An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
"What did you do?" Yuuri mutters as Viktor takes off his coat and scarf.
Viktor's mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, then gestures for a pencil and pad. Yuuri yanks his way through several drawers and finally finds a grocery list pad and an old charcoal. He throws them in Viktor's direction and shuffles into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Viktor tugs on his sleeve eventually, like a timid child, and Yuuri turns to see what he's written.
"A succubus?" Yuuri demands, teeth going on edge. "Viktor, oh my God. What did you do?"
Or: Viktor needs to stop finding new and creative ways to get himself hexed. Yuuri is Suffering.
Summary: Years after Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow, a renowned curse-breaker, is approached by a high-ranking Ministry official with a desperate plea. His daughter has been afflicted with a mysterious and potentially deadly curse, and Sebastian is the only one who might be able to help. Intrigued and eager to put his skills to the test, Sebastian accepts the challenge, embarking on a journey that will lead him down unexpected and dangerous paths.
Characters: Sebastian Sallow
Word Count: ~2350 words
For a living, and as his friends often joked, as his second job, Sebastian Sallow had immersed himself in the study of old and dark magic, delving into forbidden texts and mastering spells that would make even the most seasoned Auror raise an eyebrow. He studied the dark arts to find cures that the most seasoned healers in St. Mungo's couldn't solve. His thirst for knowledge had only intensified since leaving Hogwarts. His reputation as an independent curse-breaker, a somewhat unorthodox healer, and a skilled spellcaster, particularly in the realm of the Dark Arts, had spread throughout the wizarding community, attracting both admiration and suspicion.
One crisp autumn afternoon, an owl arrived bearing a message from an unexpected source – Henry Bryson, a high-ranking Ministry official who Sebastian recognized from numerous articles in the Daily Prophet.
Mr. Sallow,
I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Henry Bryson, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was once a dear friend of your late uncle, Solomon Sallow.
I am writing to you to ask a favor. I've heard about your expertise in the area of the Dark Arts, and I have a personal matter I would like to discuss with you. It could be mutually beneficial, both for my family and for your own research.
I only beg you, please, to keep this conversation secret between the two of us. It's a delicate matter. Please meet me at the Crooked Wand tomorrow at 5 pm.
Henry Bryson
Sebastian, intrigued and eager to test his skills, arrived promptly at the Crooked Wand, a dimly lit pub tucked away in a quiet corner of London. Its secluded booths and soundproofed private rooms were favored by those seeking discretion, making it a popular meeting spot for Ministry officials and those with a penchant for clandestine affairs. He found Mr. Bryson seated in a shadowy corner, his face etched with worry, nursing a glass of firewhisky. Mr. Bryson explained that his daughter, Rose, had been afflicted with a mysterious curse, her health deteriorating rapidly. Healers were baffled, their conventional methods proving ineffective against the insidious magic that plagued her.
"I know your reputation, Mr. Sallow," Bryson said, his voice low and urgent. "I know you have a… particular interest in the darker side of magic. I beg you, help my daughter. Name your price, and it shall be yours. Just… discretion is paramount. This matter must remain confidential."
Sebastian, his curiosity piqued and his ambition ignited, agreed to take on the case. They immediately Flooed to visit Rose at the Bryson Manor, a grand estate nestled amidst rolling hills. Its opulent interior, filled with gleaming marble and shimmering chandeliers, was a stark contrast to the pallor of illness that clung to the young woman lying in the canopied bed. Nurses bustled around, their hushed whispers mingling with the soft clicks of house-elf shoes as they tended to her every need.
Sebastian approached the bed, his senses alert, his mind cataloging the subtle signs of the dark magic that ravaged her body. He noticed a peculiar dark mark that started on her left earlobe, a stark, unyielding black that transitioned into pulsing, deep purple shadows as it spread across her delicate neck. It was as if a dark stain was seeping into her skin, a relentless, encroaching darkness. If he had to guess, he would say the total affected area could be covered with a Remembrall.
"It's… definitely dark magic," he murmured, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned the unconscious woman with his wand. "And powerful. But I believe I can find a counter-curse."
Mr. Bryson, his face etched with worry, leaned closer. "Do you really think so, Mr. Sallow?"
"I do," Sebastian affirmed, his voice carrying a quiet confidence. "But I need more information." He pulled out his worn leather journal, its emerald green ribbon bookmark a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the room. "Can you tell me exactly how this affliction began?"
"It started with a gift," Mr. Bryson explained, his voice heavy with regret. "A pair of earrings. Rose can't recall who gave them to her, but I suspect it was a rival, someone who disapproves of my… political stances within the Ministry." He sighed. "She put the left earring on," he continued, "but she said it caused her great pain. When she removed it, the pain intensified, and she noticed a dark spot on her earlobe. It's been spreading ever since."
"May I see the earrings?" Sebastian asked, his curiosity piqued.
Mr. Bryson nodded towards a nearby house-elf. "Fetch the box, Binky," he instructed. The house-elf scurried away, returning moments later with a small, ornately decorated box. With trembling hands, the elf held it at arm's length, his face pale. Mr. Bryson visibly recoiled as the box was presented, his breath catching in his throat. "We're all rather afraid to touch it, Mr. Sallow," Mr. Bryson admitted sheepishly.
Sebastian carefully opened the box, using a Levitation Charm to lift the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a pair of silver earrings, each adorned with a jet-black gem that seemed to absorb the light around it. The gems pulsed with a faint, dark energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
"May I take them for a more detailed examination?" Sebastian asked, his gaze fixed on the ominous earrings.
"Of course," Mr. Bryson replied.
Sebastian, with a practiced flick of his wand, conjured a small, magically reinforced container. Using the Levitation Charm again, he carefully transferred the earrings from their velvet bed into the container, sealing it tightly.
"May I ask you a few questions, Nurse…?" he said, turning to the woman who stood beside Rose's bed, her expression a mix of concern and professional detachment.
"Elsa Thistlewood," the nurse replied.
"Nurse Thistlewood," Sebastian repeated, nodding politely. "How long has Miss Bryson been experiencing these symptoms?"
"Three weeks," Nurse Thistlewood replied. "The dark mark started spreading almost immediately."
"Any other symptoms?" Sebastian inquired, his quill poised above his notebook.
"She's quite weak," the nurse explained, her voice calm and efficient. "She's been bedridden since the mark appeared. She's exhausted, can barely keep any food down, and she's plagued by nightmares."
Sebastian nodded, jotting down notes in his journal. "And the nightmares? Did she described them?"
"She says they're filled with… shadows and whispers," Nurse Thistlewood said, her voice trembling slightly. "She sees faces… faces she doesn't recognize, hears voices calling her name, begging her to put the earrings back on, and… and she feels a constant, crushing dread."
Sebastian's brow furrowed. The symptoms were consistent with a dark curse, but the specifics were unusual. The black gem, the spreading mark, the nightmares… it was unlike anything he had encountered before. He felt a surge of adrenaline, a mix of apprehension and excitement. This was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved, a chance to prove his skills and delve deeper into the mysteries of dark magic.
"Thank you, Nurse Thistlewood," he said, closing his journal with a snap.
He turned back to Mr. Bryson, his expression serious. "I'll need some time to research this curse, Mr. Bryson," he said. "But I assure you, I'll do everything in my power to find a cure for your daughter."
He ventured into the shadowy depths of Knockturn Alley, which soon became his sanctuary, days melting into nights as he delved into forbidden lore. Within a dusty, three-story bookshop, blessedly open at all hours, he stumbled upon a particularly intriguing volume, its pages filled with descriptions of experiments with dark magic. The volume, old, perhaps from the 1400s if he had to guess, was a chilling testament to a mad dark wizard's obsession, detailing human and animal experimentation, recording subjects, symptoms, and results. Though written in an ancient dialect he recognized but couldn't fully translate, Sebastian grasped enough to understand its potential value, both for Rose's cure and his own dark arts research.
Exhausted but driven, Sebastian emerged from the bookshop late that evening, his pockets lighter than usual. His eagerness to decipher the curse had led him to overspend, the bookseller capitalizing on his evident thirst for knowledge. He hurried home, the weight of his discovery heavy on his shoulders, an unsettling thrill mingling with his apprehension.
At his study, he delved into the log book, translating the ancient dialect through the late hours. With each deciphered paragraph, he felt a growing horror at the heartless experiments and twisted curses. Yet, beneath the revulsion, a dark curiosity stirred, an insatiable thirst for knowledge that made his fingers itch to learn more. He was drifting to sleep, but he couldn't stop, not now, not when he was so close to a breakthrough. The mad dark wizard had experimented on hundreds of muggles, pushing the boundaries of dark magic. His quill ran dry. He searched his messy desk, but the ink container was nowhere to be found. As he moved parchments and books, his finger brushed against the cold gemstone of the hidden earrings. He froze, a strange sensation washing over him.
In an instant, he was witnessing a journey, a path leading to a hidden cave in the Cairngorms. He saw every step, every detail, as if he were walking it, yet he knew he hadn't. He recognized the surrounding hamlets, the familiar rise of the mountains, the stretches of grassy moorland he'd traversed before, but the path to the cave itself was new, a route he'd never taken. He could smell the warm, yeasty scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, hear the rushing water of hidden creeks, and feel the damp, tall grass brushing against his legs. He couldn't understand how he could recall such vivid details of a journey he'd never made. Then, just as suddenly, the trance ended, the parchment he had moved falling to the floor. It was as if time itself had paused during his recollection.
He set out immediately, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and a dark, almost dangerous excitement. The journey was arduous, the wind whipping at his cloak as he navigated the treacherous terrain. He got there, the cave from his recollection was real. He approached the cave, a thick fog rolled in, obscuring the landscape and chilling him to the bone. He could hear the distant bleating of sheep, a lonely sound that echoed through the eerie silence of the glen. He drew his wand, its tip illuminating the path ahead, and stepped cautiously into the cave's maw, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the faintest hint of something ancient and sinister.
As he ventured deeper into the cave's depths, he was confronted by a horde of Inferi, their decaying forms rising from the shadows, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light. He fought them off with a fierce determination, his wand a blur of motion as he unleashed a torrent of spells.
Inferi defeated, he reached the heart of the cave, a vast chamber that resembled a ransacked study. A heavy desk, its surface coated in a thick layer of dust, stood amidst scattered bookshelves, quills strewn across the stone floor. In the desk chair, a skeleton sat slumped, its bony fingers still clutching a scroll. The room felt looted, as if someone had been searching for something, leaving behind a trail of chaos. As he stepped into the chamber, a searing, throbbing pain erupted in his head, forcing him to his knees. He clutched his head, his vision blurring, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoing through his mind. The oppressive power that permeated the cave overwhelmed his senses, the air thick with the stench of decay and the chilling presence of death.
Through the haze of pain, he crawled towards the desk, his fingers trembling, his mind filled with a desperate hope to find something there. He felt he was about to faint, but at the last second, his eyes caught a glint of black near the floor. It wasn't just a glint; it was a beckoning gleam, a dark leather bracelet with a dark gemstone, its surface pulsing with a faint, malevolent light. A low humming sound, almost a whisper, invaded his senses the instant he saw it, a seductive call that intensified as the gemstone began to glow, as if recognizing something within him. His curiosity piqued, replaced by an irresistible urge. Then he heard a voice calling his name and felt a jolt of raw energy through his body, and then, the memories flooded in, the image of the glowing bracelet superimposed on each scene, like a ghostly overlay.
His mind was flooded with a torrent of memories, each one a dark echo of his past – the desperate feeling of helplessness when his sister was cursed, the cold fear when his uncle discovered his fascination with dark magic, the heavy guilt that gnawed at him after his reckless pursuit of forbidden knowledge. And then, the final, devastating memory, the darkest of them all – the moment he cast the Killing Curse. His uncle's last sound, a low, guttural grunt that quickly became a gurgle, echoed in his mind as he saw the lifeless eyes staring back at him, the crushing weight of his actions on his soul. The burning shame he felt when he looked up to his twin sister's tear-filled eyes, her fear, disappointment, and anger, the air thick with the metallic stench of dark magic and the cloying sweetness of decaying Inferi. That was the last day he saw her, the last words she spoke to him, "You've made your choice," her voice filled with pain and hate echoing.
Darkness consumed him, his consciousness fading into the abyss.
Writing this chapter has been a struggle, but I'm determined to see Sebastian's journey through to the end.
Tumblr loves to talk about cursing. But I hardly see anything about that other, massive part of the traditional working witch (or cunning person’s) stock in trade: curse-breaking, counter-magic, luck-turning etc.
So! Hit me with your best spells, for curse-assailants known and unknown, for breaking & turning bad luck, for protection against maleficium, charms ancient and modern... Let’s share this stuff!
I'm kinda in need of some help. I cursed my ex in a very mean way. It was all verbal but I felt guilty immediately and tried to take it back. Is that even possible?
What were the conditions of the curse?
Find a picture of your ex, and on the back of it write in black:
S A T O R A R E P O T E N E T O P E R A R O T A S
Put it on a dish, and onto it place pinches of rue, agrimony, salt, and black hen feathers. On top of this place a white candle, dressed with olive oil and saltpeter and light.
(Say the Lord’s prayer backwards, then) “You horseman and footman, whom I here conjured at this time, you may pass on in the name of our Lord, through the word of God and the will of Christ; ride ye on now and pass.”If you uncomfortable using Christian deities, you can replace them with more suitable benevolent/strong names.
With a white-headed pin prick your ring finger and squeeze three drops onto the candle flame. In some folklore “The surest method of escaping the influence of the evil eye, is to draw blood from the person of the witch. Shakespeare, in Henry III, says : Devil or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee : Blood will I draw. Thou art a witch.” (Nummits and Crummits, Sarah Hewitt)
Then say “I revoke my curse on [_ex’s full name_], not to befall on me or anyone else, but to be sent back to the infernal depths from which it came. Let my bewitchment break, this thread be unraveled, and my deed go unseen and unnamed.” Here, if you need to speak further retractions from your curse’s conditions you can add them. Finish by crossing yourself three times, or performing some other form of benediction. Let the candle burn all the way down, and then bury it just before dawn in a cemetery or beneath a stone off your property.
If you believe that a spell has been cast against you, place a large black candle in a cauldron (or a large black bowl). The candle must be tall enough to extend a few inched above the cauldron's rim. Affix the candle to the bottom of the cauldron with warmed beeswax or the drippings of another black candle so that it will not tip over. Fill the cauldron to the rim with fresh water, without wetting the candle's wick. An inch or two of the candle should remain above the water. Deep breathe, meditate, clear your mind, and light the candle. Visualize the suspected spell's power as residing within the candle's flame. Sit in quiet contemplation of the candle and visualize the power flowing and growing with the candle's flame (yes the power against you). As the candle burns down, its flame will eventually sputter and go out as it contacts the water. As soon as the flame has been extinguished by the water, the spell will be dispersed. Break your visualization of the spell's power; see it explode into dust, becoming impotent. Pour the water into a hole in the ground, a lake or stream. Bury the candle. It is done.
