves of inferi and dodging ruthless attacks from his own uncle, he hadn’t had a choice… and yet he’d made a decision.
He shook his head.
I cast first, but Solomon struck me countless times before.
I cast Confringo, but Solomon cast Firestorm.
I took his life, but Solomon was trying to take Anne’s.
I took his life for her’s.
I took his life…
“Mr. Sallow, are you feeling alright?” Professor Weasley asked.
He met her gaze through a trim of frustrated tears, “Sorry, Professor. I just- please excuse me.”
She nodded, giving him a worried smile. He stood and shouldered his bookbag, quill shoved next to crumpled, unfinished assignments and overdue tomes. All eyes were on him, but Sebastian blocked them out with your voice.
‘You had no choice, Sebastian. I would have done the same.’
You were right, he’d done what needed to be done, and you were the only one who understood that.
He needed you— more than ever before, and in a way he couldn’t explain.
* * *
Sebastian stood on the metal grate outside your dorm room, the last place he wanted to be given your intolerable roommate, but he’d searched the entire castle for you to no avail. He kicked aimlessly at a divot, praying you would open it, but was soon vastly disappointed.
“Can I help you?” Imelda asked, hand on her hip.
Sebastian was tempted to mirror her demeanor, but he forced an apologetic smile for the time being.
“Sorry to bother you,” he started, “I was wondering if y/n was here.”
“Nope, never is.” She replied without a glance back into the room.
“Oh, just needed to talk to her.”
“Did I ask?”
“No, s’pose you didn’t.” Sebastian didn’t afford her a goodbye, just turned and walked back down the hall. The door slammed behind him, but he hardly cared, more concerned with what ‘never is’ meant.
Sebastian had always assumed you led a normal student life outside of your and his adventures, but then again, after you’d transformed that goblin into a fucking barrel of explosives and hurled it into its fellow loyalists, maybe he’d have to rethink things.
Given he’d been convinced, up until about a week ago, that goblins had been the ones to curse Anne, he’d only had room to sneer at your capital punishment… now? Now it, in combination with your supposed ‘normal’ disappearances, forced him into a need-to-know basis that had him flying up the stairs, diving into the Floo Flame, and out into the moonlit ruins between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest.
His pocketwatch claimed it was nearly nine o’clock, and when Leander Prewett waltzed by, giving far too much attention to the Honking Daffodil bridge, he crouched behind a large pillar and waited for you.
Sebastian would be lying to himself if he didn’t feel the part a downright git for literally stalking you, but he had a feeling that whatever you were up to was not for him to know, thus up to him to find out.
This much spoke for itself when, sure enough, you emerged from the green smoke of the Floo Flame in an all-black ensemble he’d yet to see you in, but before he could get a good look, you inadvertently spooked a patch of nearby flowers to honk in cacophonous succession and fell into a light jog.
You were quick, disappearing into the trees before Sebastian had a chance to trail after you. Instead, he called his broom and whisked over the grassy hills, crossed the bubbling stream, and dove into the coniferous threshold.
He caught up to you, barely— just in time to see your figure hang a hard right before a sea of signs that gave weight to the ‘plain foolishness’ of your nocturnal activities, whatever those might be.
Sebastian pulled back on the ashen handle of his broom, steadying it to a languid glide in the direction you’d gone while his heart hammered in his chest. Where were you going? Wherever it was, you’d been there often enough that you didn’t need the Lumos charm, something he was very tempted to cast given every low-hanging branch looked the part a large spider waiting to pounce. Luckily for him, though, the path you followed widened, allowing him to climb in altitude and watch from above with a clearer view.
His earlier observation had been correct. Everything from your gloves to your boots was black. The only hope of color was in the moonlight that reflected dimly off a metal mask that covered most of your face. It was sharp, tapering down and slightly forward like a beak.
Why did you need a mask?
Suddenly, the profile of it snapped sideways. Sebastian pulled up, but whatever had drawn your attention had been on the forest floor. You scanned the treeline, quickly throwing your hood over your head before stealing forward.
He followed you through hollow pockets within the branches, eyes flitting between what was ahead and what was below, a task made increasingly difficult when the path narrowed once more. The deeper you lured him in, the more the forest seemed to come alive. Sebastian could no longer hear the trickle of the stream nor feel the wind against his cheek. The atmosphere was dense, pulsing with the calls of insects that had abandoned their mindless drumming to mimic a beating heart. Trees grew impenetrable, and branches clawed at his robe, forcing Sebastian to watch you squeeze through two trees before a bed of fallen pine needles silenced his landing.
He crept after you, hiding behind the same two trees, and when he peered through them, his breath caught in his throat when his ‘escalating’ curiosity was rendered, well, fully escalated.
“What in Merlin’s name?” He whispered to himself.
You stood before the statue of a cloaked figure nestled in the jagged outcrop of a small ravine. It held out long arms in invitation, centering a bowed head that almost seemed to cry from a run off of water from above. Beside it, casting sentient shadows along the tree line, were two purple flames, writhing in time to the fabric of your coat he could now see clearly.
You pulled your wand from your side, handle still the same green and black checkered marble as his, and without an ounce of hesitation, you stepped forward into the statue. To Sebastian’s shock, a lithic roll sounded as it lowered its head and crossed its arms, cloaked sleeves trapping you inside.
The breath he’d been consciously holding escaped as a mist into the cold, damp air. Cloaked in black, hiding behind a mask, stepping into a positively medieval statue? Sebastian had always known you hadn’t told him everything, but this?
On careful feet, he approached the statue, soon standing where you had seconds ago. Like you, he pulled his wand from his side, and the statue opened its arms, mournful eyes boring into his soul.
Wherever you’d gone, you’d deemed it necessary to conceal your identity. Sebastian didn’t have a serious mask like yours, nor a smoking black robe, but he did have that wolf mask from last year’s masquerade ball. He pulled his own school-affiliated robe from his frame, charming it away before he summoned the mask from the corner of his wardrobe. He snapped it over his head and was left in his dark button-up and darker trousers. Toss Leander, maybe he was stalking you or something.
With a semblance of hesitation more than you’d sported, Sebastian readied his wand, took a deep breath, and stepped into the stone.
* * *
The statue was a portkey. In a sickening flash, Sebastian was catapulted through a black nothingness until his feet slipped against a slick, mud-covered floor. He caught himself on an arm, bowing his frame just enough that he missed a crate flying at unnatural speed overhead.
Sebastian ducked purposefully now, drawing a stuttered protego to shield himself from the impending debris, but the man the crate had struck hadn’t been as lucky. A large stake had been lodged in his chest, dark crimson staining the dirt-covered shirt he wore, and when he realized what had happened, his terror-stricken eyes met Sebastian’s.
“Help me!”
Sebastian, who’d been frozen in place, melted into action. He flashed forward, fishing in his pockets for Wiggenweld as he kept the man from pulling at the piece of wood.
“Don’t! You’ll bleed out!” He shouted, fingers cuffed around his tattooed wrist… an Ashwinder.
Still, he uncorked the green bottle and poured it into the man’s mouth. It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough, but it was all he could do.
“More,” the man begged.
Sebastian rifled through his pockets again. He didn’t have any more. He looked to the man to apologize, but it was too late.
“Levioso!”
Sebastian tucked and rolled, an instinct he owed to Crossed Wands, and the spell whizzed past him. It sapped into a piece of the broken crate instead, but his attacker shouted the levitation charm again. Another duck, another miss, and Sebastian set his sights on a makeshift tower.
Clambering up onto its platform, he whirled around just in time to block a reducto. He arched through expelliarmus, but his wand sparked, showering embers onto his arm as the spell backfired.
“New here, are ya boy?” The approaching Ashwinder smirked, “Appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not how things work around here.” His smirk turned into a sneer, “… Cruci-”
In the blink of an eye, the man was snatched up into the air, and Sebastian, scrambling back into the corner of the tower, watched him soar toward a figure donning the mask of what he now saw to be a raven.
You cut your wand down, slamming the Ashwinder into the ground with a sickening crack, and spun around to block another attack. You hadn’t seen him.
Afforded a respite he wouldn’t have had otherwise, he gathered his surroundings. He was in an arena of sorts; there was no better way to describe it. Ashwinders littered the space, all actively attacking you. Through the damp mist and by the echo of incantations and explosions, he figured he was underground, an answer to the wet floor he’d slipped on despite the clear night he’d flown through. Walling the arena in were mine-like panels lined with lanterns of a similar nature, as well as two more towers like the one he’d taken refuge in. On one end of the chaos, he spotted a gate that had been drawn shut, but behind it all, there wasn’t a soul in sight— strange since arenas usually sported a healthy crowd.
What was this place, but more importantly, what were you doing here?
He turned his attention back to you. You stood over the hauntingly still Ashwinder, shoulders rising and falling. Not far from his body was another, and next to that one, the man whose blood had stained Sebastian’s hands. Was it over?
He looked to the gate, hoping it would open and confirm his suspicion, but instead, a ball of shadow hurled over the closed gate and circled the arena before it landed behind you. It dissipated, revealing a figure cloaked in purple as other sentient shadows poured in from all sides. Like the first, the dozen landed around you, wands drawn as the bodies that had littered the floor turned to dust.
“The infamous Raven,” the leader spoke, and when she stepped to her left to circle you, her followers did the same.
You didn’t reply. You left your head down and wand at your side.
“Grodbik tells us you’ve earned him quite the fortune; told us to go easy on ‘the witch that takes out his trash.’” She spun her wand and brought her vulture-esque brigade to a stop, “Too bad the word ain’t in my dictionary… Crucio!”
Blood-red lightning forked from her wand, but you disappeared in a whirl of white, and it struck another of your attackers behind you. They crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain, but the rest held their rank.
It was eleven to one. There was no way you were making it out alive without your ancient magic, and given your title, ‘the Raven,’ Sebastian assumed your use of it would only give away your identity.
He stood to his feet and stepped into the firefight, wand gripped in his hand, as the fear that coursed through his veins resurrected the Ashwinder’s words.
‘…that’s not how things work around here…”
One of the figures cloaked in purple turned towards him. She gritted her teeth and cast diffindo, an offensive spell. Sebastian took a dueling stance and deflected it before carving his wrist through confringo. It was her turn to deflect, and the flame that shot from his wand was redirected into the mud with a hiss.
She grinned, “Grodbik didn’t say anything about a wolf.”
He didn’t reply, only kept his eyes pinned to her wand.
“But I like the mask. Mind if I take it?”
She cast at his feet, and he swung through a protego, but she was too quick. With a flick of her wand, she slipped the mask from his face and hung it on her belt with a scornful pout.
“Oh, how I hate killing pretty boys,” she pouted, “but I’ll have this to remind me of ya.”
She patted her side and then struck like a snake, but just as the green from her wand blossomed forward, she and the spell were frozen in time. Before he had time to register what had happened, a ball of fire struck her in the chest and sent the spell intended for him into the wall. She fell to the floor, screaming as the flames wrapped around her torso and climbed up her neck. She shouted extinguishing charms, but her wand refused them, sparking and falling to the floor beside her.
Sebastian backpeddled, her thrashing frame reflected in his shocked gaze. What the hell is this place?
“Accio!” Sebastian pivoted to his right, ready to block it, but the spell had sailed past him. It latched onto a barrel, hurdling it toward him far too fast for him to do anything about it. It swept him off his feet, and he hit the stone floor hard. Mud splattered in his eyes, blurring his throbbing vision to match the ringing in his ears. He swiped at it, trying to right himself until a heel dug painfully into his shoulder.
“Stay down!” It was you, “Stay down or- fuck!” You snapped your arm to the side and shouted diffindo, sending three of the attackers into the wooden wall. “Stay down or I’ll make you stay down!”
He nodded, collapsing, and his world turned sideways. He’d only made it a few steps from the tower, allowing him a full survey of what unfurled before him. The three you had hurled into the barrier had righted themselves. One clutched his side, another spat blood onto the floor, but the last readied her shaking wand toward you while you deflected an onslaught of spells and curses.
Sebastian inched his fingers toward his wand— they wouldn’t see him coming, but right as its marble handle rolled into his grasp, you blocked a spell with such deadly precision that it rebounded the lot of it back at your assailants with a searing white explosion.
Sebastian slammed his eyes shut, and when the blast scittered up the sides of the arena, he opened them just in time to see you whipping around to face the three. From behind the cold metal of your mask, you stared them down, your hood falling from your head as an underground breeze swept through the cavern.
It was a momentary calm that threatened two outcomes, but the choice you made was markedly opposite to what Sebastian had expected, and it burrowed itself deep in his heart.
“Imperio!” A green dart of light zipped through the air and struck the woman with the trembling wand. She stiffened, and the men on either side of her pulled their attention off you and onto her.
They didn’t hesitate. They both struck, but their now green-eyed comrade let the spells sink into her flesh in the interest of hitting them both with a basic cast. They screamed, flexed fingers clawing at green X’s that carved into their foreheads with a sickly hiss.
Bile climbed up Sebastian’s throat. The spell was putrid, an impenetrable smoke laced with burnt flesh that flickered the vision of Solomon’s corpse before his eyes.
He looked away. You had bested the entirety of your attackers, and the one who had spoken to you at the start now knelt before you. Her purple robe was torn at the seam, revealing a marking he’d once seen on himself… the night after the sciptorium.
“Heard another thing about ya,” the woman spat, “Heard the Raven always tells her last victim her name.” Maniacal laughter cracked through her lungs, barking against her rib cage as crimson stained her smile and painted her chin. “And I guess that would be me? What luck!”
Last victim? But the three next to Sebastian were still alive… he looked at you and found your gaze was fixed to his. He couldn’t see the expression you wore, but something inside him told him everything was about to change.
“I do,” you lowered your head, “but not this time.”
You snapped your attention back toward your victim and stabbed your wand forward.
“Avada Kedavra.”
You said it quickly, every syllable callous, and a viridian bolt drove forward from your wand.
Sebastian heard it. It screeched greedily and made its home in the woman’s chest. It hollowed her out, leaving but a shell of what once was before it jumped to the three beside him and did the same.
They all collapsed, death retreating with satiated whispers to leave four empty faces staring right back at him.