Regarding the Screenshot Being Circulated About Me.
Small Edit: myokk also accused me of using AI to create a piece of art that I drew so I address that here with proof that I drew said art in the Procreate app on my iPad.
Hi everyone. I normally avoid fandom drama, but since private conversations about me have been shared around publicly, including misinformation about my character and intentions, I would like to set the record straight.
I will not soften my language and I will not hide the names of the people who made these comments about me considering I was called heinous and foul. Nothing I am addressing is private because it’s already publicly circulating on tumblr via other people’s choices. If anyone is angry about this, direct that anger toward the people who spread the screenshots and the people who said these things. I am not going to sit silently while adults in a fandom about magical schoolkids spread misinformation about my real life or my character.
For the record, I have been largely inactive here because I have been extremely ill throughout my pregnancy, so I understand I'm a bit late to this entire debacle, but finding out that sharing something happy in my life was grounds for these comments is honestly unhinged.
So anyway, here is the screenshot in question. It was shared by bookie-bookdust, and contains a message from myokk. Again, I’m not the one who made this public but these comments are about me so I’m going to state my side.
1. I have never been anything but kind and cordial to myokk.
I genuinely don’t know why she would call us enemies. We have never had a conflict (until now apparently), and our interactions have always been polite. I even supported her work and did her MCtober prompts. In fact, she left positive comments on some of those. Feel free to take a look at the posts here, and here.
Seeing her talk about me (and apparently many of my friends) like this behind my back is extremely disappointing and shocking. She also, in another screenshot posted by bookie, stated that she specifically likes to “antagonize” me for some reason.
I truly cannot wrap my head around making such awful comments about someone without basis… and unfortunately there seem to have been many others in this group chat disparaging myself and others in the fandom.
2. I don’t involve myself in fandom drama and will not in the future.
The only time I’ve ever addressed anything publicly was to defend myself against false accusations that I use AI for my fics. I don’t comment on creator disputes, don’t join fandom drama, and don’t insert myself into anything outside my own work. I also do not agree with the fact that myokk's blog was mass reported and removed from tumblr. I also don’t think it’s right to share screenshots from private conversations with people who you trust, but again, these statements were made public, they are about me, and they are objectively false so I feel it's only fair that I address them, especially considering it contains personal information about my real life.
3. Regarding my pregnancy.
The server where I shared the news no longer exists, but I shared something personal with people I believed were friends. I had zero knowledge when I shared my news that anyone there was struggling with infertility, and I would never intentionally upset anyone, especially considering that I have literally written works in this fandom that deal with related and sensitive topics. I understand the weight and emotional complexity of those experiences, and I would never weaponize them or be careless with them.
I have screenshots showing that I shared my news in different channels on different days (they posted in a separate channel the day before I shared my test results). I have, of course, removed the other person’s name and profile photo for their privacy since this is their personal information!
I wasn’t spamming anything, and if someone had been upset, they could’ve told me. No one ever did.
I also want to point out the double standard here: sharing infertility struggles in that server was seen as acceptable, but somehow sharing my own happy news was considered grounds to judge me. I don’t need everyone to like me. Clearly myokk doesn't, and whoever she was replying to in those messages doesn’t either. I'm sure the others in that conversation hopped on the bandwagon, too. That’s fine. You are not required to like me.
What isn’t fine is people lying about me, inventing motives for me, or acting as though I deliberately inserted myself into someone else’s pain. That simply isn’t true. And just because I posted in the hospital-wing channel one day does not mean I was constantly monitoring that channel or reading every single message. Again, it was never my intention to be unkind to anyone, and I would have promptly responded if someone had let me know I upset them in any way, shape, or form.
4. I never said anything about Choccy that I’m being accused of.
The screenshots of my actual messages show that I spoke about how sad it is that fandom hate has driven creators away, and myokk corrected me to say that hate is not why choccy left. I clearly acknowledge her explanation here. But while she was polite to my face, she was actively twisting my words and discussing me in private. Also you can see that these messages take place days after I shared the news of my pregnancy, so her claim that I should have known about the inferility comments because I was active in this channel make no sense. I didn't have to scroll up and read all previous messages sent in the channel before sending my own message. Even if I had, this is days later and again, there was no indication that I had caused an upset or tension with what I shared.
5. My stance on the fandom going forward.
I’m committed to finishing the fic I’m currently working on with @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30. I owe them that. But fandom is supposed to be fun and something that adds joy, and this just isn’t fun anymore. It’s simply not worth the emotional energy when I have real-life responsibilities that matter far more than adults melting down over imagined offenses.
Whether I’ll keep my fics public (aside from the collab one) is still undecided, but at this point, consider me on hiatus from writing new works.
Rookwood’s Completely Normal Dungeon - A Collaborative Hogwarts Legacy One-Shot
Pass the Pen Project: Fic A
A bungled break-in lands Evelyn O’Connor and her friends in Victor Rookwood’s hands, and instead of torture racks and cursed chains, they’re tossed into a “dungeon” of trials designed to humiliate, provoke, and fracture the group.
Tags: Captivity, Dark Comedy, Truth Potion, Rivalry/Jealousy, Sexual Tension, Escape Plot
Corinne - @theladyofshalott1989 on Tumblr and Ao3; The-Lady-of-Shalott on Wattpad
Bex - @leawshum on Tumblr and AO3
Screechsnap - @hogwashdrabbles on Tumblr; screechsnap on Ao3
This fic began as a simple experiment: what if multiple authors collaborated on a single, unplanned fic? What followed was a collaborative process of unexpected turns, escalating nonsense, and wonderful fandom engagement.
This is the first of two fics, and I’m beyond excited to finally share it. Thank you to everyone who wrote, cheered, and kept the momentum going. This project only exists because each of you took the baton and ran with it!
And a special, heartfelt thank you to @sunnyrealist, who stepped in when I wasn’t able to help direct. Thank you for keeping things organized, keeping things moving!
They were so fucked.
“So, O’Connor,” Garreth whispered to Evelyn from behind her. “What’s the plan?”
“Why are you asking me?” she asked.
“Well, aren’t you supposed to be the smart one? You know, being a Ravenclaw and all.”
“And, you know, since breaking into this castle was your idea, don’t you think you should be the one to get us out?” Leander grumbled.
“Leander, why are you even here?!” Poppy harshly whispered back.
“I said quiet!” a nearby guard shouted.
Evelyn’s knees ached. She and her group had been forced to kneel in a huddled mass on the cold marble floor for what felt like an eternity; ever since they’d been caught, thanks to Leander knocking over a suit of armor that alerted everyone in Rookwood’s castle to their presence. Not to mention, there was an itch on the small of her back that she couldn’t reach, on account of her hands being bound.
“Can your magic thing get us out of here?” Sebastian asked her quietly.
Again, Evelyn tried to call on her ancient magic, but just like the last attempt, nothing came. She’d had to use her powers to break into this place, and as a result, she was completely depleted. She shook her head.
“Ominis, your father is rich, is he not?” Natsai murmured. “Perhaps we could appeal to these guys’ better nature, so to speak.”
Ominis scoffed behind Evelyn. “With all due respect, I’d rather die than ask that man for help.”
Just then, a woman wearing the same white mask as the rest of Rookwood’s goons came sprinting into the room. “He’s ready,” she said breathlessly.
The guard closest to the group nodded before turning to the rest of the room. “Places, everyone! He’s coming!”
Evelyn’s blood turned to ice. Meeting Victor Rookwood face to face was something she’d been dreading. His reputation for ruthlessness was well known throughout the Valley, almost as much as his desire to kill her. Though she was twenty years old, she felt herself briefly longing for her parents and the sense of safety they brought. She hadn’t felt so scared or out of her depth in a long time.
A cacophony of footsteps sounded as all the room’s soldiers scrambled into two lines facing each other, each line parallel with the bottom of the grand staircase at the center of the room.
The air itself began to vibrate as a large slab of the ceiling slowly lowered, white light pouring from the cracks. Little by little, Rookwood’s body came into view as he descended on the platform: first his shoes, then his tailored pants, then the lower half of his torso. However, the platform came to an abrupt stop, and the room fell quiet.
A few awkward seconds passed before Rookwood hunched over, peeking his head out through the gap between the ceiling and the platform.
“Damn it, Norm, you swore you had the spell figured out!” he shouted.
A man whose wand was pointed at the ceiling shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized with a thick Cockney accent. “I practiced all night—”
“Ugh, no matter,” Victor dismissed. He then turned his attention to his unwilling guests and offered a wide, childlike grin. “Apologies, all! We’re still ironing out the kinks. Let’s take it from the top, everyone!”
Evelyn watched, utterly baffled, as the platform rose back up, paused for a moment, then lowered all the way to the ground. Rookwood stepped off, top hat and all, before theatrically spinning to face the group of ninth years.
“Well, well, well,” Rookwood said dramatically, twisting one end of his mustache. “It appears some little critters have stumbled into my tra—”
The man stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes landed on Evelyn. “By the beard of Zeus!” he breathed.
Um… what?
“Did my heart love till now?” Victor continued, taking measured steps toward her. “Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
“Are you quoting Shakespeare?” Evelyn questioned, so confused she could barely believe the words coming out of her mouth.
Rookwood flashed her an impressed grin. “You know your plays.”
“Who does this bloke think he is?” Sebastian grumbled under his breath, a sharp edge to his voice.
“Mr. Rookwood, please let us go!” Poppy squeaked.
Rookwood’s face lit up, and he spun on his heel to face the girl. “I may, I may… but where’s the fun in that?”
“Where’s the fun in being hostages?” Natsai countered.
Rookwood excitedly clapped his hands. “That’s for you to figure out. If you can escape… MY DUNGEON!”
A guard nearby cast a lightning spell so thunder clapped, and Rookwood let out a cartoonish cackle.
The group of ninth years could only gawk in utter bewilderment at what they were witnessing.
“That sounded more menacing in practice,” Rookwood mused. “But no matter! I have several rooms set up around this castle. If you can manage to escape the challenges in the chambers of my dungeon, then I will let you go freely. But if not, you will be promptly… disposed of. How’s that sound?”
“Uh… bad!” Garreth called.
“Great!” Rookwood motioned to some guards, and the group was ushered away.
As Evelyn began to pass Rookwood, she was stopped by his hand clasping her arm. “So what did you think?”
Evelyn blinked. “About what?”
“My entrance?” Rookwood stared at Evelyn eagerly, like her opinion was the most important thing in the world.
“It definitely was… something.” Evelyn was at a loss for words. She was having a hard time reconciling the rumored mass murderer with the blushing man before her. “Look, I should probably go join everyone else.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” the man shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’ll see you later, then?”
“Probably. I mean, I am your hostage, so…”
Ironically, Evelyn was now really looking forward to the potential death room that awaited her downstairs.
Though that thought quickly vanished, along with the binds at her wrists, when she was shoved into the first puzzle chamber and found it in complete chaos.
“Woah, what’s wrong?!” Evelyn shouted over the clamor.
Garreth turned to her, his eyes wide, while Sebastian cackled and the girls huddled nervously in the corner.
“Nothing’s wrong!” Leander, whose skin was looking rosier than normal, rolled his eyes. “The riddle said to pick the safe potion and drink it. Considering all the other ones were black or a vomit green, I picked the pink sparkly one!”
“He drank a Philtre potion,” Garreth explained, his voice dripping with panic.
Oh no.
“I feel fine!” Leander shrugged, while absentmindedly unbuttoning his shirt. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
Evelyn’s eyes darted down to Leander’s pants, where she could already see a distinct bulge starting to form.
Shit, shit, shit.
Leander had taken an aphrodisiac potion.
Of all the ungodly things to happen in a dungeon…this…with Leander. Please, no.
Evelyn would have imagined a certain other reckless idiot talking the leap into drinking a potentially dark-magic mystery potion, but Leander? Really?
“Don’t look at me,” Sebastian said with his hands raised and his smug grin absolutely intact. “I didn’t force him or anything.”
She let out a heavy groan as she slapped her palm over her face, dragging it down roughly, thoroughly miffed.
When Rookwood said they were headed to a dungeon, this was not what she had in mind.
Lies. She was lying to herself again.
A sex dungeon had definitely crossed her mind, yet Leander on an aphrodisiac high? Absolutely not, thank you very much.
She sighed once more and watched the group drift further away from Leander as if he were a live Dungbomb. Also: he was undressing. Yes, there he went, taking off his pants now.
“Garreth,” Evelyn called out, her sense of panic slightly rising. “Can you please find the correct potion so we can move on!”
“Yeah, yeah, fearless leader, I’m on it,” Garreth muttered, holding up the various shaped vials to the dim light of the chamber’s single lantern. “It’s not like I want to be in a locked room with horny, naked Leander either.”
Indeed, Leander, fully naked now, having decided that even socks were apparently too stuffy, turned his sights on Evelyn and started towards her, face blushing as red as his hair.
Curse whoever orchestrated these events. Evelyn vowed that before this night was over, she would give Rookwood a proper pummelling.
“Friends…” Natsai warned, wand out at a very specific angle that Evelyn knowing eyes translated to say, I can and will stun all of you if we don’t figure this out soon. “Specifically Garreth – any progress?”
Evelyen was too distracted to hear any reply as Leander suddenly shifted his full attention to the nearby Poppy, who now stood rod-straight, arms outstretched, ready to shove him back should he… lunge.
Sebastian already had both hands clamped on Leander’s shoulder, holding him despite the latter’s enthusiastic wriggling. “A little help here,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth.
As nothing dispels impending horror as effectively as comedy, Evelyn called out: “Poppy – aren’t you the best of us at taming wild creatures?”
“No. Don’t you start,” Poppy threatened playfully, cutting her a sharp glare. “And don’t give me that ‘what’s a little fun between friends’ line like last time either!”
“Don’t worry, he only took a tiny sip. It’ll wear off soon.” Sebastian assured Poppy.
“Nooo,” Poppy protested, though smiling, while Leander’s longer reach mussed her hair. Her neat bob puffed into chaos. “Okay, I’m not playing nice anymore.” At her behest, Sebastian stepped back; she could take care of herself.
“Found it!” Garreth shouted, holding up a large vial in triumph.
Ominis extended a hand. “I’ll drink it.”
“Are you sure you want to –” Natsai started, but Ominis was already working the cork free.
Garreth’s expression changed with whiplash speed. “No, wait – !”
He lunged and slapped the vial from Ominis’ hand. The cork, unfortunately, was still firmly held and – BOOM!
A white-hot flash, a concussive burst, and then a puff of soot rolled across them. When the dust settled, everyone uncovered their eyes, coughed, and looked to Ominis who simply stood there blinking, his pale skin and blond hair now grey-black with ash. Tiny embers fizzled on his coat.
Evelyn and Sebastian moved at once, batting out the lingering sparks. Ominis’ fine riding outfit now featured a splattering of galleon–sized holes.
“Wonderful,” Ominis muttered as the two friends finished patting him down. He had no trouble locating Garreth and delivering a pure Gaunt-leveled scowl.
Garreth flinched, but tried to laugh it off. “Sorry, mate. It could have been worse.”
Garreth cleared his throat and picked up the second largest of the remaining vials. “Veritaserum,” he announced with his familiar confidence. Unhelpful, given that he was always confident, even when things exploded. “The bottle is black, but when you hold it to the light, the liquid is clear.”
He demonstrated, holding the vial up to the lantern while everyone squinted in varying degrees of disbelief. Poppy and Leander were the exception; they were…occupied.
Evelyn resigned herself to the trajectory of the evening. Chaos would escalate. That much felt certain.
“Well then,” she began. “I’ll – “
“We don’t have time for this,” Sebastian said briskly. He took the vial from Garreth, popped the cork, and downed its entirety in one long swallow. Silence followed.
Sebastian’s features twisted, his Adam's apple bobbed as he worked his tongue around, eyes going wide. A gag escaped him.
“Merlin, no – he’s choking,” Evelyn cried.
Before anyone could move to help, Sebastian lifted a hand to his mouth and spat a small, white bead-like object into his palm. Evidently his tongue was deft enough to possess survival instincts. The four of them leaned in, eyebrows collectively raised. Ominis prodded the thing with his wand; Natsai immediately swatted his hand away.
A deep, malicious voice rolled through the chamber, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Greating captives. You have passed the first trial.”
They all looked around for a source.
“So they are watching us,” Poppy whispered as she approached the group with Leander in tow. Though Poppy’s bob now tilted heavily to the starboard side, Evelyn was relieved to see that Leander did not look too battered. He knelt on the floor, shirt on thankfully, but still pantless. He clung to Poppy’s calves and shuffled on his knees after her like a penitent.
“Please,” he groaned. “What did I do to deserve this cruel punishment?”
“Shh,” Poppy said, patting his head without looking down.
“To pass the next trial,” the disembodied voice intoned, “each of you must answer the following question truthfully, beginning with the one who took the potion. The orb will respond, so all will know the truth from the lies. Liars will be punished.”
Evelyn studied the set-up. The pattern felt painfully clear: Rookwood’s manipulative brand of unimaginative cruelty, engineered to pry at fault lines, force their hands, and fracture friendships until they all snapped.
Sebastian lifted his chin. “Are you threatening us? What happens if we fail?”
The deep voice stuttered. “Well…ah…hmm…”
Right. Very frightening.
Muffled cursing bled through the walls, followed by the scrape of furniture and an offended yowl. “Move, you imbecile! If you want something done right – put your pathetic wand away – I’ll do it myself!”
A shriek tore through the stone, sharp enough to have them all slapping their hands over their ears.
“Speak the truth,” Rookwood’s voice now boomed. “To proceed, take the orb and confess: whom you would have preferred to have drunk the Philtre.”
Sebastian didn’t hesitate. “Easy.” he said, staring at the orb. “Evelyn.”
The orb flared bright blue and a clear, bell-like tone chimed once.
Evelyn kept her face blank. No one reacted. Poppy nodded like Sebastian just confirmed Hippogriffs do indeed fly. Natsai hummed unimpressed and Ominis mumbled under his breath what sounded like a bored, “obviously.”
“Right,” Garreth said, “baseline established,” like they were simply charting potion temperature variations and not egos. Evelyn crossed her arms and looked away.
Rookwood made a flustered throaty noise, as his script had not accounted for this anticlimax. “V-Very well. The truth is… acknowledged.”
Then, with the casual arrogance of someone who believed himself the star of the show, Sebastian flashed a wicked grin and set the orb in Evelyn’s palm.
Evelyn swallowed, panic returning. Every one of her friends had their eyes on her. Rookwood’s incessive “well, well, well,” droned from the stones around her. In the quiet of her hesitance, she focused on the newly noted sound of water dripping from somewhere in the chamber, tic…tic…tic. Pressure built behind her eyes.
She hesitated some more, debated half-truths, bit her lip, and felt the heat of expectation close in on her. The name tore free before she could overthink it.
“Sebastian!”
She dropped the tiny orb and covered her face with both hands, unwilling to see their expressions.
What she did eventually hear was a giddy chuckle from Leander and curiosity thus parted her fingers slightly.
Peeking though, she saw the orb flare, shifting to a hellish shade of red. A collective gasp rushed through the group.
Rookwood’s voice knifed across the chamber, rebounding off the stones.
“Liar!”
The verdict struck like a perfectly aimed bombarda curse and then just… dwindled away into nothing. There was no flash of punishment, no immediate danger, only silence.
For one blissful moment, Evelyn considered that maybe if she stood perfectly still, she could simply cease to exist.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Well, don’t all speak at once - it’s not like I’m hanging here in suspense or anything.” His eyes were firmly fixed on Evelyn.
Garreth coughed into his sleeve what was unmistakably a burst of laughter. Then he dropped his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “The orb’s gotta be broken. Obviously. You two have been snogging since fifth year.”
They had, but -
Great, now they were all looking at her.
Evelyn opened her mouth but no sound came out. She was too busy staring at the guy she had, in fact, been snogging for five years - the same guy who had just admitted to fancying her in front of six witnesses and clearly expected the feeling to be entirely mutual.
And then, just as she’d managed to scrape together some semblance of an excuse, Rockwood’s voice boomed through the chamber once again.
“Now! A punishment for Miss O’Connor. Let’s loosen that tongue of yours, mm?”
The orb suddenly levitated from the floor and hovered towards Evelyn.
Before anyone could react, it blasted a jet of pink glittery smoke straight into her face. It was odorless, tasteless and all the more terrifying for it. The orb clattered back onto the stones after.
“Evelyn!” Poppy wrestled her calves free from Leander’s hold and lunged for her friend. “Are you alright?”
Evelyn rubbed pink off her lips, out of her eyes. Surprisingly, she felt alright. She felt alright and yet… An unwelcome, warm sensation started seeping outward from within her chest, as though she’d just quaffed a pint of butterbeer. She gripped Poppy’s arm for stability as a wave of dizziness roiled through her.
She gave a small hiccup. And then, out of nowhere -
“I’ve had dreams about Ominis’ hands,” she blurted.
A startled gasp escaped her before she could even think to clasp her hands over her mouth. Everyone gaped at her. Ominis was gaping at the floor, his eyes wide as saucers. Poppy immediately stepped back. She might have been the least squeamish person Evelyn knew, but here she was; wiping her hands fervently in her skirt like she’d just touched someone with dragonpox.
This was not happening.This could not be happening.
“Veritaserum, as you may have guessed,” Rockwood cooed. “Pixie dust and bouncing bulb sap, for the rather… spontaneous outbursts. Have fun! I certainly will.” His voice trailed off into a villainous cackle, leaving the ninth-years stranded in silence.
Garreth grinned wickedly. “Bouncing bulb sap? Why’ve I never thought of that…”
“So it’s Ominis then?” Sebastian groused. He was still staring at Evelyn in disbelief. The picture of a shattered ego, if she’d ever seen one. “Now that is just excellent. Leave it to me to be into a girl who’s actually pining for my rich best friend.”
“I’m not,” Evelyn breathed. Truth.
Sebastian didn’t relent. “Figures you’d rather him be the one drinking the Philtre and getting all gropy. You know, with his nice hands and all-”
“No!” Another truth. Merlin, she was incapable of anything but the truth. She covered her mouth again, swallowing down the next hiccup.
“Who is it then?” Garreth joined in, wiggling his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Everyone,” Natsai said sharply, stepping in front of Evelyn. With a flick of her wand, she summoned the orb onto her palm. “Evelyn is under the influence of veritaserum. You can’t just demand answers from her right now, that is a violation.”
“A violation?” Sebastian scoffed, folding his arms. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all being held in a dungeon against our will.”
“A dungeon I’d very much like to leave soon,” Natsai snapped. “So let’s move on with the trial before this gets even more weird.”
Evelyn had a sinking feeling that “weird” was about the only direction this was all headed.
The Gryffindor witch looked at the orb in her hand as though it was as harmless as the ones in her mother’s Divination Class. “I would rather Poppy had drunk the Philtre potion,” she said.
The bell-like tone chimed again, and the orb shone blue.
Poppy whirled around, her cheeks turning pink. “Wait- what- me?!”
Natsai sighed. “Because it would be far less traumatizing than watching Leander this close to humping the walls.”
Leander, now sitting slumped against one of said walls, suddenly shot an interested look over his shoulder, like the flagstones themselves had just whispered in his ear.
The orb was passed on to Ominis then. Natsai took his wrist and placed it on his palm.
Evelyn watched him slowly resurface from that paralyzed state he’d been left in since that severely misplaced comment about his hands.
“Anyone but Sebastian,” he muttered, holding the orb out to whoever wanted to go next.
The orb flared bright blue again. As unspecified as his answer was, it somehow worked.
“You have a problem with me all of a sudden?” Sebastian asked curtly.
Ominis straightened as soon as Garreth had taken the orb off his hands. “We’ve shared dorm rooms since first year. Suffice it to say, I already know what your moaning sounds like and I don’t need to hear it again in my life.”
Sebastian’s eyes rolled, but before a retort could leave his mouth, Garreth cleared his throat like he was about to make a grand announcement. “Alright everyone, let’s be real.” He juggled the orb between his hands with a grin. “If anyone knows how to handle the effects of a potion, it’s me. I’d gladly have drunk the Philtre myself.”
Much like with his potion brewing, he seemed to be waiting for some explosive reaction. But all he got were six blank stares and the distinct sound of nobody being remotely impressed nor surprised. When the orb flashed its usual blue, he sighed dramatically and handed it off without another word.
Poppy held the orb, peering at the others nervously. “N-Natsai,” she said in a tiny voice. Her ears went redder than a Gryffindor banner when the bell chimed, and she hurried past the witch in question to shove the orb into Leander’s hands last.
One more. Only one more and this trial would be over.
Evelyn forced down another hiccup. It felt as though her chest was going to combust at any moment.
Meanwhile, Leander eyed the orb like it might be something edible - or lickable - and gave a dazed chuckle. “Poppy of course.”
Poppy cringed visibly. They all did, as they waited for the bright blue light to illuminate the chamber for the last time. But the orb stayed dull. Rockwood’s voice faded back in after an awkward cough.
“Err… thank you, Mr. Prewett, for your… enthusiasm to participate,” he said after an uncomfortable pause. “However, since you were the Philtre’s recipient, your input doesn’t technically count. Points for spirit, though! ANYWAY! My congratulations. You’ve now passed the second trial.”
The orb rolled from Leander’s hands into the corner of the chamber, where it imploded with a soft pop. The group exhaled in relief.
When Evelyn let her shoulder slump though, she hiccuped.
“I don’t want to leave,” she blurted. Actually, she nearly moaned the words. “The thought of being trapped makes me so - I just… I really, really like this dungeon.”
Her hands darted back up to cover her mouth before anything else slipped. Everyone gawked at her in pure disbelief. Except maybe Leander, who appeared to be entirely on the same page.
“Ahh,” Rockwood purred. “As do I, Miss O’Connor. As do I… Now then - onward, my dear truth-tellers!”
Suddenly, a section of the chamber opened with a ridiculously loud rumble.
A chasm spread across the floor, dividing the expansive room into two platforms. Their side transformed into what resembled a stage. Across the chasm appeared a cluster of gilded chairs and sofas, and all manner of luxuries floated around it on enchanted trays.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rockwood announced, his voice booming across the space. “Rules will be explained shortly but first - let me present your next trial: The Gallery. Or, if I may borrow the fancy vernacular of your generation…” he paused for emphasis. “…The Cuck Gallery.”
“The what?” asked Garreth.
“The Cuck Gallery, you idiot,” replied Ominis. “Haven't you been listening?”
“Yes, of course I've been listening, but...”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Poppy interjected, frightened, while Natsai leaned slightly toward her with intentions that weren't entirely clear.
“Silence, idiots!”
After Rookwood's shout, they began to look at each other uncertainly. None of them understood exactly what the wizard meant by The Cuck Gallery, nor what they could expect from the next trial. And besides, if they were honest with themselves... they were quite excited to find out what kind of madness would cross that man's mind, given what they’ve been through already.
Sebastian crossed his arms, averting his gaze from the rest. He had a slight hunch about what was to come. A chill ran down his spine, and the truth was that, if his suspicions were correct, and especially considering what the previous trials had consisted of, he couldn't help but feel a bit too much curious, and really desiring to be part of whatever was about to happen.
“The rules are simple,” Rookwood continued. "I will choose one, two, or perhaps several couples, as I feel in the mood to keep going or not, and depending on which I find most... interesting. Then, while our two chosen ones are having fun, all the rest of you have to do is watch them all the time, no matter what happens, and keep your composure as best you can. If any of you lose control...“ he chuckled softly, “you'll have to face the consequences of your actions.”
A murmur began to spread through the group, now more crowded together. Evelyn swallowed hard. She knew what kind of fun Victor was referring to. Rather than her heart, beating faster and faster, and the thousands of mixed feelings that were going all over her body, she focused on her companions, who began whispering theories about who the couples would be, what they’d do if they were all friends, and, above all, why they wouldn't keep their cool with what they’d have to witness.
After hearing that last comment, her gaze instinctively turned to Sebastian, who was standing a little apart from the group. He didn't hesitate to look back at her, widening his smile. They didn't exchange a word, but they both knew they were having the exact same thoughts at that moment.
The brown-haired nodded without taking his eyes off her, while O'Connor mouthed an apology that he didn't seem to take too seriously, or at least that's what the broad smile and the flirty wink he gave her seemed to show.
Evelyn felt a slight twinge in her stomach as her mind raced with thoughts. Wild ones, of course.
If only the others knew about...
Rookwood clearing his throat brought her back to reality.
“Well, I think we should begin,” he said theatrically. “Any theories about who our first chosen ones will be?”
“O'Connor and Sallow, obviously,” Ominis said under his breath, rolling his eyes. “They're both...”
“Almost right, Gaunt!” interrupted the wizard with a hint of... excitement? “Miss O'Connor is indeed one of our first participants, but on this occasion she won’t be doing so alongside Mr. Sallow. I think… Mr. Weasley is a much better partner in this case. With all due respect, Sallow," he added, looking at Sebastian.
Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, although she wasn't quite sure why.
Garreth, however, raised his eyebrows and began to smile broadly, confidently, to her. Without even hesitating, he took the few steps that separated him from Evelyn and stood beside her. Then, without any fear, he placed a hand on her right thigh, beginning to caress it and moving higher and higher.
O'Connor turned his eyes to Sebastian. His jaw was tense and his arms were crossed. Poppy, standing right behind him, noticed how bad the boy looked, and she didn't hesitate to approach him, perhaps a little closer than she should have.
“You have to stay calm,” she whispered, getting closer, too close, to him. She couldn’t help it. “This will be over soon. Besides, don't tell me you wouldn't like to see Evelyn and Garreth...”
“No,” he interrupted.
He cursed himself mentally. He knew perfectly well that he was lying to himself. Sallowe hoped no one would notice how excited he looked.
“Weasley, O'Connor: to the center, please.”
Evelyn took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and obeyed Rookwood's orders. As if she were used to doing so, she took Weasley's hand and forced him to walk ahead without breaking contact. Instinctively, they sat down on a rather large sofa, similar to a bed, that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
The redhead did the same as her, choosing to sit on her right and bringing their bodies perfectly close together.
“The rest of you, form a circle around them,” Rookwood ordered. “No one looks away, no matter what they do. Remember that whoever goes crazy over them won’t only suffer the consequences, but will also make their companions pay for it. And trust me, you wouldn’t like that… or maybe you do?”
“Come on, Sebastian, don't be like that. We all know how much you want to see Evelyn like this. You just have to look at yourself.”
Ominis' whisper in his ear as they carried out the man's orders made Sallow shudder. He said nothing but gave his best friend a sour face. He couldn't deny that, not when he was absolutely right. Still...
He shook his head and fixed his gaze on the couple, focusing his attention on the purple and pink mist that began to form around them as his mind tried its best to think of something completely different.
It was impossible. Even if he didn’t want to, Evelyn O'Connor had occupied every single of his thoughts for longer than he could remember.
“Come on, O'Connor, let's do this. I know how much you’re craving me.”
Garreth's words seemed to have the desired effect on Evelyn. She didn't think about anything, not even what the step she was about to take might mean. As if her body were on autopilot mode, she let herself be carried away by desire and, without warning, wrapped her arms around the boy's neck and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss.
Garreth followed her, cupping her face in his hands to make it even deeper, if it was possible. She could see her mates out of the corner of her eye, who seemed to be watching attentively every single one of their moves.
When Evelyn positioned herself on top of Garreth, she faced them. She couldn’t help but feel praised when she saw their eyes and mouths fully open, clearly impressed.
“Garreth...” O'Connor moaned in his ear as he tried to rub herself against him as hard as possible, completely desperate and in need to go a bit further.
“Sebastian hasn't taken his eyes off you. What do you want us to do for him now? How do you want him to see us?”
Sallow clenched his fists. He didn't know how to feel about it, and his mixed feelings seemed to be working entirely against him. He did his best to look away, but between Natsai grabbing his face and forcing him to look back at the couple, and the fact that he also had a certain guilty pleasure in watching them…
He began to feel a heat spreading throughout his body, and he swore that if they weren't literally being tested, he would throw himself at them both and join in their game, especially when he saw Weasley start unbuttoning Evelyn's shirt while marking her neck.
The hickey Garreth left was perfectly aligned to the right with the one he had left just a few days ago.
Stay calm, Sebastian, he told himself alongside a string of other promises, curses and prayers as he tried his best to not look away.
However, it was easier and funnier than he thought.
Evelyn, laying down on the sofa, now had Garreth on top of her. He couldn't stop groping her all over her body, accompanying his touch with a string of kisses. The girl now had a perfect view of Sallow, and given the opportunity, she couldn't take her eyes off him.
“Don't stop watching them. This has only just begun.”
Out of all the things Evelyn had expected to experience in Victor Rookwood’s circus of a trial, this was nowhere near one of them.
At first, she was lost in the sensations—the heat of the room, the soft, panting breaths—but then her cheeks flushed a furious red as reality caught up to her. Every single pair of eyes were fixed on her. She was the center of attention, and, somehow, it felt designed that way.
Her gaze found Sebastian’s across the room, refusing to look anywhere else. He looked as though he was made of stone with his jaw tight and eyes burning. His fists remained clenched at his side, whether to keep from throttling Garreth—or joining in—she couldn’t tell.
Garreth nipped her collarbone, murmuring her name. She tried, and failed, to stop the whine tumbling from her lips. “Merlin…” he said softly, his words meant for her but angled to provoke Sebastian. “Do you really get this all the time, Sallow?”
“Fuck off, Weasley.”
Rookwood’s chuckle carried from above, where he now appeared to lean on the balcony rail. “Careful, Sallow,” he drawled. “You sound awfully close to losing control.”
Sebastian said nothing, his eyes dark with warning. Evelyn could feel the tension rippling between the three of them—Rookwood, Garreth, and Sebastian. She feared her face would never return to a normal shade again.
Sebastian swore to everything that if that Gryffindor, curly haired, bastard—
“Rookwood?” Evelyn’s voice trembled, her words soft and inviting.
The dark wizard smirked in amusement, then replied, clearly entertained. “Yes, Ms. O’Connor?”
She hesitated, then drew in a shaky breath as Garreth pushed up her skirt to reveal embarrassingly damp panties. She flushed hard and swallowed. “May I… May I please have Sebastian join?”
The silence that followed was a living thing. Garreth’s lips on her stomach froze. Rookwood arched a brow in intrigue. And Sebastain—his breath left him all at once, a slow exhale that sounded like relief.
Evelyn’s shame was fading like mist. If she was trapped in this trial, she might as well use it—test its boundaries for herself.
“Is the Weasley boy not enough?” Rookwood asked, his tone almost curious. There was no judgement, only a strange, analytical interest. It made her skin prickle.
“N-No…it’s not that.” The Versitaserum still gripped her tongue. “Just… need more.”
A ripple passed through the watching group. No one dared speak, though color rose to every cheek. Sebastian waited silently for Rookwood’s word, and Leander—Gods Leander looked like he was about to explode in his pants.
“I suppose,” Rookwood mused, tapping his chin, “it wouldn’t be the worst idea. Very well. Go on, Sallow.”
Sebastian moved at once and Garreth was displaced with a single look. He settled before her, and the space between them pulsed.
“Go play with her tits,” Sebastian told Garreth, pushing her thighs wider to settle himself between them. “She likes that.”
Evelyn swore she couldn’t get any redder, but the heat coiling through her only deepened. There was no escaping this, no hiding from the eyes that watched her. She couldn’t even tell if she wanted too anymore. Not when Garreth began his accent up her body, and Sebastian tugged her panties aside to reveal her.
Garreth moved closer, shifting the fabric of her shirt aside to allow air to brush her side. She watched as he tentatively touched her until Sebastian’s shadow fell over her, his presence eclipsing everything else. He studied her expression, his own dark with hunger and frustration.
“Look at me,” he commanded. “Don’t look at him.”
Evelyn immediately darted her gaze, following him downwards. Pleased, Sebastian's tongue swiped a line through her. She gasped, hands flying into his brown locks. “Oh—!”
A sharp sound cracked through the haze. Rookwood had snapped his fingers. The group jolted in suspense. It cracked again.
“Norm!” he barked. A quill and parchment appeared in a flurry of robes. “You must come on the first snap, not the second.”
The aide stammered an apology, gazing downward as he vanished. Rookwood sighed, shaking his head. “Could’ve missed something vital,” he murmured, peering down at them. Then, louder: “Well? Don’t just stand there—watching is part of the trial, remember?”
The room warmed, turning back and not daring to look away as Evelyn got pleased.
Her breaths came shallow, her pulse erratic. Garreth’s hands resumed the gentle kneading on her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. And Sebastian—Sweet Salazar—Sebastian continued to work between her thighs. He kissed and sucked, tongue circling her most sensitive parts in a flourish that felt like he was showing off just how well he knew how to please her.
She moaned, arching lightly into Sebastian mouth. His firm hands greeted her hips, shoving them back down, digging his fingers into her flesh. He groaned, the vibrations fluttering through her as a choked whine escaped. Somewhere above, Rookwood’s quill scratched steadily.
“Evelyn,” Rookwood’s voice boomed. “I know you are wrapped up in the moment, but on a scale of one to ten, how much did you like the last move he did?”
The room fell silent, every head, besides Sebastian’s, turned to look at Rookwood in astonishment.
“I—um—ah!” Evelyn gasped as Sebastian sucked on her clit. Her body flushed. “Um…six I suppose?”
“Six?” Sebastian groaned, pulling her down further into his mouth. “You’re being very hard to please right now… or are you just putting on a show?”
Evelyn squeaked as his fingers suddenly slid inside her, curling until he found that perfect spot inside her. His tongue continued to flick rapidly.
“Is he… actually writing this down?” Natsai whispered, half-aghast.
“Of course he is,” Ominis muttered, thankful, once again, that he was blind. “Why else would he have a room like this?”
Evelyn panted, her cheeks flushed as Sebastian brought his head up from her heat. His lips and chin were glistening; fingers still plunged inside her.
“That’s… quite enough,” he scratched the back of his neck. His plan seemed to work too well. “You have passed this trial…we will erm…move on!”
Garreth stifled a laugh. “Serious?”
“Yes!” The wizard snapped. “Dare you question my methods?”
With a swirl of his robes, he was gone, leaving the room heavy and stuffy.
Sebastian straightened between her legs, wiping his mouth as he pulled her panties back in place. Carefully he restored her clothing and smoothed the fabric over her. His gaze lingered, a quiet intensity in his gaze as he leaned close, voice low and teasing. “Later,” he murmured, so only she could hear. “When it’s just us.”
Sebastian’s promise of later had Evelyn shivering as they moved to the next room. So far they’d had to find a correct potion, tell the truth, and the group had been turned into cuckholds… great. This was like the worst escape room ever.
The room was dark when they entered the next chamber. Spotlights turning on them. Each of them covered their eyes as the room was illuminated.
“What the bloody hell now? More sex games?” Leander whined, making Poppy stomp on his foot, “Shut it, will you? Does anyone else smell that?”
As the group stopped, Ominis groaned, “Almost smells like a mist-ified version of the philtre potion. Merlin help us.” The others also taking a deep breath to smell what Ominis had.
“Ooooooh, very clever Mr. Gaunt. Points for smarts. Your next trial, where most fail. Figure out where the gas is coming from. Before you all lose yourselves to the lust. We’ll be watching.”
The spotlights turned off, plunging the room into darkness. Sebastian pulled Evelyn closer.
“Well, that was a bit dramatic. It is very dark.” Natsai shuffled to the wall, starting to feel around, “Come on, we must find where the smell is coming from.
The rest of the group fanned to the walls. Searching as well, “Natty, can you see in the dark?” Evelyn asked from somewhere in the dark room.
“I know what you mean, and unfortunately no, not in pitch black like this.”
“You know, this isn’t all that fun anymore. What the hell could be next?” Garreth’s voice rang from one of the far corners.
Leander was again the first to start feeling the aphrodisiac properties, “Oi, I think it’s time to look faster, I’m feeling— things— again.”
“Or you’re getting closer to where it’s coming from.” Poppy made her way closer. Her breath started to come in quicker pants, “It’s definitely this way. I-I’m also feeling the heat.”
Rookwood’s voice came over the room again, “Very good, little mice. But can you all pass the room without succumbing to the effects? Remember, even if it’s dark for you, we can still see you.”
A screech from Garreth echoed in the room, followed by a thud and a groan, “Hey guys? I think there are pits in here.” Sebastian snorted a bit, “Classic, Weasley. How far did you fall?”
Poppy found the hole and leaned over it, “I think this is where the gas is coming from.” She jumped in, “We’re about two metres down.” She subconsciously started to take her cloak off as she felt warmer.
Garreth reached out for her, finding her shoulder, “Fuck, we have to move faster.” He could feel the effects as well as his cock twitched in his trousers.
Poppy dropped to the ground and started to feel around the pit for where the gas may have been coming from. She could hear Garreth stripping, “Garreth, hold it together. We’ve almost got this.” But she was already unbuttoning her shirt now.
Leander almost fell in with Poppy and Garreth, Evelyn holding him back after he’d stepped on her hand, “Christ! Watch it, Prewett.” She rubbed her hand, “Though, I guess we know what the world is like for you now, Ominis. It’s that dark.”
“Welcome to my world then.” Ominis sighed and got down into the hole, “maybe we all need to be in the pit. Perhaps there’s a way to stop the gas.”
Poppy squealed as she found it, in the same moment that Garrett’s hands found her hips and pulled her against him. His cock hard against her arse, “I’m sorry, Poppy. Fuck, so hard it hurts.” Poppy patted his hand as she pushed his hands off her and dragged her cloak to the smaller hole in the floor where she could feel, and smell the mist. Her core throbbed, making her groan, "definitely right here.” She started to stuff the cloak down the tubing, “we need to make this wet... Should help.”
Both Ominis and Garreth were on her now. Her next words were muffled by Ominis’ lips while Garreth’s hands slid her panties to the side, running his fingers through her steadily moistening folds. Poppy moaned against Ominis’ mouth as her fingers found his blond locks and tugged gently.
“Fuck, what, do we all come on the robe to wet it?” Sebastian’s suggestion. O’Connor chuckled, “Or we could pee on it.”
“What are we, animals?” Leander’s voice was full of disgust, making Evelyn roll her eyes, “Says the one who stripped naked during the first trial. And if you hadn’t noticed. Rookwood’s is practically turning us into horny beasts. If we don’t act quick, Garreth, Poppy, and Ominis will be lost to the lust and fucking each others brains out. And we’re stuck in pitch black.”
Victor Rookwood loved a good sex dungeon as much as the next person, but this was getting a bit out of hand.
After casting the Amplifying Charm on his voice for some extra oomph, he said, “Order! Order in the dungeon!”
All of his victims clapped their hands to their ears and groaned. The young Gaunt’s face—Dominis, or… hm, no that didn’t sound right… Anonymous? No, no, that wasn’t right either, ah well—contorted into the perfect vision of a man restraining himself from committing cold-blooded murder. Rookwood would know, obviously.
Rookwood smiled devilishly. He loved to cause pain, of all varieties. This little experiment was proving most diverting. Most diverting, indeed.
“Uh, sir?”
Rookwood startled back to attention. He glowered at Norm who was standing behind him, roll of parchment and quill in hand.
“Yes, Norm?” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Should I still be taking notes?” Norm’s cockney accent grated, like nails on a chalkboard to Rookwood’s discerning ears. Sometimes he wished he could silence the man permanently. In fact, maybe he would. Soon. Yes, yes… next week. No, tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. He made a mental note of it.
“No, you fool,” Rookwood said. “I’m taking notes! You think I would trust an imbecile with my Very Important research?” He hoped Norm could hear the capital letters.
Someone in the dungeon cleared their throat.
Dammit, it was dark. Whose idea was that anyway? Oh, right. It was his. Rookwood cursed his past-self for not thinking that through. Darkness hardly made for effective note-taking, especially of the visual sense, and today all five senses were slated for testing. That was the plan, after all.
Rookwood squinted. He squinted some more.
The someone, who Rookwood was becoming increasingly more irritated with, cleared their throat again.
“Speak up!” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Norm, the blundering dolt that he was, muttered, “Me, sir?” which Rookwood promptly ignored as the person he was actually addressing finally answered.
“Why are we here?” And, of course, it was Evelyn.
Dear, darling Evelyn, his one true love. The woman of his dreams. The woman he was doing this experiment for.
But he couldn’t tell her that! No, no, absolutely not.
So, Rookwood prepared a lie. To be fair, he lied a lot, so it should have been easy. Should being the key word.
He cleared his throat then said, “I am doing a very scholarly experiment on how people react under sexual duress. For… reasons. Related to… erm—uh, well—the… Goblin Rebellion of 1612?”
The Goblin Rebellion of 1612? Bugger it all to Azkaban and back! Salazar’s balls! Merlin’s really stupid hat! MORGANA’S BASTARD ARTHURIAN SON!
The incarcerated youths blinked up in the general direction of Rookwood’s voice. The Prewett boy’s jaw dropped, again.
“The Goblin Rebellion of 1612?” Sebastian muttered, his thick eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t that what Binns blathers on about in History of Magic every sodding class?”
The Gaunt boy began a slow clap. “Well done, Sebastian. You do listen sometimes. Impressive. Most impressive.”
“Hold on now, Ominis.”
Ominis! That was the Gaunt boy’s name! Rookwood shook his head sadly. He preferred Dominis. The poor, poor lad.
Sebastian was still talking. It figured. “You sleep through that class more often than not.”
The Weasley boy sniggered under his breath, shortly followed by the short Hufflepuff with the bob haircut whispering, “What’s so funny?”
Rookwood probably should have interrupted, but he was having far too much fun listening to Sebastian and Ominis’s little spat. He was honestly surprised they weren’t courting each other. They bickered like an old married couple.
It was Evelyn who cut in. “While that’s all well and good,” she said, “albeit perhaps a bit, erm, odd, are we at least getting close to finishing your ‘challenges’?”
What a fabulous question! Naturally, smart and beautiful Evelyn would be the one to ask it.
Rookwood grinned. He ran a hand through his hair to ensure it appeared presentable, until he recalled Evelyn couldn’t see him right now. Ah well. It was the thought that counted.
Speaking of counting…
He checked his notes. Ah yes, they were getting close now. The potion challenge covered Taste, the orb was Sight—although that one had been Norm’s idea, hence why it didn’t quite make sense—the Cuck Gallery was obviously Touch, and this last challenge? Smell. Good, good. Excellent even. Just one more sense left: Hearing.
And the final challenge was likely to be the most… hear-raising yet.
Rookwood chuckled under his breath. He greatly amused himself.
Satisfied with his highly clinical observations for the Smell challenge, Rookwood then swished his wand. The dungeon lit up in a blinding flash of light. He swished his wand again—ah magic, ever so useful—and soon everyone in the dungeon, including the gentlemen and gentlewomen who had fallen into the pit, were hovering in the air.
What did Rookwood do next? Well, he slammed all of them—Evelyn excluded, of course—straight into the stone wall. Evelyn he lowered gently to the floor as a warm ball of light bloomed in his chest, reassuring him that Evelyn was his and his alone.
And, once this clever experiment of his reached its end, Rookwood would have his answers. He would know precisely how to pleasure Evelyn… and precisely who needed to die to ensure no one else ever would.
Something popped in Garreth’s back as they hit the wall. Or maybe his shoulder? No, it was several somethings—in his back and shoulder. Sweet Merlin, it hurt. Whatever effects he’d been feeling from the vapors were gone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever missed an erection quite so terribly.
The group struggled against their invisible restraints, Natty and Poppy swapping mildly rational (though a bit panicked) ideas to break free while Sebastian only kicked and swore at Rookwood.
Garreth's eyes had only just begun to adjust when everything went dark again. Which was, evidently, very much not to plan as he heard a series of shouts and insults being thrown around somewhere across the room.
“Merlin’s left nut! Norm?!” Rookwood screeched to no avail. “Where the hell have you gone? Fix this!”
Slick skin scraped the wall as Garreth slid to the floor. A succession of taps on the wall and a whisper to their right pulled their attention.
“Psst! This way!”
Evelyn could be heard skittering across the stone in the direction of the call, and a second later, the rest followed suit. Though tragically, Garreth seemed to have been the only one to forget about the gaping pit a bit in front of them. Just as his boot hit the edge and began to slip, a strong arm caught his waist and his startled gasp turned into…well—
Ahem.
The hand attached to that arm trailed down to grab Garreth's hand firmly, guiding him along the wall in silence. Even in the danger of their current predicament, he couldn't help the way his mind wandered. Who had grabbed him like that, and how could he get them to do it again—?
Garreth had claimed before everyone that he could maintain himself through the effects of the Philtre. He needed to pull it together!
“Keep on!” the voice hissed.
A moment of scurrying passed before a break in the wall shifted open ahead of them. The weakest of light filtered into the space, silhouetting all present. Garreth peered down at the pale hand in his, up the wiry muscles of the arm, to the blond hair on top.
It was Ominis. He was blindly fantasizing about Ominis.
In his panic, Garreth's eyes snapped forward to find Rookwood’s little underling leading the pack.
“Stupid man—always yellin’ at me for his own cock-ups,” Norm muttered irritably. “Won't even know it was me. Daft. Just you see. I swear—”
The minion hobbled ahead of the group at an unholy speed in the dim corridors, flicking his wand and opening hidden doorways as they went.
“Y’know he had scones planned for after? Lemon scones,” Norm scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. “Scones’re not a post dungeon celebration treat, sex-crazed or not. S’pecially not lemon.”
“That’s—Yeah,” Garreth mumbled, staring intently at the hand still tightly gripping his own. “Wild, mate.”
Leander was listening just a bit too hard, nodding a bit too intently. “And what would you consider an appropriate , er—post-dungeon treat?” he asked curiously.
“Not the fucking time, Prewett,” Sebastian snapped.
“I’m only saying—look, this was awful, obviously, but with a bit more organization—”
“No,” the group huffed.
Norm hummed affirmatively and patted Leander on the shoulder…then promptly pulled his hand away and wiped the dampness on his trousers. “Organization goes a long way for a good…dungeon. And I’d go with a good quiche.” He shot Leander a suggestive wink.
Fresh air greeted the escapees with the swing of the final door, and Norm ushered them outside. Ominis seemed to realize, finally, that he was still holding onto Garreth. He snatched his hands away with a huff, muttering something about ‘an oafish, clumsy prat.’
A slew of degenerate thoughts flashed through Garreth's mind as he stared ahead. He glanced up, meeting Evelyn's wide eyes. A heavy understanding passed between them.
Evelyn would certainly no longer be the only one dreaming about Ominis’s hands.
The students watched, baffled, as half of Norm’s mustache hung from his lip, dangling and dancing while he bid them farewell. Garreth cleared his throat, awkwardly gesturing toward it.
“Oh!” Norm laughed exuberantly and yoinked the mustache from his face, along with his eyebrows and lashes. “Bald as’a babe since…well, since I was a babe. Get it from ma’ mum.”
“That—” Evelyn grimaced. “I think that may have just been the most disconcerting part of my day.”
Norm flashed another cheeky grin and slammed the door. Muffled shouting could be heard from the other side.
“Help! I lost track of the buggers!”
“Go!” Natty urged quietly.
Garreth noticed Evelyn glance back, as if she was already thinking of dealing with the situation. As if they’d magically already escaped and could now go back and wreck vengeance, or whatever went on in O’Connor’s head. Good for her, Garreth had seen enough. Also, a sullen, still slightly intoxicated Leander had suddenly appeared next to him, and Garreth knew his work was already cut out for him in getting the bugger back to their dorm room.
Garreth would prefer to be bringing someone else back to his dorm room–preferably one blonde prince–but he wouldn’t say that out loud. Not in front of said other prince who’d put his foot in his mouth enough to guarantee a sulky and embarrassed roommate for the next several days.
“We should split up,” Poppy hissed. “They can’t follow us all at once. Natty, you’ve ridden on Caligo before–I should be able to call him and Highwing to pick us up. Er–if you’d like to, I mean.”
Natty’s expression split into a smile, the kind where someone’s trying so hard not to grin like a maniac but the corners of their mouth tilt up anyways. “I’d love to, Poppy.”
Oh, great. They were going to be all sappy and cute. Now Garreth really wished he could bring a certain somebody back to his dorm. He sighed. It was a good plan; Garreth wouldn’t have to watch anyone be couple-y, and that should save his ego a bit. Plus whatever Poppy said about being tracked, that was probably a good reason as well.
Except that Evelyn was now glancing between the two of them incredulously, as if this was an all-girls sleepover that she hadn’t been invited to. “Sorry?
Natty and Poppy stared at her for a moment before startling; this was an unintended consequence of making lovey-dovey eyes at each other. There were, in fact, people outside of one’s little love bubble, who tended to feel left out when ignored in such a way. Garreth was referring to himself as much as Evelyn—though, Garreth doubted that the girls cared half as much about his grouchy feelings as they did about unintentionally ignoring Evelyn.
“Oh! You can, come with us, if you like, of course,” Poppy offered, but Evelyn seemed to realize what she’d interrupted, if the splotchy flush spreading over her face was any indication. Garreth wished he was as unaware.
“NO! Er, I just meant, suddenly I’m feeling a bit queasy, I don’t think flying would agree with me,” Evelyn screeched, then rushed to cover for said undignified sound, before regaining her usual calmer demeanor. “Yeah. Dungeon’s messed with my head a bit, I’d rather walk. Exercise and air, good for the body, as they say. Ah—Enjoy your flight!” And then Evelyn was gone, as if she’d disappeared the second she stepped behind the trees of the clearing they were in. A dramatic exit, and exactly what Garreth would expect from her, even if Sebastian looked a bit disappointed.
Her exit was shown up a minute later when two hulking hippogriffs swooped down from the sky to pick up their riders. Garreth was not jealous that he didn’t get to ride the beasts, and Poppy did not shoo him away after he attempted to collect a few loose feathers. Jokes on her, Garreth managed to pick a few up off the ground after they left. He’d have to experiment with them.
That just left the boys. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment—or, everyone except for Ominis. He couldn’t stare at anyone. That was a good thing, though, Garreth was doing enough staring-not-staring for the both of them. He was sure Leander would’ve commented if he wasn’t trying so hard to stare past people’s heads.
But as much as Garreth liked the idea of a future where he walked home with Ominis, Sebastian would leave Leander in a ditch somewhere, and Garreth had to begrudgingly admit he didn’t want that to happen to his friend. It had nothing to do with the sudden nervousness Garreth felt when Ominis’s sightless eyes looked his way.
“Well, boys, this has been fun, but I’d best get pretty pink potion boy back to the dorms,” Garreth broke the silence, his voice a little too loud. “I assume you two will leave for, what I am sure, is your very different dungeon?” Enough jabs could cut any tension, in Garreth’s opinion.
Any remaining hope Garreth had about a blond accompaniment was squashed when Ominis nodded, taking two tries to place a hand on a miffed Sebastian, silencing whatever scathing reply he’d been about to spit out. “Indeed. I’ve heard quite enough for one day.” His voice was stiff, as if closing down. Garreth did, of course, not notice or care. Really.
“And I’ve spent more than enough time in Leander’s presence,” Sebastian butted in. “And I’m even beginning to get tired of your face, Garreth. Something about you gingers. Make it back safely, or whatever I’m supposed to say.” Despite the insulting words, Sebastian’s face was that of fond exasperation. You just had to look really hard. And maybe use a magnifying glass, and a bit of delusion. Sebastian loved them, trust Garreth on that.
Sebastian offered a brisk wave at the two as he tugged Ominis towards the forest. Ominis offered a wave to the left of where Garreth was standing. It was the thought that counted. They disappeared before they reached the shadows of the trees, only a faint, smudgy outline visible. Garreth had sneaked around often enough to recognize the disillusionment charm.
Time to deal with his own problems. Garreth pointed Leander towards the castle, easily keeping step with them as they walked. He figured Leander had some complaining to get out. Leander was biting his lip like he was trying to bottle up his words.
It was only a minute before Leander was going off like a kettle, even with Garreth’s minimal commentary. It was starting to give him a headache.
“It was just—so embarrassing, Gar! I acted like a total blockhead. I shouldn’t have drunk the stupid potion. I just—agh, I don’t know. I haven’t made one good decision all day,” Leander bemoaned.
“Well, I seem to remember you essentially getting pinned by a certain snake, so it can’t have been too awful for you,” Garreth answered, just to shut him up.
“WHAT?” Leander screeched, whirling to face Garreth incredulously, his face beet red. Perhaps not the intended effect, but it was amusing to watch him sputter.
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Garreth swung his arm into Leander’s shoulder, a bit too hard if the oomph that followed was any indication. “Besides, you know that if the orb had flashed for you, it would’ve been red. Poppy’s sweet, but you’ve never eyed her before.”
“Shut up, Garreth,” Leander hissed through his teeth, a command Garreth had no intention of following. Leander, of course, knew this, and the next hit he swung at Garreth had enough force to nearly topple both of them. “You’re being a dick! I don’t harass you about the way you watch your snake like a lovesick puppy—”
“Oh-kay, that’s enough,” Garreth interrupted, his face beginning to feel a bit warm. “I think you’re still under the weather a bit. And we should be getting out of here anyway. Perhaps when we get back, I might have a potion—” Leander’s scowl quickly dispelled that idea. “Alright. I do have some sleeping draught—brewed by the book, don’t look at me like that—in our dorm. Would that buy your silence?”
Leander grumbled a bit more, but it was nothing Garreth could hear, and he shut up after that. Blissful silence. Garreth could actually hear the birds now! There was a pleasant breeze out, and Garreth sucked in the decidedly not stale or musty air. He hadn’t hated everything that had happened, but he was glad to be out and by himself. Or, mostly by himself, he reminded himself as Leander nearly tripped over a tree root. If Garreth squinted, he could see two hippogriffs in the sky, weaving around each other as the sunset. How hopelessly romantic. Did they have to do that where everyone could watch? He was still a bit salty about that. Garreth had no idea where the Slytherins had, well, slithered off to, but he was sure they’d get to the castle long before Garreth did. …That was a good pun. Garreth would have to use that sometime.
Evelyn was a mystery, as always. Still, Garreth wouldn’t be surprised if news came in of a desolate Ashwinder camp the next day. Efficient, that gal was, and scary too. He supposed he’d find out what she was up to the next day. Always something new with her.
An extra little excerpt for True North, my Sebastian Sallow x OC long fic, which you can read here, set between Chapters 7 and 8!
A lil pic I drew in appreciation of my lovely friends @dreamy-gal-30 and @sunnyrealist, and their OCs, Bee and Willow!
The Salty Fiddle was alive with noise and warmth, its low-beamed ceiling glittering with candles and strands of softly glowing fairy lights. The air hummed with chatter and fiddle music, the scent of buttered cider, cinnamon, and a hint of wood smoke drifting from the fireplace.
Evie, Bee, and Willow had managed to claim one of the round oak tables near the back wall, close enough to the dance floor to see the crowd, but far enough to talk without shouting over the music. The table was sticky with old butterbeer rings and carved initials. It felt comfortably familiar, like most things in Moosehead Bay did.
Evie tugged at the golden strap of her toga with a groan. “I’m freezing, why'd you guys let me wear this?”
“Because you look divine,” Bee said, already halfway through her drink. Her costume was impossible to miss with its black and yellow stripes, glittering wings, and bobbing antennae. “Every head in the room turned when you walked in, Aphrodite.”
“Every head turned because Ethan followed us in two seconds later wearing a toga and sandals," Evangeline deadpanned.
That earned a snort from Willow. "Hephaestus. Right. Could he be any less subtle?"
Bee sighed, running a hand down her face. "The level of delusion, I can’t. When is he going to take the fucking hint?"
Evie pressed her hand to her forehead. "He means well, you know."
“He’s been meaning well since third year, Evie," Bee sounded exasperated. "At some point, it stops being sweet and starts being pathetic."
Willow giggled into her cider, the deer ears on her headband wobbling. “To be fair, it’s kind of impressive. The man’s persistence could outlast a glacier.”
Bee laughed, loud enough to make a few heads turn from the bar. “At least glaciers move."
Willow’s giggles spilled into full-blown laughter, and Evie lifted her mug of butterbeer, taking a long sip to hide her smile.
"So," Bee said, her gaze flicking toward the bar where some eighth years had clustered near the counter. “You two going to stand around looking saintly all night, or are we actually going to have some fun?”
Evie arched a brow. “Define ‘fun.’”
Bee grinned mischievously. “Well, I plan to spend the evening getting gloriously irresponsible with that Cervalaire boy by the bar."
"You've already located tonight's prey? That's impressive," Evie smirked, setting her mug down with a soft clink.
“I prefer target of opportunity," Bee corrected, sipping her drink. "He’s tall and he’s pretty. What more can you ask for?"
Willow hummed, eyeing the raven-haired boy that Bee had nodded toward. “He’s not bad,” she admitted, squinting slightly. "Would look better if he had blonde hair and—"
"Alright, lovebird," Bee swatted Willow lightly on the shoulder, grinning. "Speaking of Ominis though, where are he and Sebastian?” She craned her neck toward the pub entrance as if expecting them to appear in a puff of smoke. “Didn’t they say they were coming with Kymar and Dorian?”
Willow’s expression softened, a mix of fondness and nerves. “I dunno. Maybe they got held up? Ominis doesn’t really like loud places.”
“Maybe,” Evie agreed, swirling the last of her butterbeer. “Knowing Sebastian, he probably dragged his feet getting ready."
"So you admit you've both been waiting for them," Bee interjected, looking down at her painted fingernails and smirking.
Evie blinked, caught mid-sip. “That’s not what I said.”
Bee tilted her head innocently. “Really? Because that's what I heard."
"You're the one who brought them up," Willow countered. "We were perfectly content mocking Ethan’s tragic devotion until you started asking about them.”
"I'm just curious, that's all," Bee shrugged a shoulder, sipping her drink. "Because if those two don’t show up soon, you’re both going to wear a hole in the front door from glancing at it every thirty seconds.”
Willow blushed immediately. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Bee cut in smoothly, eyes gleaming with delight. “And then Ominis will walk in and you’ll do that little deer-in-the-headlights look—”
Willow groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Bee!”
Evie was laughing now, warm and helpless, which didn't help things at all, because now Bee was turning on her.
"Let's not forget you, Evangeline."
Evie lowered her mug, giving her a flat look. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
"When are you finally going to admit you're basically in love with—"
"Love?!" Evangeline nearly choked. “Merlin’s sake, Bee!” She set her mug down with a sharp clink and glared, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her. “You can’t just throw that word around in public!”
Bee blinked innocently. “Why not? It’s true.”
“It’s not,” Evie argued quickly, a little too quickly.
Willow, half-hidden behind her glass, was grinning. “You do sound very defensive..."
Evie’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “He’s—he’s Sebastian. That's all!"
“Mhmm,” Bee pretended to examine her nails. “Go on. This is the part where you list all his flaws to hide how much you want to make out with him.”
Willow giggled into her drink. “You do talk about him a lot."
"Don't make me turn this around on you, Willow," Evangeline narrowed her eyes. "Because just last night, I spent more than forty-five minutes listening to you—"
A small hand clamped over Evie's mouth as Willow made a strangled noise of panic. “Evie!” she hissed, eyes wide, cheeks blazing pink. “You promised you wouldn’t bring that up!”
Evie mumbled something unintelligible behind Willow’s hand, her words muffled but clearly smug.
“Don’t you dare!” Willow squeaked.
Evie burst out laughing, finally prying Willow’s hand away from her face. "Alright, alright. Fine. I'll—"
"Speak of the Devil!" Bee interrupted suddenly, her grin lighting up like a jack-o’-lantern.
The front door to the Salty Fiddle had creaked open, letting in a rush of crisp air. Framed by the golden glow of the enchanted pumpkins stood Ominis Gaunt, dressed immaculately as usual, and beside him, Sebastian Sallow, wearing what was unmistakably a toga.
It was not, notably, a very good toga. The sheet was slightly rumpled, pinned haphazardly at one shoulder, but still, he managed to make the look unfairly distracting.
Bee’s grin turned feline. “Good luck, my loves. Try not to combust.”
And with that, she slid away from the table, her glittering wings brushing Evie’s shoulder as she sauntered toward the bar. The eighth-year Cervalaire boy she’d been eyeing barely had time to blink before Bee hooked her fingers into his collar and dragged him toward the fireplace with a look that brooked no argument.
Willow swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering as she straightened the ribbon at her neckline. “I—I’m gonna go say hi,” she said, her voice small but determined.
Evie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest despite Bee’s teasing. “Okay. I'll be right there."
Willow nodded, took a deep breath, and disappeared into the crowd, her deer ears bobbing nervously as she made her way toward Ominis.
Evie was about to follow, ready to make some witty remark to Sebastian about his tragic excuse for a toga, when a familiar voice cut through the din.
“E!”
She turned just in time to see Ethan weaving through the crowd, waving her over with a bright grin. His own toga gleamed pristine under the candlelight, far more polished than Sebastian’s, and—unfortunately—undeniably matching hers.
Before she could protest, he caught her hand and tugged gently. “Come on, let me get you something at the bar.”
Evie glanced once toward the doorway, where Sebastian was now scanning the room, dark eyes flicking briefly over the crowd. Her heart stuttered. Then Ethan’s hand squeezed hers, drawing her attention back.
“Alright,” she said finally, forcing a smile. “One drink.”
The crowd swallowed them both as Bee’s laughter rang out near the fireplace and the fiddle music swelled once more, wrapping the pub in warmth and chaos.
The purpose of this post is defend myself and my integrity then move on. I simply will not be accused, once again, of things that are not true. Also, given recent circumstances, I suspect that this lie has been spread behind my back, so I’d like to publicly address it.
As some followers here may know, since starting this blog I’ve received multiple anonymous messages accusing my writing being AI-generated. After recent events, I now know where those accusations were coming from (shocker).
With that said, I received a message from myokk accusing me of “clearly” using AI to create the artwork imaged here. I want to be very clear about something up front: I have intentionally blocked out all other parts of the DM I’m referencing. My intention is not to share personal details, private context, or escalate anything. I am only addressing the repeated (many, many times) accusation that I used AI content and claimed it as my own.
I have only ever claimed that I drew one piece of art (the image of my OC with Dreamy’s and Sunny’s) and that statement was true. I have never hid nor tried to hide any images on my blog that were generated, whether I posted them or reblogged. I have only ever pushed back against accusations that were false.
I spent a significant amount of time on this image. I taught myself how to use Procreate through tutorials, worked across multiple sessions, and drew in layers because I am not an artist and frankly have no idea what I’m doing. It was simply a project I wanted to do as a gift for some friends. Here you can see my Procreate screenshots showing those layers (many of which were flattened over time, so I can’t show every single one I ever used). You can even clearly see places where I stopped drawing details because they’d be hidden by the table layer anyway (because I’m lazy lmao).
I made this for fun and to create something for myself and my friends, not to mislead anyone.
This is exactly why AI accusations and fandom witch-hunts are so damaging. You cannot know for sure based on assumptions or style alone, and repeated accusations only hurt creators who are genuinely trying to make things in good faith.
Story Summary: Disowned with nowhere else to go, Ominis Gaunt accepts an invitation to spend Christmas and Winter Break in Toronto with his crush, Willow Abbott. There, he learns what it means to be part of a family and have a place to call home. Will he and Willow find the courage to become more than friends?
Chapter Summary: Willow and Ominis arrive at her family's manor, where Ominis is introduced to Willow's parents and younger sister. Later, they explore the magical market in Toronto. Willow brings Ominis to her mum's ice cream parlour for a special tasting session.
Context Note: While this is being posted as a standalone story, these chapters are also part of the collaborative fanfic True North.
Content Warnings: This story is intended for mature audiences (18+) and features past trauma, past child abuse, and eventual smut.
Credits: @writingsoftarnishedsilver for creating Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and True North, beta-reading, and lots of collaboration; my husband, Mr. Sunny, for beta-reading, brainstorming, and motivation; @giselsann for brilliant illustrations; and @dreamy-gal-30 for encouragement and lending a great OC to True North!
Links: Wattpad | AO3 | True North on Tumblr
Chapter Two: Nowhere I'd Rather Be
“Willow’s here!” a little girl’s voice called out excitedly from another room. “It’s Willow! Mum! Daaaaad! Willow’s here!!!”
Willow and Ominis entered on the first level, where the British embassy was located, and immediately took the stairs to the ambassador’s residence. As the embassy was closed that day and for the next week due to the holiday (except in the case of dire emergencies), it was quiet and empty. Willow explained that that was not the norm, and that there were several administrative employees who would have been sitting at large desks in the first room had it been fully operational. There was a large hall, several smaller offices, a “safe room,” and a formal dining room. As she described it, the embassy walls were decorated with paintings of both the UK and Ontario, as well as portraits of historically famous British-Canadian witches and wizards; a huge fireplace, antique furniture, rare artifacts, and plants helped to set the scene. It smelled strongly of black tea, and Ominis felt right at home.
The Abbott family residence began through a locked door at the top of the marble staircase. Willow unlocked it, and that’s when they heard the voice of a child yelling to her parents.
“That’s Hazel, my little sister,” she noted, laughing, as she shut the door behind them.
Ominis heard approaching footsteps on marble. He swallowed nervously, adjusting his collar and smoothing out his hair, before it was too late. With the help of his wand, he could make out three figures, one of them much smaller and darting forward.
“Willow!” The youngest Abbott’s face lit up as she charged full force at her sister, her hair bouncing behind her with every step. She crashed into her and hugged her tightly. If Ominis remembered correctly, Hazel was ten years old, so her small size made sense.
“Hi!” Willow greeted everyone.
Soon, her parents were embracing her, too, the entire family wrapped up together.
“We missed you so much,” her mum told her. “We’re so happy you’re here.”
“I’m glad to be here, too,” Willow murmured, closing her eyes and grinning.
Ominis, his lips curling, stood to the side a bit awkwardly, shifting his weight.
When they finally all pulled apart, it seemed that everyone turned toward him.
“Everyone, this is Ominis Gaunt,” Willow introduced him, coming to stand by his side, “my… um…” She fidgeted with the buttons of her coat. “...my… special friend.”
Ominis noticed her cringing. His eyebrows raised, but he tried to school his features into a calm expression. Special friend? What did that mean?
Willow’s father stepped forward, reaching out a hand. Ominis shook it firmly. “I’m Alder Abbott, Willow’s dad. Nice to finally meet you, Ominis.” Alder was of average build – not athletic but certainly not unhealthy, either – and definitely shorter than Ominis, likely around five foot ten. He carried an air of easy confidence.
Finally? Ominis wondered at the word choice, then replied genuinely, “Thank you for having me.”
Willow gestured to Hazel, who crept closer. The little girl seemed to stare at Ominis’s face curiously, and then her gaze went back to Willow. “I thought he was your boyfriend?” she asked nonchalantly.
Willow and Ominis sharply inhaled at the same time. He could feel his face heating.
“Hazel!” Willow whispered aggressively.
“What???” her younger sister responded, confused.
Willow cringed once again but carried on. “Ominis… this is Hazel, my little sister.”
Trying to ignore the awkwardness, Ominis crouched down. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hazel.” He held out a hand, and Hazel took it, looking into his unseeing, milky blue eyes.
“You’re right, Willow! His eyes are so beautiful,” she commented, as if Ominis was not right in front of her. Her head turned to her sister. “Why is your face so red?”
Willow coughed and mouthed something silent.
Ominis took Hazel’s comment in stride and responded with a chuckle, “Well, thank you. If only they were a little more useful.”
“They must be useful enough,” Willow’s mother cut in. “After all, you clearly can see quality. Thank you so much for the bouquet you sent in advance. It’s absolutely beautiful. We have it as a centerpiece in the dining room.”
Willow’s head whipped to Ominis. “You sent a bouquet?”
“Well, yes,” he replied. “I wanted to bring a gift to my hosts, but it was too complicated to get fresh flowers to school and then carry them all the way here, so I simply ordered and had the bouquet delivered in advance.”
Willow was mystified by the revelation.
“And that was a fantastic idea. You have excellent manners, Ominis, and Alder and I are impressed,” Willow’s mum continued. Ominis swelled with pride. “I’m Joyce, by the way.” She shook Ominis’s hand. “We’re always happy to have guests for Christmas. I was shocked, by the way, that Evie decided to stay at school… Is everything alright, Willow?”
“Yes, totally fine!” she replied, following her mother and the rest of the family down the hall and into an enormous kitchen. “Evie started dating Sebastian – I’ve told you about him. He’s Ominis’s best friend who transferred with him from the UK, remember? He stayed at school, so…”
“Ah, I see,” she murmured with a knowing smile. She turned when she reached the kitchen island. “Oh, Ominis, it’s nice to have someone you know in a situation like that. Canada can be… a bit jarring at first. Though it was about two decades ago that we moved here, Alder and I can attest to that.” After a long pause, she clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m sure you are both starved. Let’s get some lunch on the table.”
“Please!” Willow begged.
Though Willow’s laugh clearly came from Alder, Ominis couldn’t help but notice that she and Joyce were both short in stature with the same mid-size build.
“It’s going to take me a little while to prepare the food, so why don’t you take Ominis on a tour, Willow? I left one of the guest bedroom doors open in case he wants to unpack and get settled, too,” Joyce suggested. She immediately turned to Hazel. “Can you help me set the table?”
Willow took hold of Ominis’s arm and began to walk him around the manor.
“Do you mind if I use my wand? It’ll help if I get it acquainted with the lay of the land, too.” Ominis frowned when he added rather bitterly, “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get my bearings. Hopefully I won’t run into walls or fall down the stairs like I did as a kid.” His laugh was humourless, and Willow wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
The manor was truly magnificent, and Ominis was impressed by its sheer size, number of rooms, and Willow’s description by the time they reached the end of the “tour.” His bedroom for winter break was located at the very end of the hallway on the third floor, as far away as possible from Willow’s. Willow wondered if that was on purpose, since her family knew she was interested romantically in Ominis. They probably didn’t want any funny business.
“What a kind idea to give me the very last room in the hallway. It makes it so easy for me to find,” Ominis noted, and Willow wondered if that had really been her parents’ intent.
Ominis had some time to himself to unpack and learn the layout of his temporary room. He was especially pleased for a number of reasons. First, his bedroom was equipped with its own washroom, so it meant he’d have privacy and wouldn’t risk walking in on someone or vice versa. Second, there was a queen-sized bed, and he was thrilled to not have to cram his six-foot-four frame into a twin bed like he did at school. Third, the bedroom was spacious with very open walkways, which made it far less likely that he would trip or run into anything.
After unpacking, Ominis pulled out his phone. There were many new posts on Enchantr as his friends were slowly all returning home. Dorian had posted a picture of himself ecstatically skating in his backyard (his parents had created a makeshift “ice rink” for him to use). Bee had publicly posted: international portkeys fucking suck. then i got grief over my passport being expired too! It was accompanied by a photo of her middle finger. Another one of Bee’s posts followed: anyone up for buzzballz? hmu pls im desperate. Ominis chuckled. Isabelle had posted pictures at a French-Canadian bakery in Montreal with five crying emojis and text that read: FINALLY, real pastries again.
Ominis figured he had better check in with Sebastian.
Hey, we made it to Willow’s house. It’s really nice here. You two should have come.
He waited to see if he’d get a response. When he didn’t, he moved to close the app, but at the last moment, three dots appeared.
glad to hear it. evies acting kinda weird. wondering if i did something wrong. were just settling in to watch a movie in my dorm so i dont get it
Ominis replied: Hmm… weird how?
He didn’t get an answer after that, so he waited for Willow to pick him up and bring him to lunch.
Lunch was delightful.
Willow’s mum was a great cook.
She had gone out of her way to prepare a homemade British meal from scratch just for Ominis – steak and kidney pie with mashed potatoes and steamed peas.
Hazel dominated the conversation, updating Willow on everything that had happened to her in the past week: she had gotten into an argument with her best friend, one of the Italian ambassador’s daughters, and Giulia had the audacity to gift everyone in their friend group but Hazel a tin of scalidi for Christmas; she had scored the winning goal in a hockey match; she won her school’s spelling bee and got a high score on a Muggle history project; Joyce had allowed her to start working at the shop for a couple hours a day on weekends (apparently she was only allowed to bus tables and counters and take out the trash, which normally would be achieved through magic); and, finally, she had completed her Christmas wishlist, at the top of which, was a phone.
Willow’s eyes were constantly drawn to the floral arrangement Ominis had sent.
It was very full, featuring red, white, and green flowers and stems, befitting the holiday, and she was certain it had to have been insanely expensive. She wondered if there was any meaning to it - did Ominis care about floriography? Her family had a long-standing interest in it.
She kept putting her knowledge to the test, trying to remember meanings of individual flowers and colours. Red roses and gerbera daisies, white hydrangeas and snapdragons… She suddenly realized that the curly little branches sticking out of the bouquet to add extra height were willow tips.
Was there anything to it? Or was it simply a nice Christmas arrangement? She was too embarrassed to ask Ominis, knowing that red roses and gerbera daisies were meant to symbolize deep love and adoration…
“What’s your plan for later, Willow?” Alder asked.
“Oh, well, I told Ominis we’d go back to do some shopping at Copway and St. Lawrence. Maybe we’ll have dinner there as well…” She shrugged. “I definitely need time to buy presents. And if it’s alright with you, Mum, I’d like to bring Ominis to the shop after the market closes.”
Ominis perked up. Willow spoke so fondly of her mother’s ice cream shop and her experiences working there over summer holidays. He was eager to experience it himself.
“Absolutely fine. I’ll get you the key before I forget.”
Ominis chimed in. “Is there anything you would all suggest for dinner at the markets?”
“The market does have restaurants, but most of it is takeaway and snacks,” Joyce replied. “There is a yummy curry spot in Copway…”
“Ominis doesn’t like spicy food,” Willow quickly mentioned.
“I mean, I like some spicy food,” he contested, not wanting to seem closed-minded, “but it needs to be on the mild side…”
“Oh, well, then I’m sure you’ll love the vindaloo we’re having for dinner tomorrow,” Joyce said to Ominis with a smirk.
Ominis choked at the notion, and Willow looked taken aback. Then, Joyce laughed heartily. “Oh, you two! I’m just kidding!”
Willow sighed in relief.
“My favourite thing at the markets are the Montreal-style bagels,” Hazel cut in. “I know bagels are not really a dinner, but… they’re sooooo good.”
Alder added, “There are actually quite a lot of British foods at each market. You’ll easily find fish and chips, sausage rolls, Scotch eggs, that sort of thing. Lots of good sandwiches, too. And on the Muggle side of Toronto, you’ll find many of the same chain fast food places that are in Britain. We’ve got Nando’s and Pret a Manger, to name a couple.”
“I’m not all that familiar with Muggle chains,” Ominis admitted as though it was unfortunate. “My family… well, my former family… didn’t like to associate with anything Muggle in nature. I’ve… missed out on a lot, to be honest.” He hoped he didn’t have to explain that.
Alder nodded, not adding further commentary.
Willow gave him a smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Well… that just means we have plenty of new and fun experiences for you here. We can try anything you like, Ominis. Just say the word, and we’ll go.”
Ominis gave her the most grateful expression he could muster, squeezing her hand back in return. He didn’t let it go.
“Here in Wizarding Toronto, people have almost no aversions to Muggles. There’s even a Canadian Muggle embassy here. Our cultures blend quite a bit, but we maintain a statute of secrecy. The only Muggles who know much about witches and wizards are in government,” Willow explained, a pleasant shiver running down her spine as Ominis ran a finger over her knuckles.
The Abbotts began to clean up after themselves, and Ominis was surprised to see the family working together as a unit, rather than using a House Elf to do it all, as his family would have. He stood to help, but Willow put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Absolutely not. You’re our guest.”
“Really, Ominis. Don’t worry about it. If you would like to go back upstairs and continue getting settled, I’m sure Willow will be happy to find you when it’s time to go to the markets,” Alder told him. “Relax. Take some time to yourself. Don’t feel obligated to spend every minute with us. Everyone needs their space.”
Ominis’s eyebrows raised. “Thank you – that’s… quite considerate. I think I’ll take you up on it, if you really don’t mind.”
Willow watched as he rose from the table, taking in his every movement from across the kitchen with a dreamy smile on her face. Ominis turned towards her, and his milky blue eyes seemed to hold contact with her own for a long moment before he went upstairs. When he was out of sight, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
—- —- —-
Copway Market was finally clearing out by the time Willow had helped Ominis select gifts for her family members. She had asked if he needed some time by himself, but he told her he didn’t.
They realized that they both had ordered gifts for each other weeks ago.
Willow grinned to herself, pleased. He had thought about a present for her in advance. What would he have picked out for her? His gift might give her some kind of clue as to how he really felt – was she just a friend or more?
She was practically bursting at the seams with excitement as they finished their dinner of fish and chips. She couldn’t wait to take Ominis to the shop, to share that part of her with him.
She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. As she stared unabashedly at his blond tresses, she wondered what his hair might feel like - was it as soft as it appeared? What would his hair be like in the morning, when it wasn’t styled and messy from sleep? And his cute moles… were they only on his face?
“Is… everything alright?” he asked as she finished her last chip. “I feel like you’re staring.”
“Me too,” he replied, his face turning pink. “Being here with you… it’s refreshing. There’s… honestly nowhere I’d rather be.”
A warm feeling blossomed in her chest, and she was awestruck by his honesty. “That’s very sweet, Ominis.”
His voice was quiet. “I mean it. I feel very honoured to have been invited to share the holiday with you, Willow.”
They let the moment breathe.
“There’s a place I’d really like to show you,” she eventually said. “It’s honestly been hard for me to wait, but everything is closing up now, so I think it’s a good time. It’s… my mum’s shop.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”
Willow grinned. “Let’s go.”
She hurried to his side, grabbing his hand and pulling him quickly towards the southern end of Copway Market (or at least, what Ominis thought was south? Things were backwards here…). She giggled, noticing that he was taken by surprise. Then she remembered – he didn’t like to be guided unless it was absolutely necessary. She slowed, glancing at their hands as though she had made a mistake. She let go of his.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have just–”
Ominis reached for her hand again, though, and gently intertwined their fingers. “No – it’s alright. Please… I… I, um…” The tips of his ears turned red. “I rather liked it.”
Willow’s eyebrows raised, and her chest tightened. Then, her lips curled upwards. “I… I like it, too,” she admitted softly, gazing at their union for a moment.
She led Ominis all the way to the opposite end of the market, where a shop was enclosed with walls, windows, and a door. There was even a sign stating, “Line begins here,” as if it was so popular that the place wasn’t big enough to hold every interested customer.
The walls were painted a dark green, and pink fluorescent lights gave the establishment’s name: “Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.” They were accompanied by yellow, blue, and pink fluorescent stars that blinked on and off, inviting one’s attention.
“Florean Fortescue’s,” Ominis read. “You know, the name sounds familiar…”
Willow smiled. “It’s a nod to my late grandfather on my mum’s side. He ran an ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley in London.”
“Did you know him?”
She shook her head. “No, he died before I was born. He was actually one of Voldemort’s victims.”
Ominis nodded grimly.
“Anyway, my mum was originally a baker in the UK. When my parents came to Canada, she decided to go back to her ice cream roots, to open the shop in his honour,” Willow explained. Her grin returned. “And now, ice cream has grown on me. I work here in the summer, and Mum lets me experiment with creating new flavours.”
She pulled out the key and began unlocking the door, on which there was a sign that stated “Closed through Christmas - Happy Holidays!” A cartoon ice cream cone with a silly face danced animatedly on the paper below the text.
“Believe it or not, it takes a lot of work to get to the point of debuting a new ice cream flavour. I have to work very hard to perfect a recipe. Measurements, ingredients, consistency, appearance… It involves tons of testing and finding the perfect blend and balance. Then, there’s the matter of coming up with a name,” she continued. “It’s tough to get it all right. But… a failure never deters me from trying something new.”
Ominis smiled. “I like that about you.”
When she ushered him inside and closed the door behind them, he was stunned by the overwhelmingly sweet scent and decor. His jaw dropped as he took it all in.
“This place is… incredible, Willow,” he murmured in awe, to which she felt a surge of pride.
Magic was at work. Waffle cones were baking and twisting into molds of their own accord. Fresh cream, sugar, vanilla, and other ingredients were being mixed together and eventually poured into huge frozen churners. A broom was sweeping on its own, and rags were wiping down the tables and counter.
The back wall counter was lined with, what Ominis believed were, syrup dispensers and glass jars filled with ice cream toppings – most traditional, some a little offbeat. Above the workstation, the wall had a message spelled out in cursive: “Life needs flavour.” Around it were wooden ice cream cones filled with flowers. The ice cream case in front of him, however, seemed to be the most interesting of all…
Ominis bent down, wand in hand, to examine the flavours.
“Wait! Don’t look yet. There’s actually something I’d like to do,” she requested. “I thought it might be interesting to have you try some of the flavours and guess what they are. You always say you have heightened senses from being…”
“...blind?” he finished.
“Well, y- yes,” she stammered awkwardly. “I’m not trying to be weird. I really thought it might just be fun…”
“Willow,” he murmured reassuringly, “it’s fine.”
She chuckled. “Alright.” She directed him to a seat at the counter. “Are you up for some sweets, then?”
He laughed. “Absolutely, and always, if they’re coming from you, my dear.”
My dear. That again. She flushed.
“Right now, we mostly have holiday flavours,” Willow told him as she stepped behind the counter. “They change frequently. We have a number of ‘series’ we use from time to time. There’s a holiday one, a summer one, and a fall one. We also have an international series, a bakery series, and more… I’ve also been in the preliminary stages of crafting a new collection, but I’m not sure it will be all that popular. We’ll see.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I was… Well, I guess I was inspired at school this year. Maybe I’ll try making some of the flavours over the next few days, and you can try them.”
“What’s the general idea?”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “I want to keep it a secret for now. You’ll see.”
“Fine – be that way.” Ominis grinned, crossing his arms.
“I will!” She giggled. She opened the freezer case. “First flavour coming up. Now, close your eyes!” She laughed even more at the notion.
“Willow…” He joined her, chuckling.
“I’ve got a spoonful. So… taste it and tell me what you think all of the flavours are… and if you’re feeling especially confident, tell me what you think the theme is. Does that make sense? Are you ready?”
“Definitely.”
“No cheating! Put your wand down, Mr. Gaunt,” she warned humorously.
“Ah, you’re no fun, Miss Abbott… Don’t you trust me?” he asked with a smirk, placing it on the counter. The red light at the tip disappeared the moment he let it go.
“I do,” she replied, studying the silly expression she so rarely saw on his face. “Well, here’s the first flavour…” She held out the spoon to him.
Ominis put it in his mouth. His eyes closed, and his eyebrows raised as he tried to determine what was in the ice cream - the flavour, the add-ins, and the theme…
“Coffee,” he began. “It’s coffee-based, I can tell. Coffee with a lot of creamer. There’s maple syrup in here, too…”
“Wow,” Willow lifted a brow. “Those are the two main flavours… I’m honestly impressed. But there's more to it. What else?”
“Some kind of pastry… and I think blueberries. This is odd, but I think… I think it’s bacon… it’s a salty meat…”
Her jaw dropped. “Omins, you’ve practically nailed it!”
“It’s breakfast. Is it a breakfast-themed flavour?”
She huffed out a laugh. “Yes! We call it Christmas Brunch. The pastry – it’s not exactly that – there are Belgian waffle pieces in it. And the bacon is candied. Ominis… you really do have insane senses!”
He chuckled. “Well, take away one, and all of the others have to account for it…”
“I suppose,” she replied, taking back the spoon and placing it in the sink behind her. “Well, let’s see how well you fare with the next one…”
“Go for it.”
Willow held out another spoon. “This one is my favourite.”
Ominis took it, savouring the new flavour. “The vanilla is strong… I taste… cookies?”
“That’s why it’s my favourite! It’s called Cookies for Santa. There are chunks of oatmeal cookies and chocolate sandwich cookies with gobs of chocolate chip cookie dough. It’s not exactly vanilla, but close - the flavour base is sweet cream.”
“I know you love baking cookies, and yours are so good,” he murmured. “I really like this one, too. It just… screams you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. It’s super sweet… like you.”
Willow tried not to react, but had she been alone, she would be kicking her feet.
“This one is very different…” she said, passing the spoon.
Ominis’s brow furrowed as he sampled it. “This is… holiday themed?”
She laughed. “It is, but it might require an explanation.”
“Okay. I sense… coconut, pineapple, and… other tropical fruits?” he guessed. “The consistency is different…”
“You’re right! It’s made with coconut milk. There’s no dairy.” Willow stared at him in amazement. “And it’s got pineapple, mango, and passionfruit in it.” She paused. “I can see why you would be confused about it being a holiday flavour. In the development stage, we thought about how so many people love to travel around this time, and there are many people from the Caribbean who have moved to Canada, so, considering that, we wanted something to make people think of a holiday vacation. We call it… Kris Kringle on the Beach.” She smirked.
“That’s funny,” he replied with a chuff. “Makes sense.”
“One more?”
“Sure.”
Willow looked over the remaining flavours. Many of them were obvious, like pumpkin pie, caramel pecan cheesecake, egg nog, basic chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla… and some were very much outside of the realm of average flavours. Holiday Fruit Basket, for example, featured a base flavour of vanilla with orange zest; it contained dried cranberries and baked cinnamon apples and pears. And then there was a flavour that Willow detested – a new one called Gingerbread House that one of her mum’s employees had created. It wasn’t selling well, either, which was no surprise. Gingerbread houses weren’t meant to be eaten. Gingerbread-flavoured ice cream with gumdrops? It made Willow want to vomit.
Finally, she made her choice. It was chocolate-based, made with hot cocoa mix, crushed candy canes, fluffy mini marshmallows, and a ribbon of fluffy pink peppermint frosting.
She held out the spoon to him. To her surprise, his hand closed around hers, and he sampled it as though she was feeding him.
After a minute, Ominis remarked, “It’s… it’s you.”
“What?”
“It’s… peppermint hot chocolate, isn’t it?”
“Yes… but why is that me?”
“Well, I… I tasted it after you tried my gingerbread chai latte…” he replied quietly. “So… it’s you.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were wide and her voice was quiet, considering it. “I see…”
Willow snuck glances at him over the freezer case, the corners of her lips turning upwards. He could be awfully sweet when he wanted to be.
Story Summary: Disowned with nowhere else to go, Ominis Gaunt accepts an invitation to spend Christmas and Winter Break in Toronto with his crush, Willow Abbott. There, he learns what it means to be part of a family and have a place to call home. Will he and Willow find the courage to become more than friends?
Chapter Summary: Ominis and Willow depart from Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Willow shows Ominis around the Muggle and Magical parts of Toronto, and they arrive at the British Magical Embassy to Eastern Canada, where the Abbotts live on the upper floors.
Context Note: While this is being posted as a standalone story, these chapters are also part of the collaborative fanfic True North, in which Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt are expelled from Hogwarts but given a second chance to finish their education at Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Canada. There is much more to Willow and Ominis’s story! See links below.
Content Warnings: This story is intended for mature audiences (18+) and features past trauma, past child abuse, and eventual smut.
Credits: @writingsoftarnishedsilver for creating Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and True North, beta-reading, and lots of collaboration; my husband, Mr. Sunny, for beta-reading, brainstorming, and motivation; @giselsann for brilliant illustrations; and @dreamy-gal-30 for encouragement and lending a great OC to True North!
Links: Wattpad | AO3 | True North on Tumblr
Chapter One: Ready or Not
The castle sounded different when it emptied. Not entirely quiet, exactly, but hollowed out.
Students had been leaving for Christmas Break since first light, mostly sorted by year – though exceptions were made for siblings or friends spending the holidays together. Professors in layered winter gear rotated between clipboards, calling names and herding clusters of students along the snow-packed path through the Greenwood to the Moosehead Portkey clearing.
With the school still under lockdown, travel had been authorized in strict, staggered windows. Each Portkey was scheduled to activate at a precise time before going dormant again, and every departure was closely supervised. Professor Roswick had led the first wave at seven sharp, followed by Talvek, then Lorne, Northweather, Dumont, and Finch. Once the cycle ended, it began again – faculty breath fogging in the cold as they checked names and issued the same reminders about holding tight and tucking elbows during Portkey travel.
Evangeline accompanied Willow to the atrium for the seventh-years’ 8:30am departure. The rest of the friend group had already gathered there, luggage stacked at their feet, voices bright with the restless energy of going home. Ethan, unsurprisingly, was nowhere in sight. The absence was almost comically obvious; he’d been giving Evie the widest berth possible since the hockey game, and today was no exception.
Ominis’s head lifted the moment Willow’s voice carried across the atrium, and the warm smile that curved his mouth made Willow’s chest tighten. Beside him, Sebastian’s expression lit up, his gaze locking on Evie like she was the only person in the room.
They closed the distance through a tangle of students, sliding into the loose semicircle of friends huddled together while they waited to be called.
Isabelle was shaking her head, her mouth pressed in a thin line. “My mom has been asking me all kinds of questions,” she murmured, voice low enough to avoid carrying beyond their group. “Texted me again this morning.”
“Mine too,” Seraphina sighed. “It’s going to be the first thing out of their mouths when I walk in the door. Not ‘we’re so happy you’re home’, just, ‘so, about that girl who died’...”
A letter to parents had gone out in late November, reporting Merrill’s death as a tragic accident on the grounds. Parents had already been texting their children since the day it arrived, questions piled high, and now, with bags packed and Portkeys minutes away, nobody was looking forward to being grilled in person, especially when the school’s official story was a lie and every student knew the truth.
Willow glanced toward Evie and Sebastian as the others continued chatting. “So, just to be sure, you two are coming for New Year’s, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Sebastian replied before Evie could answer, the corner of his mouth tipping up.
Evie nodded. “Yeah. We just figured…” Her eyes slid to Willow and Ominis, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, “…we’d stay here until the next Portkey window, then meet you both in Toronto.”
Willow’s smile was understanding and kind, if a touch wistful. “Christmas just won’t be the same without you, Evie.”
Evie’s own grin softened, though it tugged at something in her chest. The Abbotts had taken her in over more holidays than she could count – Christmases filled with the smell of cookies and cocoa, cheerful springtimes as tulips bloomed in Toronto, and summers spent on the lake at their cottage in Muskoka. Willow’s parents, Alder and Joyce, had treated her like one of their own from the first night she’d stayed in their home, making sure she was fed, warm, and welcome without ever making her feel like a guest. And Hazel, Willow’s younger sister, had long since decided Evie was an honourary older sister.
“It won’t be the same for me, either,” Evie admitted, reaching for Willow’s hand. “But I’m sure you two will have the best time together.” She glanced at Ominis, who was listening carefully.
Willow’s cheeks flushed faintly, but her grin lingered as she squeezed Evie’s fingers. “We will,” she agreed, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made Ominis’s lips twitch into a smile.
Around them, the crowd was beginning to shift – Professor Lorne’s deep voice calling out names over the din, the scrape of trunks against the floor as students shuffled into place. Cold air whooshed in through the open doors, carrying the scent of pine and snow from the Greenwood.
With the groups’ departure looming, goodbyes began in earnest, voices pitched just loud enough to carry over the bustle of the atrium. Evie pulled Willow and Bee into a quick group hug.
Bee’s green eyes were glinting with mischief as she pointedly looked between Willow and Ominis, then Evie and Sebastian. “Well,” she said, voice pitched low, “I’m sure you both will find plenty of ways to keep busy over break.”
“Bee!” Willow coughed in horror at the implication, turning crimson. Had Ominis heard? He didn’t seem to – he and Sebastian were deep in their own conversation.
A quiet laugh escaped Evie. “Love you, Bee Bee.”
“Love you too,” Bee replied, already turning toward the line with a satisfied grin.
As the girls said their goodbyes, Ominis and Sebastian hesitated, then gave each other a quick hug with a pat on the back. It hadn’t really hit Ominis until that moment that the two would be truly separating for the first time in months.
The cluster of friends began filing toward the doors, boots scuffing over stone, the sound of laughter and “Happy Holidays!” trailing in their wake. Before setting off, Willow shrunk her luggage, along with Ominis’s, and placed the tiny trunks into her jeans pocket. Then, she took one final look back. Evie and Sebastian, shoulder-to-shoulder, arms curled around each other, waved goodbye. Together, they looked so comfortable. Natural.
As the journey began, Willow snuck a glance at Ominis, walking side-by-side with her, his wand tip gleaming red.
It really wouldn’t be the same.
Willow felt a twinge of anxiety as she considered what these two weeks really meant to Ominis. Was joining her simply a way to escape the agony of being a third wheel to Evie and Sebastian at school or something more? Would it be awkward? Would the holiday live up to his expectations? He almost certainly grew up “posh” – she could tell. And did Ominis actually like her or see her as a friend? It was something she had been trying to figure out for months. Although her friends constantly assured her that Ominis was romantically interested and she mostly believed them, he was often difficult to read. He had invited her to the dance, and it seemed like a date…
One thing was for certain: Willow had been positively enchanted from the very first time she saw him in Cascade Hall. And now, they were closer than ever, and she was crazy about him.
She wondered what the break had in store for the two of them.
Her mind anywhere but the present, Willow stumbled in the snow and accidentally brushed against Ominis. She swore internally at her clumsiness. In response, he blushed deeply, smiled, and made sure she was steady on her feet.
Though things would be quite different this year, maybe it would be a good change.
Ready or not… here we come, she thought.
Willow was impressed with how quickly Ominis adapted to their complex travel plans. He was clearly determined to blend in and felt more confident with every piece of information Willow had shared.
The Portkey had taken the rather large group of seventh year Ontario natives to a passenger boarding bridge at a remote gate in Pearson International Airport. When they strolled into the terminal, Ominis was able to use his wand, transfigured into a Muggle cane, to read on the signage that their group had “arrived on time” from “an airport” in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Busy onlookers hadn’t given them a second glance, concerned only with reaching their own gates, purchasing last-minute souvenirs and coffee, and finding restrooms. Families of younger students were waiting just outside the gate door to sweep up their beloved children into teary hugs.
Willow wondered how many parents would refuse to send their kids back to school after the holiday, considering the suspicious “accident” that had befallen Merrill. She knew that her own parents would almost certainly have questions and concerns, and it was only a matter of time before they brought them up.
Luckily, Ominis would be there, too, so at least some of the pressure could be shared.
From the airport, the two had caught the UP Express train to downtown Toronto. Willow insisted that it was essential to experiencing the “true city,” rather than simply taking the Floo to Toronto’s magical Copway Market, the gateway into the Wizarding world. The two of them settled in the back row of the car. Since it was so close to Christmas, the train was practically full.
The ride started out slow. The groan of metal sounded through the air. Willow described the view outside the window, giving details about everything they passed - a traffic-jammed highway, industrial yards, tunnels, large buildings, neighbourhoods, and a few train stops along the way.
Close to the end of the train ride, Ominis quietly and hesitantly asked, “Do you… think I am dressed appropriately? Sebastian thought so, but sometimes he likes to play a trick or two on me.”
“That’s mean. Let’s see…” Willow raised her eyebrows, studying his clothing - a green and earth-toned Fair Isle sweater over a collared shirt, along with jeans and an unzipped jacket in a dark olive colour. “Yes, of course you look appropriate. As long as your shoes can handle a bit of a walk after we’re off the train, you’ll be fine. Why?”
“I just… I’d like to make a good first impression on your family,” he responded, his voice a little shaky.
The admission caused a soft smile to grace Willow’s face, and she reached for his hand, which was resting on his cane. She squeezed it lightly, then pulled away. “I’m sure you will,” she reassured him. “We’re actually dressed somewhat similarly. Do you want to see what I mean?” Ominis nodded, and she held his cane in one hand while taking his hand with her other again, guiding his fingers onto the various fabrics. “I’m wearing wide-leg blue jeans, a pea green sweater on top of a long, collared white shirt, and a rust-coloured coat.” She let him feel and linger on the denim, the softness of her sweater, the light cotton shirt underneath, and then the suede of her coat.
He nodded, flushing slightly when she placed his hand on her thigh to feel her jeans. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to worry about my parents, Ominis,” Willow told him. “They are some of the most open-minded and kind people I know. They’ll love you.” She looked at her lap bashfully before adding, “Perhaps I should tell you, though… You are the first young man I’ve ever brought home.”
Ominis’s lips quirked upward. “Really?”
“Yes. Really,” Willow answered. “I’ve dated guys before, but it was never serious.” She blushed and was relieved to know he couldn’t see it.
His grin grew, incredibly pleased and amused. “So, you consider this –” He gestured between the two of them.
Her eyes widened, realizing what she had implied.
Ominis was cut off. Over the intercom, a tone sounded, surprising both of them. A voice rang out: “The next and final stop is Union Station in downtown Toronto.” The statement then repeated in French.
“Ah, we’re just about there,” Willow commented, changing the subject as the train began to slow. “Hope you’re ready for a long walk. It’ll be refreshing. Maybe we could stop for a snack on the way…”
His lips curled into a smile as he nodded. “Yes, maybe we could find some tea somewhere?”
“Of course,” she replied with a chuckle. “You and your tea.”
“Well, yes, I am a British man. And I have needs, my dear.” He smirked, laughing.
My dear. Willow turned red but giggled with him to cover up her reaction. My dear, my dear, my dear… Those words, in his voice, would be replaying in her mind all day. I have needs, my dear.
His facial expression remained calm and collected as they stepped into the hectic frenzy of Toronto’s Union Station. Everywhere one turned, people were speed-walking, and while it was disorienting for newcomers to the city, it was even worse for someone blind.
“Ominis…” she carefully asked, “Would you mind if I guide you? People here are in a hurry and it’s easy to get in the way…”
“I can tell. My wand is making that quite clear,” he answered glumly. “Yes, that’s fine if you want to guide me.”
Willow gently placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “It won’t be as bad once we’re out of the station, I promise. It’s just for now.”
“I understand.”
They started off, and at first, Ominis was stiff. She knew it had nothing to do with her but the fact that it was something he couldn’t manage independently. As the minutes passed, he gave in, relaxing more and more, and soon enough, they exited the station and there was no need for her to direct him anymore.
Although the sun was bright, the temperature was cold enough that Willow could see her breath. She hurried to button her coat.
The sounds of the city – cars honking, people chatting in various languages as they rushed by, sirens in the distance – instantly reminded Willow that she was home. She relished in the hustle and bustle, the energy, the many walks of life from which its inhabitants came, all of the excitement. Ominis’s head tilted as he took it all in.
“Well, it’s chilly here, but it certainly isn’t freezing like Nivalis,” Ominis commented as he zipped up his jacket. “There must not be a Wendigo in the area.” He huffed out a laugh.
“Guess not,” she agreed, grinning. “I suppose that’s something to be thankful for. We can finally enjoy being outside again.”
After scarfing down donuts up at a real Tim Horton’s rather than a Him Torton’s, Willow and Ominis had satisfied their hunger just enough that they could survive until lunch with her family. She ordered a Peppermint Mocha to go, and when Ominis realized she meant for them to continue strolling with their beverages, he changed his order promptly, a bit annoyed. Tea was meant to be savoured, not taken on the run. In the end, a Gingerbread Chai Latte had been his choice.
He took a tentative sip, his expression skeptical. Then, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Wow… that’s actually… quite delicious.”
“See, it’s good to try new things, Ominis!” Willow exclaimed in victory as the door chimed behind them.
“At least there’s a semblance of tea,” he muttered with a grin. Her positivity was infectious, and he couldn’t help giving in.
“What’s it like? I’ve never tried one,” she asked curiously.
“It’s… sweet and full of spices… cinnamon and… Well, here.” He held out his beverage to her. “Go ahead. Try it.”
“Are you sure?” she murmured, and when he nodded, she brought the cup to her lips. “Mmm… that’s delicious, Ominis. Excellent pick.” She sighed in delight.
Pleased, he allowed her to take a second sip, and when she handed it back, he drank from it without hesitation. There was a faint hint of mint and chocolate left from her mouth. His lips lingered, not noticeably, of course, but just long enough that he felt as though he was tasting her through a kiss.
They passed by a small, fenced-in park. Inside, a pair of dogs greeted each other, barking loudly, and their owners tugged on their leashes, trying to direct them elsewhere.
Then, out of nowhere, a large, shirtless, bearded old man flew by in the bicycle lane. He rang a bell and called out, “Ho ho ho!” while wearing a Santa Claus hat, thick black suspenders, furry red trousers, and boots.
“Oh my gods…” Willow burst into a fit of giggles. “Ominis, if only you could see!”
Ominis grinned and chuffed. “I generally get the picture – and this is one of those times I do not envy those with the gift of sight.”
They continued on their journey, passing two middle-aged women carrying potted poinsettias and a fellow carrying a bakery box. The further they ventured, the more crowded the sidewalk became; many people seemed to be carrying bags and boxes.
“We’re almost to the St. Lawrence Market,” Willow explained. “We don’t have much further to go.” She paused, and then, without irony, said, “I can’t wait to be back at home again.”
Ominis was baffled by the sentiment. What was it like to actually have a home and family to pine for? The only family he’d ever known was steeped in the Dark Arts, cruelty, and an obsession with wealth that was impossible to maintain. And while Sebastian’s late uncle had taken Ominis in from time to time, he could hardly consider the Sallows a healthy, functional family, either. The only people who had ever been like family to him, truly, were his Aunt Noctua, Sebastian, Anne…
… and Willow.
It terrified him, but everything about her felt like home and family – at least, what he supposed home and family were meant to be. From the first time he heard Willow’s warm voice and her soft, small hand brushed his, he knew he was a goner. It – this feeling – was strange and new. At Hogwarts, Ominis had fancied girls from time to time, but he never acted upon his crushes. He’d never even kissed a girl. And here he was… going home with Willow for Christmas.
This was uncharted territory.
After the winter dance, he had considered sharing his feelings with her, practically bursting to do so, if he was honest, but then, she had kindly invited him home for Christmas break. Ominis had nowhere else to go, so he accepted. If he said a word prior to the holiday – or during it – and she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, it would make everything awkward, especially considering there would be no buffer in the form of other guests, like Sebastian and Evie.
Before leaving for the Portkey, Sebastian had encouraged Ominis to speak the truth to Willow, but Ominis insisted that the timing wasn’t right and that Sebastian only had so much confidence because of his own fresh success with Evie.
In any case, Ominis hoped that getting to know Willow better and seeing her in a totally different setting would make her feelings more clear.
It seemed at the dance that she liked him - everything felt momentous and incredibly romantic. She was nervous at first and so was he. She stumbled over her words, and his sweaty hand shook when he led her to the floor. After dancing in each other’s arms all night, she let him map her beautiful face. But nothing really happened after the ball - just business as usual, which consisted of flirty banter, many laughs, and opportunities not taken. Ominis didn’t express his feelings, and she hadn’t confessed anything, either, so he had begun to wonder if she simply saw him as a friend… or maybe even as a pity case.
Her best friend was dating his best friend now. He was blind. He had nowhere to go for Christmas break.
Ominis often second-guessed himself, worried he had misread the signs of a mutual attraction. On a regular basis, he noticed that her laugh changed whenever she knew he was near. He swore that the tone of her voice became sweeter, more feminine. When Halloween came around, she had given him matching deer antlers when she could have created just about anything else, and all night, she was practically glued to his hip. Thanks to liquid courage, she let her guard down, and so did he, and he had been lucky enough to touch her practically all night. Dancing with her, sliding his arm around her waist, steadying her as they made the dangerous journey home… Those touches became fuel for his nighttime fantasies for months.
Truthfully, Ominis adored her.
Willow was everything he wanted. She was kind. A good listener. Her moral character was admirable, and she took great care of those she loved. He felt truly safe with her. Not only that, but she was passionate, creative, talented, and intelligent. Because he shared some classes with her, he knew she was a hard worker who fully earned every high mark. He wished every conversation with her would never cease.
Lately, Sebastian and Ominis had been having long discussions about their plans for the future. Ominis had decided he would stay in Canada after graduation from Nivalis, and ultimately, he hoped he could forge a new life with Willow by his side.
He knew it was a lot to hope for, considering that his feelings had been left unsaid, he had little to no romantic experience, and they were still so young. But it was his deepest desire, and he was willing to go to any length to make sure that these two weeks not only showed Willow, but her family, that he was her perfect match. He’d make her dreams come true.
Just two weeks. Then, he would speak the truth and try to win her heart fully.
“Ominis?” Willow asked. “Is everything alright?”
“Ah, sorry. Just lost in thought. I was trying to remember all of our plans… but it’s hard to keep track when there are so many,” he fibbed.
“Oh! Well,” she began, sipping her mocha first, “today, we’ll get settled in at the manor, and in the evening, we’ll go to Copway Market for Christmas shopping. Isn’t it ridiculous how late we were released for break? How can anyone buy quality gifts with less than a day until Christmas Eve? Tomorrow, we’ll decorate the tree, bake, cook, wrap presents… that sort of thing. Then, on Christmas Day, we’ll open gifts and I’ll have to make some calls to family members over in Britain. The day after that, the 26th, is the Holiday Gala for Canada’s International Magical Ambassadors. That event includes dinner and dancing, so we’ll be occupied the entire night. Then, we’ll finally have a few quieter days. I thought I might show you around Toronto, and I’m looking forward to just… relaxing for once. My family is traveling to their cottage in Muskoka for several days, but you and I will hang back to prepare and celebrate New Year’s with Seb, Evie, Bee, and anyone else able to join. We’ll all do some things around the city, and I was thinking about us taking you and Sebastian to Niagara Falls…”
“Wow. That all sounds fun… but busy. It really is a lot to remember…”
“Maybe you can put some things in your phone’s calendar later. That might make it easier.”
“A fine idea.”
Willow could now see the big building looming in the distance that was the St. Lawrence Market. It was decorated for the season, with huge Christmas trees bordering the main entrance and huge, white lit-up snowflakes decorating the bricks.
As they passed by a tall red door, she explained to Ominis, “So, we’ve reached the St. Lawrence Market, AKA the Muggle market. We’ll make our way to the basement once we’re inside. There are a few secret entrances to the Magical community in Toronto, and the basement is one of them - there’s a door into Copway Market. It’s close to where my family lives.” She stopped for a moment before opening the door. “Ominis… It’s going to be very, very crowded inside, since it’s the day before Christmas Eve. Both of the markets can be overwhelming even when there isn’t a crowd. Shall I at least guide you through the Muggle market?”
“Alright,” he affirmed, holding out his arm less hesitantly this time.
The moment they stepped inside the building, Ominis’s senses were overwhelmed. It was loud. The air was filled with the sounds of hundreds of people chattering, registers beeping, ovens opening and closing, and receipts being printed. The smells were powerful. At first, he could tell they were passing a florist, then a produce stall. But after that, the scents all seemed to blend together in a strange but wonderful mix - roasted meats, sweet pastries, fresh bread, pungent cheeses, homemade pasta, and more.
“There are some really delicious things here at St. Lawrence Market,” Willow mentioned as they passed by a vendor whose wares were definitely seafood, as detected by Ominis’s nearly perfect olfactory sense, “and we can come back to sample some things if you’re interested, but for now, we had better get home. I think my parents were probably expecting us a half hour ago.”
“Oh… Will they be upset?”
Willow chuckled as she pulled Ominis along to the far side of the market. “No, not really – they’ll just be anxious for us to arrive, and I don’t want to wait any longer either.” She opened a door, and the two of them exited into the cold again to step down a flight of stairs. “The way into the Wizarding community is through a restricted area. We’re expected to be a bit sneaky. There is always a Warden on watch to make sure Muggles don’t wander through, and if any of them ever happen to see Magical folk entering into an off-limits area without returning, the Warden obliviates them.”
“Hmm, I see.”
The two of them passed by a Chinese food station, then a sushi stand. Eventually, they entered into an area filled with produce again, and the next area was mostly empty. Willow glanced around carefully before drawing her wand and charging forward, practically giving Ominis whiplash as they slipped through an employee-only area, where a man, the apparent Warden, was watching in the shadows. Then, the two of them went through another doorway that lead into an environment that was quite out of place.
“Very few Muggles know the history of their own market. It once housed a jail for women. This was a holding cell. Somehow, it’s still standing today,” Willow told him. She used her wand and cast “Revelio.”
Suddenly, the brick wall contained a door that was decorated to look like the night sky, with blinking stars, a full moon, and clouds passing by.
“Here we are!” Willow smiled, dramatically opening the door for Ominis. “Wizarding Toronto.”
They marched through the door, and it was like marching back inside all over again, like stepping into a mirrored dimension. The tiny room they walked into was the exact same one they had exited, but when Willow directed him out, they were clearly in a different market.
“I promise we’ll have time to come back later and properly explore,” she reminded him as they strolled. Then, she gasped, watching a tiny rocket fly by, and cried, “Oh! Watch out!”
Ominis heard a whoosh and a crackling sound next to him, and suddenly, there was a loud explosion next to his ear. He ducked instinctually. Willow watched in horror as a tiny firework burst into light, showering him in golden confetti.
“What?! What on earth–” he sputtered, his face twisted.
A boy no older than nine ran by. “Oops! Didn’t realize anyone was coming in!”
Behind him, his father came to them. “Merlin, I apologize for his behaviour. Here, let me clean this up real quick…” He waved his wand and vanished the confetti. “Sorry again. Merry Christmas!” He strode past them, and Willow and Ominis could hear him chastising his son as they wandered on.
“Welcome to Copway,” she muttered, then giggled. “There’s always a surprise in store here!”
Ominis brushed himself off, though there was no need. “I’ll say.” He transformed his cane back into a wand, using it to navigate by himself.
“There’s a vendor down the way selling ‘firework crackers.’ Sorry you had to find out that way!” she laughed.
Just like the Muggle market, Copway was crowded, but it was significantly less tame. There seemed to be even more stalls, with some sellers only having a small table or two to display their wares. Willow explained what some of them offered as they passed by: pets – pygmy puffs, mini kneazles, toads, and magical birds for adoption; hot, freshly roasted chestnuts; a joke and prank shop; buche de noel cakes; self-stringing Christmas lights; maple syrup infused butterbeer, firewhisky, coffee, and more; enchanted skates; even an a cappella group for hire, who would “deliver” Christmas carols to a Torontonian of one’s choice.
When they finally exited the market minutes later, Ominis breathed a sigh of relief.
Outside of Copway, the city was quiet. There were still sidewalks and roads but few cars. Willow explained that Wizarding Toronto was crammed into a small enough area that it was easy to walk everywhere. There were still very tall buildings – flats, businesses, etc. – as well as numerous parks and neighbourhoods.
The Abbott family residence, on the second and third floors of the British embassy, was located a few blocks away, on a street lined with other international magical embassies. They were all about the same size, but that was where the uniformity ended; each country decorated their building to reflect their culture and typical architecture. Flanking the Abbott home were the Japanese and Mexican ambassadors’ homes. It was an odd combination, all in a row. The Mexican embassy was constructed from concrete, painted yellow, and was surrounded by tropical flowers and plants that must have been charmed to survive the harsh Canadian winters; the Japanese embassy, on the other hand, was a tall pagoda, with neatly manicured landscaping and a small koi pond that should have been frozen but was clearly enchanted not to. In the middle of them, the British embassy looked like an elegant countryside manor with a wrought-iron fence, a gate, and a grassy area at its front.
“I grew up with neighbours from all over the world,” Willow told him as they approached the British embassy. “Most families don’t stay very long, though. One of my childhood best friends, Valentina, moved back to Mexico City when I was eight, and then a couple moved in that had a little baby instead of a kid my age. It was devastating. But at least I still had Jack, the Australian ambassador’s son who lives further down the street, and Airi, the daughter of the Japanese ambassador, moved in the following summer. Both of them go to school in their native countries now, but they might be home for the holiday. Maybe you’ll get to meet them at the gala...”
“You’ve been in Canada your whole life, though?” Ominis inquired. “Never lived in Britain?”
“My parents are originally from Britain, but Hazel and I were born here. We have dual citizenship,” she answered. “We visit Britain from time to time to see family – mostly during summer. My aunt and uncle actually both work at Hogwarts. My Grandma Fortescue lives in London, and my Grandpa Abbott lives in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Wait – you have family members that work at Hogwarts?” Ominis’s mind raced, suddenly panicked that someone might know his history – or his family’s reputation. “Who are they?”
“My Aunt Hannah and Uncle Neville. She’s the Matron, and he teaches Herbology,” she answered nonchalantly. “They always wanted me to come to Hogwarts. I did get a letter of invitation when I came of age, but… I wanted to keep my family together here in Canada. Hazel was so young then…”
The Longbottoms, Ominis realized. Though Herbology had never been his favourite subject, Professor Longbottom was well-liked at school. He had offered extra help to Ominis when he was in his second year, struggling with Mandrakes. And Madam Longbottom had certainly patched up both Ominis and Sebastian… and Anne, many, many times. She had attempted to help Anne after she had been cursed, to no avail, and Ominis knew that Sebastian in particular held a fondness for her because of it. It was very lucky that Willow was related to them, rather than others at their former school… If Ominis had ever come up in conversation, he felt fairly certain that they would have been fair and complimentary about him, rather than only sharing damning stories about his alleged involvement in Solomon Sallow’s death...
Willow and Ominis stopped in front of the gate leading into her family home.
“Are you ready to meet everyone?” she asked tentatively, studying his face.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I think so.” He gave her a small smile.
“Then let’s go inside.” She unlatched the gate, holding it open for him and then closing it once again.
I can do this, he tried to reassure himself before they set off, arm in arm.
The upcoming chapters (Chapters 13+) were written by @sunnyrealist! She’s created a standalone section of the story from her OC Willow’s point of view, and those chapters will be posted on her account. I’ll be reblogging them here so they stay collected in the main fic timeline. Later on, I’ll be posting “full” chapters that weave together Evie’s POV and Willow’s POV, so everything will line up in the complete version. HUGE thanks to Sunny for collaborating on this, I’m really excited for you all to read her part of the story!
Series Tags: Modern AU, Original AU, OC-based, Post-Hogwarts, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Slow Burn Romance, Second Chances, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Folklore, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending
Series Content Warnings: Mild Horror, Mild Gore
Collaborators/Beta-Readers: @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30
True North is a collaborative project that brings together original characters from talented creators across the Hogwarts Legacy fandom. Click here to meet them all!
➤ Learn more about Nivalis lore here.
➤ Find your House with the Sorting Quiz.
Late December
The Nivalis hockey arena was a roaring, glittering expanse; tiered seating packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students, professors, and what looked like half of Moosehead Bay. House colours blazed from every corner, banners swaying overhead. Lanternlight poured down from the high steel arches, gleaming off the ice until it shone like glass while delicate flurries of snow drifted lazily across the rafters, shifting from red to green depending on which side of the crowd was louder.
Somewhere above the din, the student announcer’s voices boomed through the air, introducing the match: Griselwyn vs. Damriel. The air itself seemed charged, thick with the mix of anticipation and competition. Every cheer felt like it was bouncing off the steel ribs overhead and driving straight down into the rink.
Griselwyn’s team erupted onto the ice first, a cheer rolling through their section as they poured out in a flurry of red and charcoal. The boards rattled as skates bit down, blades throwing up arcs of snow with every sharp turn. Sebastian followed the others out, the cold striking his face like a splash of water, adrenaline humming just beneath his skin.
Across the rink, the Damriel team emerged in a surge of green, the roar of their supporters equally as fierce. From where he coasted near the blue line, Sebastian’s gaze slid automatically over their lineup until he found Evie. Her helmet was tucked under one arm, braid swinging against the back of her jersey as she skated backwards, shouting instructions to the rest of her team. Even at a distance, he could hear the sharp edge of authority in her voice, the kind that made you want to move faster just to keep up.
Behind Sebastian, the sound of his own name cut through the noise. He turned, scanning the stands, and spotted the rest of their friend group crammed into their usual seats just behind the team benches. They were waving and shouting at him, scarves whipping in the air.
True to form, they were split right down the middle with Kymar, Jules, Isabelle, and Bee all in Griselwyn red. Meanwhile, Theo, Seraphina, Willow, and Ominis were dressed in Damriel green. Willow was on her feet, yelling like she’d been following the sport for years, despite the fact Sebastian was fairly certain she had no idea what icing was. Ominis stood beside her, clapping along, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. Kymar and Theo were already exchanging heckles, and Bee looked like she was just waiting for the first excuse to yell at a ref.
Sebastian lifted his stick in acknowledgment, their split loyalties only making him grin wider.
Willow spotted his wave first and immediately elbowed Ominis, who gave a small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head in Sebastian’s direction. The rest of the group followed suit, greeting him enthusiastically.
Sebastian gave them a nod before gliding toward the boards, coasting in beside the rest of the Griselwyn lineup as they began their warm-up drill. Pucks clattered onto the ice from the bench, skittering out across the rink.
Across the red line, Damriel was already running their own warm-up. Green jerseys flew across the ice, the crack of sticks and slap of pucks echoing through the cavernous space.
That was when Sebastian caught her eye.
Evie’s gaze locked on him mid-stride, sharp and unwavering despite the chaos between them. Her mouth curved into something sly. She pointed at the ice with a gloved hand then mouthed the words you’re going down.
Sebastian’s lips twitched into a grin, tilting his head like he was sizing her up, before mouthing back, not a chance.
The corner of Evie’s mouth lifted, barely there, before she turned away and rejoined the Damriel defensive line. It was enough to leave Sebastian with that familiar hum in his chest.
Not that it lasted very long.
Ethan glided into view a moment later, cutting across the ice with deliberate slowness, like he had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked toward Evie before landing squarely on Sebastian. It wasn’t the casual scan of an opponent sizing up the competition; it was pointed, loaded, the kind of look that carried a personal grudge.
Sebastian rolled his eyes and fell back into the rhythm of Griselwyn’s drill, but the air between them had already shifted. Whatever game they were about to play, it was going to be more than just hockey.
The puck dropped five minutes later, the roar of the crowd swelling as the first period began. From his spot behind the bench, helmet tucked under his arm, Sebastian tracked the play across the ice. Damriel came out aggressive, their opening rush forcing Griselwyn back into their own zone.
Ethan was everywhere.
He wasn’t just playing hard—he was playing to be noticed, throwing his weight into every check, circling the ice like he owned it. Twice, Sebastian caught him glancing toward the Griselwyn bench, and he knew damn well those looks weren’t random.
A heavy thud against the glass pulled Sebastian’s focus just in time to see Ethan body one of Griselwyn’s starting defensemen so hard it rattled the boards. The ref’s arm stayed down, to the outrage of the team and the Griselwyn section of the stands.
From down the bench, Dorian let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “What, are they blind?”
The rest of the team shouted in agreement.
Meanwhile, Sebastian’s attention snagged on movement near center ice. The whistle had blown for an offside, and in the lull before the face-off, he spotted Evie gliding toward Ethan. Her head was tilted just enough to show the flat, unimpressed line of her mouth. She said something he couldn’t hear over the crowd, but the way Ethan shrugged made it clear he wasn’t taking her seriously.
The puck dropped again, and the game surged back to life. The rest of the first period played out in a relentless back-and-forth, both sides trading rushes and near-misses. Griselwyn’s goalie made a glove save that had their section of the stands on their feet, and Damriel’s netminder returned the favour with a sprawling stop that robbed Dorian of a sure goal.
By the time the horn sounded to end the period, the score was still locked at zero. Players coasted toward their benches, chests heaving, blades scraping over the ice as the crowd’s cheers rolled over them like a tide.
Callan, Griselwyn’s captain, clapped his stick against the boards to get the team’s attention.
“Good first period,” he called over the roar from the stands. “They’re coming in heavy, but we’re reading them well. Keep your heads up, keep your legs moving, and for Merlin’s sake, make them earn every shot. If we stick to the plan, we’ll get one past them.”
A few nods, a chorus of “Yeah”s, and then the horn blared again, sending the next line over the boards to start the second period.
Now, with Griselwyn defending the far net, Sebastian had an unobstructed view of the Damriel blue line, and of Evie. She was crouched low for the opening face-off, eyes locked on the puck like the rest of the arena didn’t exist.
He smiled.
It had been just under a week since the Winter Ball, and somehow everything between them had both changed and stayed exactly the same.
They gravitated toward each other without thinking like always, still filled their free hours side by side with quiet talks in the library and lazy evenings in the observatory. But now there was no more circling, no more wondering, no more biting back the impulse to touch her.
If he wanted to lace his fingers through hers as they walked back from dinner, he could. If he wanted to press a quick kiss to her mouth in the shadow of some forgotten corridor, he could—though “quick” had already proven a relative term when it came to her.
The thought made his grin widen as the ref dropped the puck and the play broke open.
Griselwyn’s forwards drove hard into the Damriel zone, testing their defense with quick passes along the boards, but Evie and her partner held the line. Sebastian kept his gaze moving, following the puck until a sharp crack of contact rang through the arena, loud enough to make the crowd gasp as Ethan barreled straight into another one of Griselwyn’s defensemen, Elliot Cromwell, from behind. It was a blindside hit, brutal and unnecessary, and it sent Elliot sprawling face-first into the boards with a sickening thud.
The whistle should’ve blown instantly. It didn’t.
The play stuttered awkwardly as Elliot lay face down on the ice before the ref finally called for a stoppage, and yet no arm went up for a penalty. The boos from the Griselwyn section were deafening, echoed by a sharp chorus from their bench. Sebastian was already on his feet, jaw tight, eyes locked on Ethan, who skated away without so much as a glance back at the player he’d flattened.
On the ice, Evie was shoving her finger into Ethan’s chest as she clearly laid into him. Ethan only shrugged like he couldn’t be bothered.
Moments later, Madam Pine swept onto the rink with two other school medics as they hurried over to the injured player. The arena had gone tense and quiet, save for the occasional restless shuffle in the stands. After a minute, the medics helped Elliot up and guided him off the rink, his weight slung between them. A ripple of relieved applause broke out the moment he straightened, shaky but upright. It swelled into a steady rhythm, echoing off the steel arches overhead as he was led towards the bench.
Sebastian clapped along with the rest of his team, though his eyes never left Ethan, who lingered near Damriel’s crease like nothing had happened.
“Alright,” Callan’s voice cut through the noise. “Sallow—you’re in. Keep your head up out there.”
His tone made it clear the warning wasn’t about watching the puck.
Sebastian vaulted over the boards, skates hitting the ice with a satisfying bite. The cold hit him full in the face again, crisp and clean, and the adrenaline followed right after. He settled into position as he took stock—puck drop inside their blue line, Damriel lining up opposite. Ethan was taking the draw, and behind him, Evangeline was preparing for the face off.
Her expression was cool and unreadable at first glance, but Sebastian had been around her long enough to catch the details—the faint pinch between her brows, the way her jaw tightened. She wasn’t impressed. If anything, she looked vaguely worried, like she could already see where this was heading.
The puck dropped, and the clash of sticks cracked through the cold. Ethan won the draw clean, snapping the puck back to his winger before cutting across the circle and straight toward Sebastian.
Sebastian met him square in front of the net, shoulder checking just hard enough to let him know he’d be there all night if needed. Ethan barely flinched, riding the hit and peeling off toward the boards, but Sebastian was right there on him—cutting his lane, matching every stride.
It set the tone.
Ethan had the kind of speed and puck control that came from years of playing, slipping through narrow gaps and pulling spins that left less experienced players chasing shadows. Sebastian couldn’t keep up with finesse—he knew that—but he didn’t have to. What he had was reach, weight, and the willingness to use both.
The next time Ethan tried to muscle past on a rush, Sebastian angled him straight into the boards and rode him there until the puck was gone. The time after that, Ethan came in faster, trying to burn him wide, but Sebastian cut him off with a clean sweep of his stick and a shoulder that made the boards groan.
Growing impatient, Ethan started adding little extras—a shove after the whistle, a slash of his stick to the back of Sebastian’s skates, a hand that lingered on his jersey just long enough to throw him off balance.
Sebastian answered in kind.
A harder shove into the boards. A stick that came down just a little too sharp. Every time Ethan tried to intimidate, Sebastian made sure to give it right back, and the gap between legal and illegal kept shrinking with each shift.
The crowd fed off it. Every collision drew a wave of noise, half cheers, half jeers, the sound bouncing around like thunder. Somewhere in the chaos, Sebastian caught flashes of Evie skating hard, intercepting passes, and checking players twice her size without hesitation. She didn’t once look his way at all now, completely focused on the game, but he knew she was aware of the tension simmering beneath the surface.
By the end of the second period, both benches were running hot. Players banged sticks against the boards after every big hit, and chirps flew back and forth between the lines. The scoreboard still read 0–0, but the game felt like it was teetering on a knife’s edge.
As the teams swapped ends, the ice crew swept out to charm the surface smooth again. The gouges and snow piles from two periods of grinding play vanished in shimmering waves, leaving the rink gleaming.
Up in the booth, the student commentators were leaning into the drama.
“And that’s the end of the second period—still scoreless here at Ouroboros Arena, but what a game so far. You can feel the tension building between Griselwyn’s number twenty-five, Sebastian Sallow, and Damriel’s captain, Ethan Fenmore. Neither one’s giving an inch—”
“No kidding,” the other voice cut in, laughing. “At this rate, we’re more likely to see them drop the gloves than score a goal.”
“Both benches are fired up, and the refs are letting a lot slide tonight. The next big hit might decide this one.”
Sebastian took a long pull from his water bottle, glancing sideways at Dorian as he skated over.
“This is crazy, Ethan’s usually one of the most level-headed guys on the ice.”
Sebastian snorted. “Guess I bring out the best in people.”
“Yeah, well—” Dorian gave him a look. “if he keeps playing like this, Evie’s going to lose it on him. And when she does…” He shook his head, smirking faintly.
Sebastian huffed out a quiet laugh. “I’m almost looking forward to it.”
Dorian nodded, glancing towards the Damriel bench. “I don’t blame you. He’s acting like a complete prick. What he did to Elliot just to get you onto the ice was borderline sociopathic.”
Sebastian’s gaze slid to where Ethan sat, helmet tipped back, talking to one of his wingers like nothing was out of the ordinary. Dorian wasn’t wrong. He’d gotten someone hurt just to drag Sebastian out, all so he could take a few digs at him. All for a girl who’d been trying to tell him for years she didn’t like him that way. A girl who’d tried to be clear, patient, even kind about it. And still, Ethan hadn’t listened.
Sebastian might’ve almost pitied him—there was something pathetic in holding on that tight to something that was never yours—but any scrap of sympathy was buried under the way Ethan had gone about it. He wasn’t just being reckless. He was being calculated, petty, and dangerous. And right now, he was hiding it under the thin veil of competition, using the game as an excuse to throw his weight around.
Sebastian spat a quick mouthful of water onto the ice beside the bench, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he said finally, “sociopathic is one word for it. Desperate is another.”
Dorian gave a short, humourless laugh. “Call it whatever you want, just keep your head up.”
The horn blared, echoing under the steel arches, and skates scraped over the newly smoothed ice as players glided into position. The crowd’s noise swelled again, a living pulse that rattled in Sebastian’s chest.
The third period kicked off in a flurry of movement, the puck snapping from stick to stick as both teams came out swinging.
Sebastian’s first shift came less than a minute in, and Ethan wasted no time finding him. He cut across the ice with a burst of speed, eyes locked on Sebastian, and tried to slip past along the boards. Sebastian met him shoulder to shoulder, riding him into the glass with a thud that sent a cheer up from the Griselwyn section.
Ethan responded with a slash across Sebastian’s stick hand as they separated—quick and subtle enough to go unnoticed by the refs. Sebastian’s fingers tingled under his glove.
They traded blows in every encounter, clearly building toward something neither of them seemed interested in stopping. Every shift Sebastian played, Ethan found him, and every time Ethan tried to get the upper hand, Sebastian put him right back in his place.
With five minutes left on the clock, the tension in the arena was unbearable. Every rush down the ice drew a collective inhale from the crowd, every blocked shot or poke check breaking it in a burst of noise.
Ethan got his chance in a flash—a turnover at Damriel’s blue line, the puck hopping onto his stick. He was gone before anyone could close the gap, eating up ice in long, powerful strides. Sebastian saw it unfolding and pivoted hard, digging in with everything he had.
By the time Ethan crossed the Griselwyn blue line, Sebastian was there. He matched Ethan’s speed, angled his stick, and cut across his front just as the Damriel captain shifted for a shot. The puck skittered harmlessly toward the corner, the chance dead in an instant.
Ethan didn’t take it well.
The moment Sebastian straightened, Ethan’s glove was fisted in the front of his jersey, yanking him forward so hard their helmets clashed. Sebastian’s stick dropped with a clatter, hands coming up automatically to shove Ethan back. The noise from the stands hit like a physical wave, half the arena roaring for a fight, the other half screaming for the refs.
“Fucking piece of shit—“
Ethan’s voice was a low, venomous growl, barely audible over the chaos. His grip tightened, twisting Sebastian’s jersey.
“What’re you gonna do?” Sebastian taunted, lifting his arms out to the side. “You think you’ll best me in a fight, Fenmore?”
Ethan’s eyes flashed, the kind of sharp, ugly heat that had nothing to do with hockey.
“Wouldn’t take much,” Ethan bit out, yanking Sebastian in again. “You’re all size, no skill.”
Sebastian’s grin was slow and deliberate, more provocation than amusement. “Alright then, let’s see it. Let’s see you—“
Ethan lost it.
His gloves hit the ice, and in the same motion, his hand shot up under the cage of Sebastian’s helmet, fingers hooking into the metal as he wrenched it backward.
Sebastian’s head snapped with the motion, chin strap biting into his jaw before it gave way. The helmet clattered to the ice, and cold air rushed over his sweat-damp hair.
The stands were on their feet, the noise cresting into something wild. Somewhere on the edge of it all, a ref’s whistle shrieked, joined by the rapid scrape of skates as the linesmen converged. But Ethan wasn’t waiting, his fist was already pulling back.
The first punch glanced off Sebastian’s cheekbone, more jarring than painful, and suddenly instinct and self-preservation took over. Sebastian’s gloves hit the ice with a muffled slap, and his hand shot straight for Ethan’s helmet. His fingers found the chin strap, yanking hard. It snapped free, and with a sharp twist, Ethan’s helmet came off, falling to the ice with a hollow crack.
Surprised but undeterred, Ethan’s fist connected with the side of Sebastian’s head again, snapping it sideways hard enough to make his ears ring. Ethan tried to use the momentum, yanking hard to pull Sebastian forward and off balance, but he dug in his heels and anchored himself. The ice groaned under their skates as they shoved and pivoted, each looking for the upper hand. Ethan landed another hit, but Sebastian’s return swing came quick and heavy. His fist crashed into Ethan’s cheek, rocking his head back with a sharp spray of sweat under the lights. The impact drew a roar from the Griselwyn section, applause hammering from the stands like a war drum.
Sebastian drove forward, one fist locked in Ethan’s jersey, the other cocking back for another shot. Ethan tried to twist away, to use his stronger footwork to spin them both, but Sebastian’s weight and reach kept him pinned in place.
When Sebastian’s fist came down again, it connected solidly with Ethan’s jaw, the jolt reverberating up his arm. Ethan’s grip faltered, his balance slipping just enough for Sebastian to shove him back towards the boards.
“Give it up, Fenmore,” Sebastian growled, breath hot in the cold air between them.
Ethan’s only answer was a snarl, surging forward with a wild punch that just missed Sebastian’s ear. Sebastian wrenched the blonde’s jersey tighter in his fist and drove his knuckles hard across his cheekbone. The punch landed clean, a splatter of blood marking the spot where skin split under the blow.
Ethan reeled, wobbling on his skates as his free hand flew up instinctively toward the cut. Sebastian didn’t let him recover, shoving him back into the boards with his full weight, the vibration rattling through the glass behind them as Ethan’s head bounced off of it.
The linesmen hit them a second later, arms wedging between their chests, sticks scattering underfoot. One of them barked for them to break apart, but neither moved right away, both still locked in that tight, glaring stalemate.
“That’s ten minutes for fighting, Fenmore,” the ref snapped, pointing toward the Damriel penalty box before jabbing a finger at Sebastian. “Two minutes for you too, Sallow. Roughing.”
Neither Sebastian nor Ethan broke eye contact as the linesmen peeled them apart, shoving them toward opposite ends of the ice. Sebastian’s chest heaved, the adrenaline still hot in his veins, every muscle coiled tight.
The Griselwyn section roared as Sebastian skated past, sticks clattering against the boards in approval. He didn’t glance their way, eyes fixed ahead until he stepped into the penalty box and the gate slammed shut behind him.
Sebastian looked up at the clock.
Four minutes and six seconds. Right now, each team had four players on the ice, but when Sebastian’s penalty ended, Griselwyn would have a power play for the last two minutes of the game—assuming no one else landed themselves in trouble before then.
It wasn’t a lot of time, but it was enough for Callan to send out their best line, enough to break the tie if Griselwyn could keep Damriel hemmed in.
Sebastian leaned forward on the bench, elbows braced against his knees, watching as the game carried on. His breathing was steadying now, but the adrenaline still thrummed in his blood, sharp and insistent.
When the puck slipped free along the boards, the Griselwyn winger scooped it up, cutting behind the net and sending a clean pass out to the forward waiting at the point. They didn’t hesitate, firing off a shot low through traffic, but the puck deflected off a Damriel stick and flew into the corner.
The clock bled down to three minutes. Sebastian tapped his stick against the boards, impatient. If they could keep this pressure, if they could just…
A whistle blew for icing against Damriel, dragging the face-off back into their zone. The Griselwyn bench came alive, and from the bench, Sebastian could see Callan glance toward him, already calculating.
Thirty seconds left in Sebastian’s penalty.
“When your time’s up, stay on the ice,” Callan shouted through the glass, gesturing with a gloved hand.
Sebastian nodded, getting to his feet and taking a deep breath. He waited for the clock to tick down, eyes locked on the play unfolding in front of him. The puck dropped, and Griselwyn won it clean, cycling it along the boards. Damriel pressed, desperate to clear, but the pressure held.
Fifteen seconds.
Sebastian rolled his shoulders, loosening the tight coil of muscle in his arms while beside him, Callan and Dorian’s line headed onto the ice.
Ten seconds.
A Griselwyn defenceman fired from the blue line—blocked by a Damriel defenseman, who scrambled to corral the puck.
Five.
The defenseman cleared it weakly, and the puck drifted toward neutral ice just as the penalty door swung open.
Sebastian hit the ice at full speed, the cold biting at his lungs as he cut across to intercept. The puck slid onto his stick like it had been waiting for him, and the roar from the stands spiked.
He carried the puck over the blue line with two Damriel skaters scrambling to close in, then snapped a hard pass across to Dorian streaking down the wing.
Dorian caught it clean, skating deep into the corner before firing it back up to Callan at the point. Callan feinted a shot, pulling Damriel’s defense out of position, then slid the puck right back to Sebastian, who had set up at the top of the slot. Meanwhile, Griselwyn’s left winger crashed the net, screening the goalie.
Sebastian wound up like he was going to take the shot himself, then at the last second, sent the puck wide to Dorian, now open on the right side.
It was a textbook one-timer—Dorian met the pass in perfect stride, his stick cracking against the puck with a clean, decisive snap. The shot tore low across the ice, threading past a Damriel defenseman’s stick and sliding just inside the far post before the goalie could get his pad down.
The red light flashed, and the arena exploded. The Griselwyn bench surged to its feet, the crowd’s roar ricocheting off the steel arches above. Sebastian was already gliding toward the crease, grinning through the rush of adrenaline as Dorian was mobbed by the rest of the line.
The score was now 1–0 with barely a minute left on the clock. To add insult to injury, Damriel was still down a man—Ethan’s ten-minute major far from over.
Sebastian caught a glimpse of the blonde in the penalty box as he lined up for the face-off at center ice. Ethan had his helmet and gloves off, jaw tight, one hand gripping his stick so hard the knuckles stood out white.
Griselwyn only had to play smart now—dump the puck deep, kill the clock, make Damriel chase. Every time they cleared the puck, the cheers from the stands grew louder, every intercepted pass another nail in the coffin of Damriel’s winning streak. When the final horn sounded, the ice erupted in a rush of sticks and skates, gloves thrown skyward in a flurry of triumph.
Sebastian barely had time to brace before Dorian crashed into him, laughing and shouting over the din. The scoreboard blazed their win in bright, undeniable numbers, and Ethan had been forced to watch it all from the penalty box.
He hadn’t even stepped fully onto the ice before Evangeline was on him.
She came in fast, skates cutting sharp lines into the ice. Her voice carried above the lingering roar of the crowd, each word clipped and cold as steel. Sebastian couldn’t hear every line over the chaos, but the meaning was clear enough in her tone and in the way her finger jabbed into Ethan’s chest, hard enough to make him rock back a step.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. His hands flexed against his stick like he was torn between defending himself and just enduring it, but Evie didn’t give him the space to choose. She stalked closer, her head barely reaching his chin, eyes blazing like she could set him alight where he stood. The whole thing was over in seconds, but it was merciless. And when she reached up, grabbed the stitched “C” from the front of his sweater, and ripped it clean off, Sebastian almost laughed out loud.
Merlin, he didn’t blame her. A ten-minute major with the score tied in the final minutes? That stunt had handed Griselwyn the game. Damriel’s captain had taken himself out of the fight, left his team shorthanded, and snapped their winning streak in front of a packed house. If Sebastian had been on her side of the ice, he might have laid into him, too.
But there was something else threading through Sebastian’s chest as he watched—the sharp, heady rush of watching his girlfriend take someone apart in front of half the school. She was fierce, commanding, absolutely unflinching, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t undeniably satisfying and, Merlin help him, ridiculously hot.
Around them, the rest of the Damriel players avoided Ethan entirely, silent and tight-lipped as they filed into the handshake line. Whatever captaincy he’d had, it was gone now—both literally and in the eyes of his own team.
Af\ter shaking hands and getting off the ice, the celebration in the Griselwyn locker room was chaos in its purest form—helmets clattering onto benches, sticks propped haphazardly against the wall, steam rising from pads as players yanked them off in victory-drunk haste. Someone cranked the speaker in the corner, and yet the music was almost drowned out by the whoops and hollers.
Dorian was the loudest, still buzzing from the game-winner, practically vibrating as he relived the one-timer for anyone who’d listen. Callan was pacing with a grin, slapping shoulders and barking praise between swigs from his water bottle. The air smelled like sweat, ice, and triumph.
Sebastian sat back on the bench, catching his breath, the adrenaline still burning pleasantly in his chest. His knuckles throbbed under his gloves, and a faint sting in his jaw reminded him of Ethan’s fists, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Dorian dropped down onto the bench beside him, still riding the high, cheeks flushed and hair plastered to his forehead. “Merlin’s beard, did you see that shot? Cleanest one-timer I’ve ever taken in my life. You put it right on my stick, perfect feed.”
Sebastian smirked, peeling off one glove and flexing his fingers, knuckles still stinging. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to me making you look that good.”
Dorian snorted, leaning down to unlace his skates with quick, practiced tugs. “You’re just sore I got the glory. And did you see Ethan’s face—looked like someone had hexed his jockstrap three sizes too small.” He laughed again, clapping Sebastian on the back hard enough to jostle him.
“Evie definitely saw it,” Sebastian said, a grin tugging at his mouth. “And then she made sure everyone else did too.”
Dorian grinned wickedly. “Ripping the ‘C’ off? That was brutal. Honestly, I think she might’ve just retired him.”
“We can only hope,” Sebastian quipped, tugging at the laces of his skates with far less urgency than anyone else in the room. The noise was still deafening—gear clattering, guys shouting, and the bass from the corner speaker rattling against the tiled walls.
The sounds of celebration slowly began to fade when the rush to hit the showers took over. Pads thudded onto the benches, the sharp rip of velcro echoed, and the air grew heavy with steam drifting in from the tiled doorway at the far end of the room. Sebastian stayed where he was, still sitting in the same spot, working at his gear.
One by one, his teammates disappeared into the stalls, the hiss of hot water mixing with laughter and shouts from inside. A couple came back out a few minutes later, hair plastered down, towels slung low around their hips.
“Hell of a fight, Sallow,” one of them said as he passed, grinning and giving Sebastian a quick clap on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” another added, pausing in the doorway, “Ethan’s gonna be chewing on that bruise for weeks. Nice work.”
Sebastian just smirked. “Had to give the crowd their money’s worth.”
They laughed, moving on. Steam rolled out as the rest of the guys trickled back from the showers, some still talking about Dorian’s game-winner, others rehashing Evie’s public demolition of Ethan. Each one tossed Sebastian a nod or a quick word as they passed like “nice hit” or “good game”.
By the time the final few left, their voices fading down the corridor, Sebastian was finally peeling off his undershirt. The fabric clung damp to his skin before coming free, and he felt the cooler air prickle over sweat-slicked muscles. He rolled his shoulders, letting the tension ease as he stood, now in just his briefs, the rest of his gear piled in his bag.
Crossing to the sinks, he caught sight of himself in the mirror—a faint flush still high in his cheeks, hair damp and sticking up in unruly tufts, and a dark bruise already blooming along his left cheekbone. He tilted his head, running a thumb lightly over the tender spot, and smirked at his reflection. It would be an easy injury to clear up, a simple charm could take care of it, but Sebastian had no intention of reaching for his wand.
He turned his head side to side, the bruise catching the light in different shades. The thought of Evie seeing it made his smirk pull a little wider. Not because he wanted her fussing over him, though he wouldn’t exactly mind that either, but because he could already picture her face: the tiny arch of her brow, the way her lips would twitch like she was trying not to smirk as she scolded him. She’d probably cross her arms, tilt her head, and mutter something about him not needing to fight her battles for her, and he’d just smile at her in that infuriatingly unapologetic way that meant he’d do it all over again.
Sebastian reached for one of the thick, red towels stacked neatly on the shelf, the fabric plush under his fingers. He slung it over his shoulder, padding toward the row of shower stalls. The tiles were still slick from his teammates, steam lingering in the air, curling against the ceiling. He reached into the last stall, twisting the tap until water hissed to life, the pipes groaning before the spray smoothed into a steady stream.
He leaned one forearm against the wall, letting the first rush run cold while the heat built, the sound of the spray muffling the quiet of the empty locker room. Then—soft, deliberate—the click of the outer door echoed down the hall.
“Someone forget something?” he called, glancing over his shoulder.
Footsteps answered, light and unhurried, and he turned, expecting Dorian or Callan coming back for a misplaced glove. Instead, his gaze snagged on Evie at the far end of the hall. Her hair was damp and loose, clinging in dark strands to her cheeks. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and soft grey sweatpants, cuffed at the ankle.
For half a beat, Sebastian forgot to breathe.
“Evie,” he choked out, suddenly very aware of how bare his body was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Her mouth curved upwards.
“I was going to wait for you,” she explained, “But then I figured you’d be in here taking your sweet time, so…” She let the sentence trail off with a faint shrug.
Sebastian’s gaze flicked over her. He swallowed. “So… you hunted me down?”
“Are you really complaining?” She asked, taking a step closer.
Sebastian’s mouth pulled into a slow grin. “Not in the slightest.,”
Evie took another step, closing the gap until Sebastian could smell her shampoo floating with the steam. Her gaze dipped, just for a moment, before meeting his again.
“Good,” she murmured.
Sebastian’s pulse kicked up. They’d never been this close without the buffer of layers, of uniforms or jackets, and the fact that he was standing here next-to-naked while she looked at him like that…
He straightened slightly, trying to ignore the way heat had begun blooming low in his abdomen.
“So,” he said, gazing down at her. “How does it feel to lose, Sterling?”
She rolled her eyes, lifting a hand to swat his shoulder. “We outplayed you guys all game, you wouldn’t have scored if Ethan hadn’t been too busy trying to get under your skin to actually play.”
Sebastian let out a short laugh, the sound low in his chest. “Outplayed us all game, huh?”
She arched a brow at him. “Obviously. You just got lucky in the last two minutes.”
Sebastian’s grin deepened, heat sparking in his gaze as he stepped just a fraction closer. “Lucky? I drop Ethan, you lose your captain, and Dorian scores the game-winner… that’s not luck, Sterling. That’s strategy.”
Evangeline searched his face, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and something softer. Her hand came up, fingertips ghosting over the bruise along his cheekbone.
She let out a slow, heavy sigh. “And here I thought you said you were going to work on your restraint.”
Sebastian’s grin didn’t falter;, if anything, it edged toward smug. “I promised to try and work on it.
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, her touch drifted, skimming from his cheek and into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
“Mm,” she hummed, as though weighing her next words. Then, quieter, like she wasn’t sure she should admit it, “It was kind of hot, though… watching you fight like that.”
Sebastian’s pulse spiked so hard he was sure she could hear it. His grin curved slow, but the heat in his gaze sharpened.
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice dipping as he leaned into her touch. “You liked it?”
Evangeline’s lips twitched like she was trying not to give him the satisfaction, but the faint flush creeping up her neck betrayed her.
Sebastian let the silence stretch just enough before leaning in a fraction further. "Any other kinks I should know about?"
Her eyes widened. "It's not a kink!"
“No? Because it sounds a lot like one, to me. You know, possessiveness and making sure everyone in the building knows you’re mine—”
“Sebastian,” Evie hissed, shoving at his chest.
He smirked, grabbing her wrist. “You’re the one who snuck into the men’s locker room, don’t act so scandalized.”
Evie’s cheeks flushed deeper. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you weren’t bleeding all over the place,” she countered.
He tilted his head, still holding her wrist, thumb brushing lightly over her pulse. “Mm, sure.”
Her brows drew together, suspicion flickering across her face. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Sebastian hummed. “Can you blame me? My gorgeous girlfriend barges in here just to tell me she liked watching me beat the hell out of someone. I’m not exactly struggling to connect the dots on where this is going.”
“Sebastian—”
He leaned down until his forehead nearly touched hers. “You can play innocent all you like, Evangeline, but you’re not fooling me.” His thumb swept another slow arc over the inside of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers. “Bold move, sneaking in here. Makes me think you want something.”
Her pulse jumped under his touch and he felt it. The corner of his mouth curved again. “So,” he murmured, “are you going to tell me what that something is, or do I have to guess?”
Her glare was sharp enough to cut, the kind that dared him to keep running his mouth. But he could see the crack in it—the way her pride warred with the heat in her eyes, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitched like she was fighting herself.
She lost the fight.
Her free hand slid up between them, curling into the damp hair at the back of his neck. Then she yanked him down with more force than he expected, their mouths colliding in a kiss that was all heat and pent-up tension.
Sebastian’s hand dropped from her wrist to her waist, dragging her in until the steam and the heat of her body blurred into one. The kiss deepened fast, her fingers tightening in his hair, and he didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly her back was against the wall, his body crowding hers. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth, and it only made him kiss her harder.
Evie’s breath hitched when his hands slid lower, strong fingers gripping the backs of her thighs. In one swift, sure motion, he hauled her up against him, pressing her back firmly to the cool tile as her legs instinctively locked around his waist. The shift pressed them flush together, and Sebastian’s lungs seized for a beat; there was no hiding how hard he was with their bodies so close. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a flicker of self-consciousness sparked, wondering if she noticed or what she thought. But then her arms looped tighter around his neck, her mouth chasing his, and the thought burned away into nothing.
Sebastian’s fingers and palms dug into the soft flesh of her ass, his lips trailing down her jaw and neck. Her pulse fluttered when he found the spot just beneath her ear, and the small sound she made—half sigh, half stifled moan—shot straight through him.
“Fuck,” he breathed, nipping at her skin. “You keep making noises like that, and I’m not going to stop.”
“Promise?” She murmured.
Sebastian could have dropped to his knees right then and there. She was going to be the death of him—he was sure of it. Up until now, things between them had been all heated kisses and roaming hands, always teetering at the edge of something more without tipping over. But there was no mistaking her now—the look in her eyes, the curl of her lips, the way her body pressed into his like she was daring him to see how far he’d take it.
Sebastian’s mind spun with the possibilities, with every inch of her he wanted to touch, taste, claim. His chest ached with the need to close the distance between what they’d been and what they could be in the next few seconds. Her nails scraped lightly against the back of his neck, sending sparks straight to the base of his spine. He could feel the tremor in her legs where they wrapped around him, and the sharp little hitch in her breathing.
He was on the edge of moving, already imagining how her back would arch for him when he had her where he wanted her, when the faintest creak broke through the hiss of the steam.
The locker room door.
They both stiffened, eyes snapping toward the sound, wide with the same mix of shock and dread. The heavy air between them seemed to shatter in an instant, replaced by the sudden awareness that they were no longer alone. Evie’s legs loosened from around his waist, and Sebastian set her silently back down onto her feet.
They stood completely still, the only sound between them the pounding rush of water and the ragged pull of their breaths. Then came the faint, jaunty whistle from beyond the shower room. The slow, rhythmic drag of a broom across tile. The shuffle of boots.
Sebastian closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and muttered a curse under his breath. The bloody janitorial staff. Perfect timing.
Evie’s gaze flicked toward the sound, sharp and calculating, before returning to him. In one swift motion, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her trousers, fingers curling around her wand. She leaned in just long enough to press a quick, heated kiss to Sebastian’s mouth—so fleeting and fierce it left him blinking—before murmuring a charm under her breath. The air around her shimmered like heat on stone, and by the time Sebastian’s brain caught up, she was gone from sight entirely, leaving only the faint trace of her warmth on his lips.
Beyond the curtain of mist, the whistle carried on, the broom swishing lazily against the floor, and Sebastian was left with his heart thudding against his ribs and the frustration of being yanked from the edge of something he’d been seconds from falling into.
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Author Note: I apologize for not having the exact list of OC's mentioned in the following chapters - I'm just trying to get chapters posted to catch the story back up to fit with the current seasonal timeline! With that said, all OCs mentioned in this story can be found here!
A story of almosts, maybes, and finallys. You and Sebastian Sallow have loved each other for years, just never at the right time.
Words: ~1,700
Series Tags: Modern AU, Post-Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian Sallow, Cursebreaker!MC, Modern Magical AU, Female Reader Insert, Mid-Size / Plus-Size Female Protagonist, Friends to Lovers, Long-Term Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Romance, Missed Timing, Second Chances, Grief and Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Body Image Issues, Fluff, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending
Content Warnings: Sexual Assault, Trauma, Abortion (Non-Descriptive), Strong Emotional Themes
Chapter Track: Northern Wind, City and Colour
You, Age 30
You woke slowly, wrapped in soft sheets and soft light, the distant sound of gulls and river traffic filtering in through the cracked window. It was morning by the Thames, and you could hear the hush of the water from the bedroom you shared with Sebastian, in the house you owned together, tucked down a quiet lane just off the embankment.
The air was cool, quiet, wrapped in the hush that only came with early hours, but his body was warm against yours. One arm was slung heavily over your waist, his face slack with sleep, mouth slightly parted, hair tousled where it pressed into the pillow.
You didn’t move right away. You just lay there and watched him, listened to the steady rise and fall of his breath. Sometimes, even now, it felt a little unreal that he was here. That you were here. That after everything—every detour, every ache, every almost—you had found your way back to each other.
Eventually, you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. You padded barefoot through the quiet house, the wooden floor cool underfoot. The hallway was softly lit by the pale light seeping in through the windows, and as you passed the old wooden case on the console table, your steps slowed.
Once, it had held a letter.
Now, it held mementos.
Things the two of you had collected together since you moved back home, since you transitioned into being an Auror and traded your field kit for a Ministry badge. Since you started working side by side with him, partners in every way that mattered.
There was a ticket stub from that disastrous play he dragged you to on your first official week back, when it rained so hard your shoes disintegrated halfway through the walk home. A pressed sprig of lavender from that impromptu weekend in southern France. A pebble from the Scottish coastline, smooth and dark.
Above the box hung a photo in a simple silver frame. You and Sebastian, smiling wide in the spring sunlight, caught mid-laugh—captured by Anne without your knowing.
The walls in the living room were painted a pale, buttery yellow—exactly the shade you'd imaged if you ever had a place of your own. There was a scarred wooden coffee table in front of the hearth, ink stains on one corner where Sebastian knocked over a bottle while reading case notes. A crooked stack of paperbacks leaned precariously beside the armchair, half of them yours, the rest his, titles overlapping the way your lives did now. It wasn’t perfect. The floors creaked. The windows stuck. There was a stubborn crack in the corner of the ceiling that Sebastian kept swearing he’d fix one weekend, but never had.
But it was yours.
And so was he.
The kitchen smelled like old wood and tea. You moved with the rhythm of familiarity, set the kettle to boil, reached for the eggs and bacon. The pan was already on the stove.
You were cracking the eggs into the pan when you heard the creak of the bedroom door, followed by the soft pad of bare feet against the floorboards.
Sebastian came up behind you with the same quiet certainty he always did, like your gravity drew him. A warm arm slipped around your waist. His chest pressed to your back, solid and still sleep-heavy. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath, the slow rhythm of it syncing with yours.
“Morning,” he mumbled into your shoulder, breathing you in.
You hummed in reply, leaning into him. His body was warm, his hair still messy from sleep, and you knew without looking that there was probably a pillow crease pressed into one cheek.
He pressed a kiss to the curve of your neck and finally pulled away, just far enough to start rummaging through the cabinets for mugs. He still hadn’t fully opened his eyes.
The kettle began to hiss as you finished plating the eggs and bacon. You slid them onto two mismatched plates and pushed the pan off the heat. It was peaceful. Easy. A routine built over time, stitched together through soft mornings just like that one.
A cup of tea was pressed into your hand, and you took it without thinking, fingers curling around the ceramic. The steam rose in gentle curls, catching the light from the kitchen window, and you brought it to your lips out of habit more than anything.
Sebastian took his usual seat across from you at the table: barefoot, shirtless, drowsy around the edges. He sat like he always did, legs stretched out beneath the table so his foot brushed yours. You didn’t think he even realized he was doing it anymore.
He yawned into his shoulder, rubbed a hand through his messy hair, and then leaned forward, chin propped lazily on his fist as he watched you.
“You burned the bacon again,” he said, voice hoarse but teasing.
You eyed him over the rim of your mug. “You like it that way.”
He shrugged one shoulder, lips tugging into a slow, crooked grin. “I like you, so I tolerate the bacon."
You snorted and rolled your eyes, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. He saw it—of course he saw it—and his grin deepened. Even after all that time, Sebastian Sallow still flustered you without even trying.
You nudged your foot gently against his beneath the table, and he nudged back, the touch more intimate than it had any right to be.
He was looking at you in that way again, like you hung the bloody stars, like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, even after the years, even after the fights, even after everything that tried to pull you apart.
You went to take another sip of your tea—
Clink.
Your brow furrowed. You angled the mug and peered down into the amber depths.
"The hell?" you muttered, squinting.
Sebastian had gone suspiciously quiet across the table.
You stood slowly, brows still knitted as you carried the mug over to the sink and tipped it carefully, watching as the amber liquid swirled and disappeared down the drain.
Clink.
Another soft, unmistakable metallic sound.
You blinked, stared into the bottom of the mug, then froze.
There, catching the early morning light through the kitchen window, was a ring. Silver, delicate, unmistakable. Just lying there like it belonged. Like it hadn’t just upended the entire rhythm of your very normal Sunday morning.
“Sebastian,” you said slowly, not turning around. “What the fuck is in my tea.”
A beat.
Then, innocently, “Could be arsenic?”
You whirled around.
He was standing now, one hand braced on the back of his chair, the other shoved through his hair again. His grin was too wide, too guilty. He knew he was caught. But there was a tremble to it too, a thread of nerves laced through the mischief.
You held up the mug like it was evidence in a trial. “You hid a ring in my tea?”
“Well, I was hoping you'd drink a bit more before you found it,” he said sheepishly.
Your jaw dropped. “I could have choked.”
“Which would’ve made for a very dramatic story,” he offered, now inching around the table.
You stared at him.
Sebastian dropped to one knee, right there in the middle of your slightly lopsided kitchen, where the floors creaked and the tiles were chipped. He was still shirtless, hair a mess, the morning sun catching the edge of his face just enough to make the whole moment feel dreamlike. And in his eyes was everything: the love, the history, the years that could have broken you both but didn’t. Every morning like this one that had quietly led you here.
Finally, he exhaled. "I had a whole plan. And a speech," he admitted, voice soft. “It was really good, I swear. I practiced it."
You blinked down at him, lips parted, heart hammering in your chest.
“But I just…” He trailed off, eyes searching yours like the rest of the words were stuck somewhere between his ribs and his throat. He huffed a breath, then laughed under it—nervous, overwhelmed, completely wrecked. "I couldn't wait any longer. I didn’t care about the speech. I didn’t care about doing it the right way. I just want this. I just want you."
You could feel your throat closing, a swell of emotion too big to contain.
“I know you snore,” he said with a faint grin. “I know you talk in your sleep. I know you forget your tea every damn time unless I remind you to finish it.”
You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself.
“And I know I drive you mental,” he added. "But I’m in love with you. And I want every version of you—grumpy morning you, smug case-solving you, leaving-books-in-the-bathroom you. All of it. All of you. Forever."
Your vision blurred, but you didn’t bother blinking the tears away. You couldn’t. You’d waited years for this. For this moment and this man.
“So,” he said softly, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Will you marry me?"
You set the mug on the counter with trembling fingers, then, wordlessly, you dropped to your knees.
He startled, slightly, like he hadn’t expected that, but you were already cupping his face in both hands, already kissing him with everything you had. It was messy, tear-slicked, a little awkward with the height difference on the floor, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered except him and this.
When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, you whispered the only words that mattered:
“Yes. A million times, yes.”
Sebastian exhaled like he had been holding his breath for years.
The ring slid onto your finger moments later. You didn’t even look at it at first, you were too busy laughing through your tears as he pulled you into his arms, both of you still kneeling on the creaky floor of your imperfect little kitchen.
It wasn’t a grand moment. It wasn’t rehearsed or expensive or decorated in flowers, but it was perfect.
Banished from the only lives they’ve ever known, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt seek refuge at Nivalis, Canada’s school of witchcraft and wizardry. But fresh beginnings are fragile, and as new loves and friendships take root, something ancient and ravenous awakens in the northern wilderness.
Series Tags: Modern AU, Original AU, OC-based, Post-Hogwarts, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Slow Burn Romance, Second Chances, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Folklore, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending
Series Content Warnings: Mild Horror, Mild Gore
Collaborators/Beta-Readers: @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30
True North is a collaborative project that brings together original characters from talented creators across the Hogwarts Legacy fandom. Click here to meet them all!
➤ Learn more about Nivalis lore here.
➤ Find your House with the Sorting Quiz.
Mid December
The evening of the dance crept up on Sebastian far faster than he liked. One moment it was late November and he was convincing himself there was still plenty of time, and the next he was standing in his dormitory mirror, buttoning the waistcoat of a suit he’d been both dreading and anticipating wearing.
The burgundy ensemble had arrived two days earlier, mercifully in time for him to convince Professor Roswick to make a few subtle transfiguration adjustments—nothing dramatic, just enough to sharpen the fit across the shoulders and skim perfectly along his frame.
Not that the suit had done him any favours in courage.
Two weeks had passed without him asking Evangeline to the dance. Every time the moment had presented itself, words failed him. Sometimes it was because she looked distracted, or because they were surrounded by too many people. Other times, it was simply because his throat decided to close up entirely, his brain staging a mutiny against his own intentions.
And so, instead, he’d had to stand back and watch—through breakfasts in Cascade Hall, between classes, during study dates in the library—as boy after boy tried their luck. Sixth-years emboldened by bravado, seventh-years who Sebastian shared classes with, even a couple of eighth-years hoping to leverage their seniority.
Ethan, of course, had made more than one attempt, his easy grin and confident posture a sharp thorn in Sebastian’s side.
He had never seen her say yes, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t. Sebastian wasn’t there for every conversation, every moment she was cornered in the corridor or leaned against the library shelves, fielding invitations he had been too much of a coward to give. And they never talked about it, because talking about it meant acknowledging it, something neither of them seemed keen on doing.
Still, if there was even the smallest chance she might notice him tonight, he wasn’t about to waste it.
He’d spent far longer than he’d admit in the shower, scrubbing until his skin tingled, chasing away every trace of the day. The razor came next, slow and deliberate, his reflection little more than a blur in the misted mirror. He took his time clearing the faint stubble from his jaw and upper lip, dragging the blade in careful strokes until his skin felt smooth. Then—because some part of him was both a hopeless optimist and a masochist—he shaved lower. Much lower. There was no logical reason to think she’d ever see the result, but the thought alone was enough to quicken his pulse.
Afterwards, he stayed in front of the bathroom mirror far longer than necessary, towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping down his neck and tracing down the slope of his back. He catalogued everything—every flaw and every advantage. His gaze snagged immediately on the small, infuriating spot marring his usually clear forehead, glaring back at him like it had been conjured specifically to sabotage him.
He leaned in closer, assessing further. Did his freckles make him look too boyish? Maybe. But there was nothing to be done about them. Straightening, he rolled his shoulders back as he studied the lines of his body. His height had always given him an edge, his shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway. It had impressed other girls before—he could only hope it might impress Evie tonight, too.
Back in the dorm, the air was thick with the scent of cologne and nervous anticipation. Jackets and trousers hung from bedposts, shoes lined up neatly beside trunks. A few boys were already dressed, trading critiques and wolf-whistles as they adjusted one another’s ties. Sebastian tuned it out as he dressed, every piece of his suit ironed to perfection thanks to a pressing charm Ominis had taught him.
His hair took forever. He combed it back, forward, side to side, until it looked deliberate but not fussy, a controlled kind of mess. A small dab of pomade kept the waves in place without stiffening them. Then came the cologne—the expensive one he saved for rare occasions. Warm and woodsy, with just enough spice to linger if someone leaned close. He dabbed it onto his pulse points, letting the scent ghost over the collar of his shirt.
By the time he finished, the room was emptying, his dormmates heading down to the hall in noisy groups. He stayed behind for a final look in the mirror. Broad shoulders, dark hair in place, suit sharp enough to turn heads.
Hopefully it would be enough.
By the time he stepped into Cascade Hall, Sebastian’s stomach was a knot of anticipation and dread, but there was no denying that the transformation was breathtaking. The vaulted ceiling shimmered beneath an enchantment that made it look as though snow and starlight were tumbling endlessly down, vanishing just before they touched the floor. Chandeliers glowed warmly from the ceiling, while garlands of evergreen and holly draped the banisters and pillars. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine, undercut by the sweetness of champagne and desserts.
Sebastian spotted Ominis almost immediately, standing across the room with Willow. She looked radiant in a deep green dress, her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she laughed at something Ominis had said. His head was tilted toward her, his smile small but genuine, and for a moment, Sebastian’s chest tightened. He might’ve had that with Evangeline if he’d been braver, quicker, and less of an idiot.
The rest of the friend group was nearby, a mix of laughing faces and shifting silks. Seraphina was mid-conversation with Jules and Ethan, her pale gold gown catching the light like spun sugar. Isabelle was nearby, her dark hair pinned with silver clips, speaking animatedly to Théo and Kymar.
Evangeline, however, was conspicuously absent.
Sebastian’s eyes swept the hall again as though she might have been hiding in plain sight—half-shielded behind a Christmas tree, lingering by the doors, caught in the swirl of the mingling bodies. Nothing. His stomach gave an unpleasant twist, souring whatever flicker of holiday spirit the hall had managed to kindle in him. Then, with a quiet exhale, he stepped across the threshold, and started making his way toward his friends.
A few classmates called out greetings as he passed—claps to the shoulder, nods of recognition, waves and grins. He returned them with an easy lift of his hand or a crooked half-smile, letting the familiar rhythm of social niceties carry him forward.
He noticed the glances, too. Girls letting their eyes linger a fraction longer than polite. The burgundy had been the right choice, he decided. It didn’t do much to ease the tension in his chest, but it bolstered his ego enough to keep his stride confident as he neared his friends.
“Sallow!” Dorian greeted during Sebastian’s walk over. The fellow Griselwyn stood near a refreshments table, clad in a deep navy suit. Beside him stood Elaine Aryndell—his Halloween crush—her long dark hair swept over one shoulder, the silver beading of her dress catching the light.
The sight hit harder than Sebastian could’ve expected. First Ominis with Willow, now Dorian with Elaine—it was starting to feel like everyone had grown a pair but him.
“Looking good,” Sebastian managed to reply, shaking Dorian’s hand in greeting. “And you look lovely, Elaine.”
“Thank you,” she said, her smile polite but genuine before she turned back to murmur something to Dorian, making him grin in that self-satisfied way that made Sebastian want to roll his eyes.
Nodding to them in farewell, Sebastain stepped into the loose circle of the friend group nearby, catching snippets of conversation. Isabelle was leaning in to hear Théo over the music, Kymar stood with his arms folded, and Ethan was in the middle of a detailed recount of some hockey statistic no one had asked for.
“About time you showed up,” Jules said, clapping Sebastian on the shoulder.
Sebastian smirked. “Wouldn’t want to peak too early. You lot been here long?”
“Long enough for Ethan to start quoting league stats,” Kymar drawled, cutting his eyes toward the blonde, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“They’re important,” Ethan said defensively. “You’ll thank me when you’re winning bets next season.”
“I’ll thank you when you shut up about hockey for one night,” Isabelle countered, amusement bright in her voice. Théo murmured something to her in French that made her laugh.
Ethan gave a mock-offended gasp. “Not fair. Evie and Dorian aren’t even here to defend me.”
The words were light enough, tossed out with a grin, but Sebastian caught the subtext instantly—Evie and Dorian, both hockey players, conveniently grouped together, while his own name was neatly omitted. His smirk thinned, the edges sharpening, but he didn’t bite.
A brief, awkward beat settled over the circle, just long enough for Kymar’s eyebrow to twitch upward and Isabelle to take a sip of her drink without meeting anyone’s eye.
“Anyway,” Seraphina said brightly, cutting clean through the tension, “Evie and Bee should be arriving any minute, surely.”
“Together?” Jules asked, his grin already edging toward mischief. “Don’t tell me Bee didn’t narrow it down from her thirty date options? Tragic. And what about Evie? She didn’t seem to have a shortage either.”
A couple of the boys chuckled, and Isabelle gave an exaggerated eye-roll, commenting that Bee ‘requires a screening process’. The comment about Evie, though, hung in the air a little longer—just enough to turn Sebastian’s attention.
He couldn’t help it; his gaze slid sideways toward Ethan. Sure enough, the blonde’s jaw flexed, a brief but telling movement, his molars grinding behind that too-casual smile.
The corner of Sebastian’s mouth almost twitched upward, a flicker of private satisfaction sparking in his chest. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Ethan had shown up in navy—a shade that would clash spectacularly with the black dress Bee had all but confirmed Evie would be wearing. The mental image of the two of them standing side by side, their outfits grating against each other like a discordant chord, was enough to feed Sebastian’s satisfaction for another few seconds.
And then—speak of the devil—Bee appeared.
She cut through the crowd like she owned it, wearing a fitted crimson gown. Her hair was swept back into loose waves, her eyes bright and her lipstick already smudged at the edges. Sebastian didn’t need to guess why. She spotted the group and grinned, waving enthusiastically as she approached.
“Ah,” Kymar observed, smirking. “Now I understand why you’re late.”
“What, why?” Bee asked, arching a brow as she came to a stop beside him.
Isabelle laughed, reaching out and swiping a finger along the corner of Bee’s mouth. “You’re smudged.”
Bee glanced at her with a grin and didn’t so much as flinch, utterly unbothered. “Am I?”
She tugged the neckline of her gown forward just enough to fish a slim gold tube of lipstick from where it had been tucked in her cleavage.
Bee twisted the tube open and reapplied the vivid red without missing a beat. “Good as new.”
“We thought Evie was with you,” Seraphina commented, her gaze scanning the hall as though the missing girl might materialize on cue.
“Nope,” Bee replied, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Haven’t seen her, but then again, I’ve been busy. Could always ask Will—oh.”
The shift in her tone had everyone following her line of sight.
A little ways off, near one of the garland-draped pillars, Willow and Ominis stood even closer together now, their heads inclined toward one another. Willow’s face was lit with open delight. Ominis’s usually reserved expression had softened into something unmistakably warm. The way his mouth curved—faint but sure—was a rare thing, and it made the whole scene look almost painfully sweet.
Kymar let out a low whistle. “Well, looks like someone might be winning that bet we made sooner rather than later, and that person is me. Hope you’re all ready to pay up.”
Jules groaned, digging a hand into his pocket like he might actually hand over coins right then, but resented the idea. “Don’t get cocky. There’s been no confirmation yet.”
“Please,” Kymar said, smirking. “Look at them!”
“They’re so cute,” Seraphina murmured, her gaze still lingering on the pair. “They suit each other.”
Bee nodded, smiling faintly. “They really do.”
Sebastian stayed quiet, though he noted how naturally Ominis’s body angled toward Willow, how unselfconscious the exchange seemed. He’d never seen Ominis look so… soft.
It was in the way he leaned down—nearly a foot—to better catch Willlow’s words, the tilt of his head just enough to listen without rushing her. His shoulders, so often held taut like he was braced for some unseen blow, had eased into a rare state of relaxation. And that faint, genuine smile… it suited him.
They were a good pair. Sebastian was happy for him—truly. Merlin knew Ominis deserved it.
If only Sebastian himself could be so certain around the person he wanted.
The thought lingered uncomfortably, tightening in his chest until the noise of the group felt just a touch too loud, the air just a touch too warm. He cleared his throat and took a step back, letting his gaze drift toward the refreshment tables.
“Think I’ll take a lap,” he said casually, more to no one in particular than to the group. “Grab a drink. Check out the desserts.”
It was true enough—there was champagne, cider, and entire tables of delicate pastries and cakes and candies—but really, it was just an excuse. He needed a little space to breathe, a chance to get his bearings without an audience.
With a nod to Jules, he slipped out of the circle, weaving through the crowd toward the far side of the hall. The hum of conversation softened as distance grew, replaced by the gentle clink of glassware and the faint pop of a cork somewhere behind him.
Sebastian poured himself a glass of sparkling cider, the bubbles hissing softly as they rose. Lifting it to his lips, he let the crisp sweetness settle on his tongue, focusing on the faint notes of apple and spice instead of the churn of thoughts still coiled in his head.
The ambiance here was meant to be savored. The warm glow of light glancing off crystal, the gentle sweep of the enchanted snow overhead, the soft strains of music that wrapped around the conversations and laughter like ribbon. If he could just keep his mind here—in this moment—rather than on all the things he hadn’t said, all the chances he hadn’t taken…
He took another slow sip, eyes drifting idly over the crowd. The room was awash in jewel tones: sapphire blues, emerald greens, deep garnets, gold-threaded silks. It was almost dizzying to look at for too long.
And then—there.
A flash of black amid the sea of colour, like a shadow cutting through candlelight.
Evangeline.
Her gown was a masterpiece in motion, every step coaxing the soft sweep of its train across the polished floor. Layers of midnight tulle bloomed with delicate black petals and beading, each catching the light in fleeting glimmers. The bodice was… almost indecent in its perfection—not because it revealed too much, but because it left nothing to the imagination about how well it fit. The sculpted lines cinched her waist and lifted her breasts high on her chest, the curve of them framed by delicate, leaflike straps that looked too pretty to be this provocative.
Her hair had been swept into an updo—dark curls artfully pinned and tumbling in soft spirals at her nape, a few deliberate tendrils escaping to frame her face. That face—Merlin, the makeup was lethal. Smoky shadow deepened the warmth of her eyes, and her lips were painted in a rich, dark red that seemed designed to undo him. She looked like a secret he’d spend his life trying to solve.
Sebastian didn’t even realize he’d stopped mid-breath until the cider in his glass began warming in his hand.
Evie had come to a stop across the room at a different refreshments table, her back half-turned as she poured herself a glass of something sparkling. The movement made the fitted bodice shift ever so slightly, the line of her shoulders tilting in a way that drew his eyes lower, following the sweep of her waist into the fullness of the skirt.
If he hadn’t been so utterly fixed on her, he might have noticed the ripple of attention she was drawing from all directions—subtle, lingering glances from those nearest her, a couple of outright stares from braver onlookers. But Sebastian didn’t see any of that. He only saw her, every detail sharpening in his mind.
He didn’t even realize he was walking toward her until the crowd shifted, parting just enough to give him a clearer view.
When she looked up, hazel eyes lined in black finding Sebastian’s across the short distance, he was pretty sure his heart stopped. The air seemed to thin, the din of the room blurring into something distant and irrelevant.
He swallowed hard, forcing his shoulders back, willing his expression into something halfway composed. Relax, he told himself, even as the treacherous thump of his pulse insisted he was anything but.
He closed the last few steps between them, each one feeling heavier than it should have, as though the polished floor had decided to turn to molasses beneath his shoes.
“Evening,” Sebastian managed as he came to a stop before her.
Up close, the details hit harder—the faint shimmer dusted across Evie’s collarbones, the way the black petals along her skirt shifted when she moved, the ghost of her perfume curling through the air between them. It wasn’t fair. No one should be allowed to look like that and still breathe the same air as everyone else.
“Sebastian.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”
His lips quirked before he could stop them. “Couldn’t exactly miss the biggest event of the year, Sterling.”
Her smile deepened, a faint dimple appearing in her cheek. “Well, you clean up pretty good,” her eyes trailed down his torso then back up again. “I like your suit.”
Something warm and electric shot through him at the deliberate sweep of her gaze. “Yeah?”
Evie nodded, looking at him over her glass as she took a sip. He couldn’t tell if it was the artful sweep of blush or something else that gave her cheeks that faint, warm flush, but when she lowered her glass, her voice sounded just a touch too light.
“It… fits really well,” she told him.
Sebastian’s mouth twitched into something between a smirk and a sheepish grin, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Thanks. You, um. You look really great tonight. Great dress. Just… yeah, great.”
He immediately wanted to sink straight through the floor for how clumsy that had sounded, but instead he just stood there, forcing himself not to fidget. And to his surprise, a faint, almost shy smile tugged at her lips.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze dipping briefly to her drink before returning, briefly, to his face.
The moment stretched, warm and taut, neither of them in a rush to fill it.
“So,” Evie said at length, eyes darting anywhere but his, “did you come with a date?”
His brows lifted slightly at the question. “What? Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
Sebastian blinked once, then let out a low breath that hardly passed for a laugh. “No. Just me.”
Evie nodded, her gaze slipping to the side again, the stem of her glass rolling lightly between her fingers. “Right. Same.”
His brows drew together, the corner of his mouth tugging in something caught between surprise and disbelief. “Wha—you… really?”
Her head tilted, hazel eyes flicking back to him. “Yeah? Why?”
He gave a small, almost incredulous huff. “Well, you had quite a few invitations. I guess I just assumed…” Sebastian trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, but the implication hung there.
Evangeline shook her head, a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh slipping free. “Well… the right person didn’t ask me.”
Sebastian froze for a fraction of a second. He told himself not to read too much into it, there were lots of guys it could be, but the words lodged somewhere deep, igniting a spark of something warm and reckless in his chest.
“Oh?” His tone was light, but there was an edge of curiosity he couldn’t hide. “Did this guy… happen to come tonight?”
Her mouth quirked. “Yep,” she confirmed. “He’s here.”
Sebastian’s brow rose just slightly, but before he could push, she tilted her head, studying him for the briefest moment before speaking again. “It’s the same guy I told you about on Halloween, remember?”
That tugged at something in his memory—an image of her in that Aphrodite gown, leaning toward him across the din of the Salty Fiddle, describing this mystery man in a way that had stuck with him for weeks afterward.
He didn’t realize she remembered that conversation at all.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Right… yeah. I remember.”
She nodded slowly, the faintest crease appearing between her brows as though she were weighing something in her mind. Then, with a small exhale, she tipped back the last of her drink, the amber liquid catching the candlelight before disappearing past her lips. Setting the empty glass on the table, she gave a half-smile—one edged with a trace of self-deprecation.
“Anyways,” Evie went on, voice light but with an undertone he couldn’t quite read, “I guess we’re both flying solo tonight.”
His eyes searched hers, testing the waters, and when she didn’t look away, the tension in his shoulders loosened, replaced by a flicker of something warm and a touch reckless.
Sebastian let a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, and slowly, he extended his hand, palm open in quiet invitation.
“Well,” he drawled, “if you’re not occupied, why don’t we take a look around for your guy?”
The way her brows lifted—curious, maybe even a little amused—made his pulse kick just enough to remind him he was probably playing with fire. But for once, he didn’t care.
“If he sees you wearing that dress,” Sebastian went on, his grin tilting into something dangerously close to a smirk, “he might realize what an idiot he’s been not asking you himself.”
A spark of surprise flashed in Evie’s eyes. For a beat, she didn’t move, but finally she gave a little shake of her head—like she was surrendering to something—and slid her hand into his. The contact was immediate and sure, sending a current up his arm that no amount of “be chill” could smother.
“Alright, Sallow. Lead the way.”
Her hand was warm in his, her grip light but steady. It wasn’t lost on him that every so often, her thumb brushed lightly along his knuckles, not deliberate enough to be purposeful, but not careless either. He couldn’t decide if it was meant to steady herself as they navigated the crush of people, or if she knew exactly what she was doing.
They passed a long banquet table first, where platters of brownies and tiered cakes glistened under the lights. Evangeline eyed them with interest, reaching for something small and square from the nearest platter—three neat layers in shades of brown and pale yellow, topped with a glossy sheen of chocolate. Sebastian didn’t recognize it, though the way she eyed the dessert suggested it was something worth knowing.
Her nails, always painted red, were freshly manicured and tipped in a glossy black glitter that caught the light when she turned her hand. The shade matched her dress perfectly… and, he realized with a faint jolt, his suit as well.
She caught him looking, one brow arching in quiet amusement. “It’s a Nanaimo bar,” she explained before taking a generous bite. “Canadian classic.”
A soft hum of satisfaction slipped from her throat as she chewed, her eyes momentarily closing like the taste had settled something deep in her bones. When she opened them again, Sebastian’s gaze was fixed—not on the bar, but on the faint smear of chocolate left clinging to the corner of her mouth.
Without thinking, he reached out, brushing the pad of his thumb lightly over the spot. “You’ve got—”
Evie froze just enough for the moment to sharpen between them. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer than it needed to before he withdrew, bringing his thumb to his mouth in one smooth, unhurried motion. He tasted the faint sweetness, letting his gaze lock with hers as he did.
“—chocolate,” he finished, his voice lower now.
Her lips parted, just slightly, a breath catching like she wasn’t entirely sure to respond. In the end, she simply didn’t—just held his gaze, the faintest trace of colour blooming higher in her cheeks.
Sebastian’s pulse thudded in his ears, but he kept his expression deliberately even, like that little exchange hadn’t just lit a fuse somewhere under his ribs.
Evie cleared her throat, glancing back to the table as if the safest option was to pretend the air between them wasn’t suddenly charged. “You should try one.”
Sebastian’s mouth curved, the tension loosening just enough for him to step in beside her and reach for one of the neat little squares. He had a notorious sweet tooth, and if she was recommending it, well… there was no universe where he was saying no.
The chocolate shell cracked softly under his teeth, giving way to the creamy custard and chewy base beneath. He blinked, startled. “Bloody hell. That’s… actually incredible.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Told you.”
He went in for another bite, savoring it despite himself. “It’s got coconut in it, doesn’t it?”
“Mmhm,” she confirmed.
“I don’t usually like coconut,” Sebastian admitted, licking a smear of custard from his thumb, “but apparently I’ve been missing out.”
Evie smirked. “Guess I’ll have to start keeping a list of things you’re wrong about.”
Sebastian gave her a look, chewing slowly before swallowing. “That’s a dangerous list to start. You’ll never finish it.”
Her laugh was warm, light, and it slipped right under his skin before she tipped her head toward the edge of the room. “Come on.”
With that, they moved on, Evangeline’s arm slipping easily through his like it had always belonged there, her other hand resting lightly in the crook of his elbow as they continued their circuit of the room.
Across the hall, the rest of their friends had clustered near one of the tall windows, drinks now in hand, the picture of casual loitering. But Sebastian knew better.
The moment they noticed him and Evangeline, heads turned, expressions shifting from idle conversation to unrepentant interest. Jules spotted them first, his grin spreading into something positively wolfish before he lifted both hands to mime the most obscene gesture Sebastian had ever seen someone attempt at a formal event. Kymar, already half-laughing into his drink, added a slow, deliberate thumbs-up, while Seraphina just shook her head, though her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. Even Isabelle’s eyes glimmered with mischief over the rim of her wineglass.
Ethan, however, was another matter entirely. Leaning against the wall beside Jules, his gaze locked on them with all the warmth of a snowstorm.
Sebastian didn’t bother to hide the faint smirk that tugged at his mouth. If Ethan wanted to stew about it, he was more than happy to give him a reason.
“So,” Sebastian said, keeping his tone light, “have you seen him yet?”
Evangeline blinked up at him. “…Seen who?”
“You know, your guy.”
“Oh,” Her eyes widened with recognition and she laughed. “Uh. Yeah, yeah I did.”
Sebastian’s brow twitched upward, a flicker of something tightening in his chest. “Yeah?”
She nodded, lips curling as though she was trying not to give too much away. “Mmhm.”
“And?” he prompted, aiming for casual but hearing the faint strain under his own voice.
“And…” she drew the word out, gaze sweeping lazily across the room before coming back to him, “he looks really good tonight.”
That landed square in the center of him, sending his thoughts scattering like startled birds. He recovered quickly, at least outwardly, slipping into a half-smirk that felt safer than letting anything real show. “Oh yeah? Where was he?”
“I saw him when we were at the dessert table,” she explained, looking up at him through her lashes. “And again just a second ago.”
Sebastian’s mind immediately flipped back, retracing their path—the press of people near the banquet spread, the clink of glasses, the way she’d been standing so close he could feel her arm shift against him with every step.
“Right,” he said slowly. “So… he’s somewhere nearby, then?”
“You could say that.”
It took effort not to stare at her outright, not to demand the answer Sebastian was almost certain he already knew but didn’t quite believe. That it was him.
“Guess that means we’re on the right track.”
“Guess so,” Evie replied.
Just then, at the front of the room near the string ensemble, Headmistress Verrier stepped into view, her coppery gown catching the light in molten ribbons. She carried herself with the kind of presence that could silence a room without so much as raising her voice. A gentle clink of her glass was all it took—one crisp, chiming note that rippled through the crowd until conversations softened and the hall stilled.
“Faculty, staff, students—thank you for joining us this evening,” she began, her tone smooth and practiced, carrying easily to every corner of the room. She spoke of tradition, of Nivalis’s long history of extravagant events, weaving in a few words of praise for the committees who’d transformed Cascade Hall into something worthy of the word gala. There was polite applause, the kind that swelled and died neatly in under five seconds.
“And now,” Verrier concluded, lifting her hand toward the open floor at the center of the hall, “please join me in beginning the evening’s first dance.”
The quartet shifted seamlessly into a lilting waltz, the kind that curled like smoke through the air—soft, inviting, almost impossible to ignore. Around them, couples began moving toward the open space, skirts swishing, the low murmur of anticipation replacing the hush.
Sebastian’s heart thudded once, hard. He’d had plenty of chances since meeting Evangeline—little openings to make his intentions clear—and every single time, he’d let them slip through his fingers under the excuse of timing. But if he let this one pass…
He swallowed, nerves and determination tangling in his chest, and looked down at her. The warm light caught in her eyes, turning hazel into something richer, something that made his palms sweat.
“…Would you like to dance?” he asked. The words came out steadier than he felt, but then, because he needed the safety net of their earlier teasing, his mouth tugged into a smirk. “Might give us a better look out there for him.”
She looked up at him for a long moment—long enough that he wondered if he’d overplayed his hand, if she was about to laugh or tell him she’d promised the first dance to someone else. But then Evie smiled.
“Yeah,” she said at last, her voice soft. “Let’s go see if we can find him.”
Her fingers slid into his before he could second-guess himself, and Sebastian’s senses immediately sharpened like someone had turned a key in his chest. The heat of her palm, the deliberate curl of her fingers around his—it was a small thing, but it sent a rush of something heady through him. By the time they stepped onto the dance floor, he was acutely aware of every nerve ending he had.
His right hand settled at her waist. Her dress was soft beneath his palm, but underneath that was warmth, and underneath that was her—steady, alive, and right there.
Evangeline’s perfume was different tonight—sultrier, deeper than the light floral he was used to. It curled up with the heat of her skin and the faint whisper of her hair as it brushed his jaw during a turn, a scent meant for proximity. Meant for moments like this.
As they settled into the music, Sebastian made the mistake of glancing down. The neckline of her gown was already daring, and from this angle, with her close enough that the movement of her breathing was noticeable, it was even more distracting. The proximity of her body only made it worse—better—worse. Merlin, it was a problem either way. He dragged his eyes back up immediately, fixing them on hers with the kind of discipline usually reserved for keeping your wand steady in a duel.
Sebastian cleared his throat softly, more to shake himself than anything else, and shifted his hand just slightly on her waist as they turned.
“You’re a good dancer,” he commented, the words a little rougher than he intended.
Evie smiled. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” he replied quickly, then laughed softly. “Alright, maybe a little. I guess I didn’t expect you to be the waltzing type.”
“I guess I’m not,” Evie admitted, leaning back a touch to meet his eyes. “But back at the orphanage, there was a matron who’d make us practice dancing in the rec room every month. Half the time the boys just stomped on our toes for fun.”
Sebastian’s lips tugged into a grin. “So I should consider myself lucky you haven’t taken revenge yet?”
“Maybe I’m just biding my time,” she teased.
He huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t do much to settle the heat creeping through him. Her hand was small but firm against his shoulder, the faint press of her fingertips an anchor that somehow made the rest of the room blur.
“You’d give me a warning first, right?” he asked, angling them into another slow turn.
Her brows lifted in mock consideration. “Mmm… probably not.”
Sebastian laughed against her hair, but the sound caught when she moved—slipping her hand from his, fingertips brushing along his arm before both hands slid around the back of his neck.
The shift pulled her flush against him, no polite buffer left between them. His free hand found her waist automatically, fingers splaying wider than was strictly necessary, the soft curve beneath making it hard to remember what they’d even spoken about a second ago.
The press of her to his front was dizzying—every breath, every faint sway of her body syncing with his. Her head settled against his shoulder, the heat of her cheek bleeding through the fabric of his jacket.
And maybe he was reading too much into it, but it felt deliberate—like she’d chosen this closeness on purpose. Like she was saying something without a single word.
It was enough to nudge his suspicion into something closer to certainty that maybe the man they’d been looking for was already holding her.
He knew he was walking a razor’s edge here. One wrong move, one misread signal, and he’d ruin everything. But the thing about edges was… sometimes you had to lean.
Sebastian drew in a slow breath. “So,” he said, “…have you seen your guy out here?”
For a second, Evangeline didn’t move, like she was content to let the question drift unanswered. But then, deliberately, she lifted her head.
It was such a small motion, but it changed everything; suddenly she was right there, her face so close that he could count the faint flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.
Her gaze held his, steady at first… and then it shifted, softening into something quieter. The corner of her mouth curved, not in her usual quick, confident smile, but in a small, almost tentative one—like she was offering him something fragile.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’ve got a pretty good view of him right now.”
A rush of relief swelled in Sebastian’s chest so abruptly it almost hurt, and yet disbelief still clung stubbornly to the edges, tugging at him like a last tether to caution.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he managed. “Lot of blokes in here tonight.”
Colour bloomed higher in Evangeline’s cheeks as she leaned back to meet his eyes again, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“You,” she said simply.
For a split second, the word didn’t quite land. Or maybe it landed too well—hitting so squarely that every thought Sebastian had been trying to keep in neat little lines scattered at once. His next step in the waltz came half a beat late, and he had to tighten his hold at her waist to keep them from tangling feet.
Merlin, she really was talking about him.
“You—” He broke off, a laugh escaping him in disbelief. “You seriously like me?”
Her smile widened just slightly. “How could I not?”
And just like that, every thought he’d been dancing around for weeks—months—came slamming into focus.
This girl.
This gorgeous, maddening, sexy, clever, wonderful girl. The one who’d been threading her way into his thoughts since the moment he met her. The one he’d been losing sleep over, catching himself staring at, and replaying conversations with. The one he’d imagined—Merlin help him—far too vividly, far too often, in ways that made him grateful for the privacy of his four poster bed.
She liked him. Actually, genuinely, wanted him.
He searched her face for any sign she might be joking, but all he found was real, unguarded softness. The flush along her cheekbones. The subtle way her lashes lowered and lifted, like she couldn’t quite hold his gaze for too long. And Merlin, was she… bashful? Evangeline Sterling, who could duel him onto his ass in five minutes flat, was in his arms looking… shy.
Her gaze darted to his, then away again, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet enough that he might have missed it if they weren’t so close.
“Do you…” She paused, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. “…Do you feel the same?”
“Do I feel the same?” Sebastian echoed. A faint, incredulous laugh escaped him, the kind that carried too much truth to hide. “Evie, I’m—” He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe they were here, having this conversation. “I’m so far gone on you it’s not even funny.”
He tightened his hold on her waist without thinking, drawing her a fraction closer. “I mean, honestly, I’m not sure how you didn’t notice,” he added. “Everyone else apparently has.”
Evangeline huffed a quiet laugh, avoiding his eye. “I didn’t want to assume.”
“Well,” Sebastian said, his voice low and warm, “consider this your official confirmation.”
Her head tilted, eyes flicking back to his, and Sebastian let his grin fade into something more honest. “I’ve basically had feelings for you since day one,” he admitted. “Didn’t even stand a chance, really.”
That earned him another soft laugh, the kind that curled around him and settled somewhere deep. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”
He let out a quiet breath. Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. Right here, in the middle of the floor, dancing be damned. He wanted to see if she tasted like the chocolate on her lips earlier, wanted to feel the way she’d fit against him if he just—
The song’s final notes drifted into the air, the applause of the room breaking the spell just enough for him to remember where they were. Her arms lingered around him, though, and she didn’t seem in a hurry to step away.
It wasn’t until the music shifted into something brighter, quicker, the tempo pulling other couples back into motion, that they finally seemed to remember themselves. The spell broke, but only just; her arms loosened slowly, like she wasn’t entirely ready to let go.
Sebastian gazed down at her, enraptured. He cleared his throat.
“You really do look…” He had to pause, almost as if admitting it aloud might knock the breath from him. “…unbelievable.”
Her lips parted, like she might tease him for the sudden sincerity, but instead, her expression softened, and that small, shy smile returned,
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You, um. You look…” Her gaze flicked briefly over him, and she seemed to search for the right word, her brows drawing together in faint concentration. “…very handsome, Sebastian” she finished at last, the corner of her mouth tugging upward like she was half-embarrassed to admit it.
Sebastian’s brows shot up, and for a moment he just looked at her, utterly caught off guard.
“Handsome?” he repeated.
Her cheeks warmed, and she tried for a casual shrug. “Yeah, you know… you’ve got those shoulders and that… that face, and those freckles—”
“You like my freckles?”
Evangeline’s eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t meant to admit that part out loud. “Well, I—” She faltered, then gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
He felt his grin tug at the corners of his mouth before he could stop it. “That’s a relief, ‘cause I’ve got a million of them.”
“A million?” Evangeline arched her brow. “You’ve counted all the freckles on your face?”
Sebastian’s grin sharpened, taking on that unmistakable wolfish edge that always meant trouble.
“Well, they’re not just on my face, Evangeline.”
Her eyes went wide for a split second before colour rushed to her cheeks, blooming warm against her skin.
“Sebastian,” she hissed under her breath, swatting his arm. The corners of her mouth twitched despite her best efforts to look scandalised.
“What? You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I did not!”
Sebastian’s smirk only deepened, mischief flickering bright in his eyes. “Alright, we’ll call it a difference of perspective, then. Agree to disagree.”
Her lips curved, though she tried to press them into something stern, and before she could fire back, a pair of students laughing too loudly spun past, nearly knocking into them. Sebastian instinctively tightened his grip on Evie’s waist, steadying her. For the briefest moment, his hand lingered there—warm, protective, reluctant to let go—before he eased back just enough to meet her gaze.
“Maybe,” he began, tilting his head toward the crowd, “we should get out of the middle of the stampede.”
“Where did you have in mind?”
He let his gaze sweep briefly over the swirling crowd before returning to her with a smile that was far too innocent to be trusted. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can actually hear each other without risking a broken nose from an overenthusiastic dance.”
Evangeline narrowed her eyes, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “Somewhere quieter,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, his tone casual. “You know, somewhere I don’t have to fight for your attention over a string quartet.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “Right, of course.”
“What?” Sebastian asked. “You think I’ve got some ulterior motive?”
Evangeline just rolled her eyes and reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Go on, then.”
He grinned, his fingers closing around hers without hesitation. “See? Look at that—trust,” he said, giving her fingers a light squeeze.
She cast him a sidelong glance, the kind that made it very clear she wasn’t giving him that much credit. “Trust isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, her tone laced with dry amusement. “More like… curiosity. Morbid curiosity.”
He chuckled, angling them around a pair of chattering Cervalaires as they neared the tall arched doors at the side of the hall.
Together, they stepped through the exit, the noise of Cascade Hall fading to a muted hum behind them. The corridor beyond was cooler, dimly lit by sconces that threw soft gold across the stone walls.
Sebastian was just about to make some quip about finally being able to hear himself think when a familiar figure appeared at the far end of the hall, heading straight toward them.
Ethan.
His gaze flicked first to Evie, lingering there for a fraction too long, before sliding to Sebastian with something sharper. “Didn’t expect to see you two sneaking off together,” he commented, his tone light on the surface but weighted underneath.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened but he kept his tone light. “Just trying to avoid getting trampled on the dance floor. You’d be surprised how dangerous a poorly timed spin can be.”
Ethan’s brow arched, like he wasn’t buying it for a second. “Right.” His gaze flicked back to Evie, and there was something in it—something too raw to be entirely hidden. “You’ve been hard to catch tonight, E… Was hoping we could talk for a bit. Alone.”
Evangeline’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly in Sebastian’s.
“Well, um… yeah, of course we can talk, but now’s… now’s not a great time, Ethan.”
Ethan’s jaw ticked, his eyes flicking to their joined hands for a beat too long. “Doesn’t have to take long. Just five minutes. I think we could both use it.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “She said now’s not a great time.”
Ethan’s gaze snapped back to him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Guys, please—”
“I was just making sure you heard her correctly,” Sebastian replied smoothly.
“I heard her. I just don’t think she needs you answering on her behalf.”
“And I don’t think she needs you breathing down her neck,” Sebastian replied coolly. “If she wanted to talk to you, she would.”
Ethan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Funny, considering you’ve only been here a few months and I’ve known her for years. You don’t know her as well as—”
“Enough!”
Sebastian felt Evangeline’s fingers slip from his, the loss immediate. She stepped forward, shoulders squared, planting herself squarely between him and Ethan.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, and there was no softness in her tone now—just clean, precise frustration. “Both of you.”
Sebastian kept his mouth shut, though his jaw stayed tight, watching the way her gaze flicked between them, pinning each of them in turn.
“I care about you both,” she went on, “but this—” she gestured between them sharply “—isn’t some kind of competition. It’s not a pissing contest to see who can posture harder in a hallway. Sebastian, I don’t need you speaking for me, and I don’t need you,” her eyes locked onto Ethan, “acting like you’ve got some kind of claim over me because you’ve known me longer.”
Ethan’s jaw worked, but she didn’t give him room to cut in.
“I care about you, Ethan. A lot. But I am so tired of feeling like I have to protect your feelings! I don’t feel that way about you, and I never have!”
Her voice reverberated down the hallway, and Sebastian could see the hurt in Ethan’s expression now, even if he was trying hard to mask it.
“I’m with Sebastian because I like him,” she went on, every word deliberate, unflinching. “Not because I’m confused, not because you didn’t try hard enough, and definitely not because I just haven’t ‘figured it out yet’. I’ve known exactly how I feel for a long time, and if we’re really friends, you’ll accept that.”
For a moment, the only sound was the music bleeding through the doors behind them. Sebastian stood perfectly still, watching Ethan—watching the way Evangeline’s words hit and settled, like a punch he’d been half-bracing for but hadn’t expected to land quite so squarely.
Ethan’s mouth opened, then closed again. His eyes lingered on Evangeline like he was searching for some softening, some space to argue—but she didn’t give him any. Finally, he nodded once, short and tight, the kind of gesture that said he’d heard her but hadn’t decided what to do with it yet.
“Alright,” he said quietly. And then, without another word, he turned on his heel and headed down the corridor, ducking out of sight.
Sebastian didn’t move until Ethan’s footsteps faded completely, the echo swallowed by the stone walls. Only then did he let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“I… I’m sorry,” He glanced down at Evie. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have spoken for you. I just—when he started pushing, I didn’t like the way he…” He trailed off, jaw tightening, not quite trusting himself to put the rest into words.
Evie’s expression softened, but she didn’t step back into his space yet. “I know. And I appreciate you wanting to… defend me. But I’ve been dealing with this for years. If I don’t set the boundaries myself, he’s never going to hear them.”
Sebastian nodded once, the truth of it settling in his chest. “Alright. Point taken.”
For a beat, they stood there in the dim corridor. Then Evangeline reached for his hand.
“Still,” she murmured. “I guess it was kind of nice. Knowing you wanted to stick up for me.”
Sebastian’s gaze dropped to where her fingers lingered against his, and he caught the subtle shift in her tone—less frustration now, more warmth seeping through. “Wanted to?” he echoed, tilting his head. “Evie, I would’ve kicked his ass if you’d asked me.”
Her mouth twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through despite herself. “Yeah,” she said softly, “I know.” She shook her head, a small laugh escaping. “That’s sort of the problem.”
Sebastian huffed, half laugh, half sigh. “Guess I’ll just have to work on my restraint, then.”
“You’ll try to work on it,” she corrected.
He curled his fingers fully around hers. “I’ll try,” he agreed, though they both knew it was a promise he’d probably break the second Ethan so much as looked at her wrong again.
They stood there for a moment longer, the muffled music behind them a distant thrum, the rest of the castle hushed. Her eyes met his, steady now, no trace of the earlier storm. Sebastian gave her hand a gentle tug, angling his body toward the shadowed stretch of hallway ahead.
“Come on,” he murmured.
Evie’s hand stayed in his as they walked, their steps echoing softly through the mostly empty corridors. The further they got from Cascade Hall, the quieter everything became. The sconces along the way cast pools of amber light that caught in Evangeline’s hair, and Sebastian found himself glancing at her more than the path ahead.
They rounded a corner, and the corridor opened up toward the glass-paneled doors that led to one of the castle’s balconies. Outside, the night air glittered faintly with snow, the distant sound of the tide reaching up from far below. Sebastian slowed when they approached the doors—every one of them sealed firmly shut.
Not that Evangeline looked particularly concerned. In fact, she stopped just short of the nearest window, a sly little half-smile tugging at her mouth.
“What?” Sebastian asked, eyeing her with suspicion.
She didn’t reply, just retrieved her wand from a pocket in her skirt and, with a sidelong glance at Sebastian, tapped the tip against the frame. A muted click followed, and the pane shifted just enough for her to curl her fingers under the latch and push it outward.
Cold air spilled in immediately, curling around them in a rush. The scent of snow and distant pine filled Sebastian’s lungs. He stared at Evie for a moment, caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous—an ache low in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold. Merlin, she was trouble. Clever, audacious, beautiful trouble.
“...You’re telling me all these doors are warded shut, but the windows aren’t?”
“Not nearly well enough, no,” Evangeline replied, sounding far too pleased with herself. “They probably think no one’s ridiculous enough to climb out this way. Now, are you coming or not?”
There wasn’t a force on earth that could’ve made Sebastian say no.
He followed her without hesitation, bracing one hand on the frame as he climbed out after her. The stone ledge beyond was covered in snow, the air instantly biting at his cheeks and nose. The cold stung, sharp enough to steal his breath.
Below them, the cliffs plunged toward the black expanse of the Gulf, moonlight rippling silver across the water’s surface. Far out, the faint white line of waves broke against dark stone, the sound carrying up the rock face in a low, endless hush. Above, the stars burned sharp and clear—more than he could ever count—each one vivid against the velvet sweep of the winter sky.
Evie was already leaning against the stone balustrade, fingers curled around the edge as she gazed out over the water, the wind tugging at her hair.
Sebastian joined her, stepping close enough that the warmth of her shoulder brushed against his arm. For a moment, he didn’t even bother pretending to look at the view—at least, not the one she was looking at. The snow-covered night might have been breathtaking, but she was something else entirely.
“So,” Evie began, eyes tracing the outline of the mountains beyond. “…What do you think?”
“Beautiful.”
Her head turned just enough for her eyes to meet his, and the faintest crease formed between her brows when she realized he wasn’t looking at the mountains at all. The corners of her mouth curved upward, a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh slipping out.
“I meant the view.”
“I did too,” Sebastian replied easily.
Evangeline snorted softly, shaking her head as she turned back toward the horizon. “Merlin, you’re cheesy.”
Sebastian let the smallest grin tug at his mouth. “Maybe, but you don’t seem to mind.”
Her lips pressed together like she was fighting a smile, but it broke through anyway, warm and unguarded. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I don’t.”
The admission hung between them, small and simple, but it settled somewhere deep, wrapping around Sebastian’s ribs and tightening until he could hardly draw breath.
He’d imagined a moment like this more times than he could count—on late nights when sleep refused to come, in quiet pauses between conversations, even mid-class when his mind should’ve been anywhere but her. He’d wondered what her lips would taste like, what she’d feel like leaning into him, if the reality could possibly live up to the aching, maddening way he’d built it in his head.
And now, with her standing so close that the heat from her arm seeped through the chill in the air, with the moonlight laying silver across her hair and that unguarded smile still curving her mouth, he knew he wasn’t going to imagine anymore.
His gaze dropped to her lips before he could stop himself, and the smallest flicker of awareness crossed her face, like she’d caught the shift in him.
“Evie…” His voice came out lower than he intended, rougher, like he’d been holding it in too long. She looked at him then, really looked, and he saw it there—permission, yes, but something more. Want.
Sebastian didn’t remember deciding to close the distance. One heartbeat, there was cold air between them, and the next, he was leaning in.
The first press of his mouth to hers was slow, almost cautious, as if he still half-expected her to change her mind. But when she sighed into him, tilting her head to meet him, the tension in his chest broke all at once.
Her lips were soft, warm despite the cold nipping at their skin, and she tasted faintly of the chocolate they’d eaten earlier. The wind swept around them, tugging at his jacket and her hair, but none of it mattered—he was too wrapped up in the way she leaned into him, her free hand coming up to lightly grip his tie.
The kiss deepened by degrees, unhurried but certain, the kind of pace that made it clear neither of them was in any rush to let go. Her fingers tightened, pulling him just that little bit closer, like she couldn’t stand even the inch of space left between them. The shift made something in him jolt—God, she wanted this. Not just wanted, but needed.
Evangeline’s other hand slid up his chest, gripping at the lapel of his jacket in a way that felt almost greedy. Every time his mouth moved against hers, she answered in kind—no hesitation, no testing the waters now. She kissed him back like she’d been holding herself still for far too long and had finally, blessedly, decided to stop.
Sebastian had done this before—more times than he cared to count. Girls in dim corners of pubs, stolen kisses in empty classrooms, quick, heated encounters that left nothing behind.
But none of it had ever felt like this.
None of it had ever left him with the distinct, gut-level certainty that if he lived a hundred years, he’d still remember the exact way she tasted right now. That if he spent the rest of his life kissing her, he’d still never get enough.
When they finally broke away, it was only by a breath. Sebastian’s forehead rested lightly against hers, each of them drawing in the same sharp lungful of winter air, their exhales curling together in the space between. Her eyes were still closed, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, and for a moment, he simply watched her, the pale moonlight painting her in silver.
“Wow,” she whispered.
Sebastian felt his own smile pull at the corner of his mouth, though his chest was still tight, his pulse still drumming in his ears. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with the truth of it. “Wow.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, the cold forgotten entirely. Then, with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, Evie brushed her thumb along his jaw and eased back.
Her gaze lingered on him, searching, as if she was tucking every detail of this moment away for herself; Sebastian’s wind-tousled hair, the pink on his cheeks from the cold, the way he was still breathing just a little too fast. And it struck him then how fiercely he wanted her to keep looking at him like that.
He swallowed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m never going to forget this.”
Evie’s smile gentled. “Good,” she murmured. “Neither will I.”
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Author Note: I apologize for not having the exact list of OC's mentioned in the following chapters - I'm just trying to get chapters posted to catch the story back up to fit with the current seasonal timeline! With that said, all OCs mentioned in this story can be found here!
Banished from the only lives they’ve ever known, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt seek refuge at Nivalis, Canada’s school of witchcraft and wizardry. But fresh beginnings are fragile, and as new loves and friendships take root, something ancient and ravenous awakens in the northern wilderness.
Series Tags: Modern AU, Original AU, OC-based, Post-Hogwarts, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Slow Burn Romance, Second Chances, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Folklore, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending
Series Content Warnings: Mild Horror, Mild Gore
Collaborators/Beta-Readers: @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30
True North is a collaborative project that brings together original characters from talented creators across the Hogwarts Legacy fandom. Click here to meet them all!
➤ Learn more about Nivalis lore here.
➤ Find your House with the Sorting Quiz.
Late November
Cascade Hall was loud enough to almost feel normal again, though Sebastian knew better. The laughter, the easy chatter, the scrape of cutlery against plates—it was all just a thin layer over something brittle. They weren’t allowed to go to Moosehead anymore. The birds were still dying in droves. And every few days, another animal carcass was found on the grounds.
At least no one else had died or gone missing. Small mercies.
Evangeline sat across from him, head tilted slightly as she laughed at something Bee had just said about Dorian. Her hair fell forward over her shoulder, catching the warm light. Sebastian had to drag his eyes back to his plate before she caught him staring.
She hadn’t broken Professor Sky’s door down yet—not for lack of wanting to. Instead, she’d made a concession to patience, agreeing to dig through the library and less-legitimate corners of the internet before confronting Sky for answers. Sebastian had volunteered to help, partly because he was curious and partly because it meant she might not get herself expelled before they actually learned anything useful. Still, he could feel the tension in her, like a spring wound too tight. She wouldn’t wait forever.
The group was deep into a postmortem of last night’s hockey game between Cervalaire and Lochenne, arguing over whether the winning goal had been a lucky shot or a deliberate set play. Dorian had just made a particularly cutting jab about Lochenne’s defense when Headmistress Verrier rose at the staff table. Conversations dipped into a murmur before quieting altogether, and she let her gaze sweep the room like she was weighing each of them in turn.
“I know,” she began, “that the last month has been difficult. For all of us. You’ve been patient, resilient, and steadfast under circumstances I wish none of you had to endure. And though safety remains our first priority, I believe it is equally important to remember that Nivalis is not only a place of learning, but a community. A home.”
Her voice warmed slightly, though her eyes still carried that sharp, headmistress glint.
“To that end, I am pleased to announce that the school will host a Winter Ball next month. Upper years, fifth through eighth, will have their celebration on the fifteenth of December. Lower years, first through fourth, will have theirs the following evening.”
A ripple of surprise and excitement moved through the hall like a breeze rustling dry leaves.
Sebastian knew exactly what this was—a distraction, a morale boost, something to plaster over the cracks and make people feel safe enough to relax. But judging by the way people were already turning to each other with wide-eyed grins, it was working.
“This is, of course, a formal event,” Verrier continued. “Your attire should suit the occasion. As Moosehead excursions remain suspended, any students needing help acquiring suitable clothing may speak with Professors Koenraad, Northweather, Linwood, or Clay, who are overseeing the event.”
A fresh wave of conversation broke out as soon as Verrier stepped back, the volume in Cascade Hall swelling like a tide rushing in. All around him, voices overlapped, and the air practically shimmered with new energy. Even Willow, who had been uncharacteristically quiet through most of dinner, leaned in to Evangeline with a bright grin.
“Well, that’s something,” she said, already fishing her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling it now—green dress.”
“Calling it for yourself or for Evie?” Dorian teased, earning himself a jab in the ribs from Willow’s elbow.
Evangeline only rolled her eyes, though Sebastian caught the faint tug at the corner of her mouth. She was already being pulled into the group’s chatter about who would be brave enough to spike the punch and what the music might be like. The conversation rolled over itself in layers, a dozen threads tangling and splitting again, and for a moment Sebastian let himself simply watch her—hands gesturing as she spoke, eyes bright in the warm light.
He could almost forget, for a moment, what they’d been dealing with the last few weeks. Almost.
At the far end of the table, Ethan had leaned forward, his forearms braced on the wood as he asked Evangeline something. Whatever she said made him grin, and Sebastian found himself shoving a piece of bread into his mouth before his expression could give him away.
The topic inevitably shifted to shopping, and groans went up at the reminder that nobody would be able to browse in person.
“Ordering a suit online seems risky,” Kymar said from further down the table, pulling out his phone. “But Northcurrent Outfitters does free shipping for students if you use your student ID as a code at checkout.”
“Northcurrent?” Bee made a face. “If you want to look like you’re going ice fishing, sure. I’m thinking Mireille’s Boutique, or maybe Ether & Thread—”
“Those are in Ottawa, Bee,” Dorian cut in. “You’ll get your dress by Easter. They do their shipping by moose, not owl.”
The debate spread quickly. Suggestions bounced from high-end magical boutiques to secondhand robe shops that could be glamoured for the night. Seraphina swore up and down that a shop called Frost & Fern in Montreal could have custom orders delivered in under a week. Isabelle argued that the better strategy was to find something plain and transfigure it into something couture.
Jules pointed out that if you didn’t mind the gamble, Spellsy had hundreds of sellers offering gowns and suits straight from their home workrooms, though you had to be ready for “handmade charm”. Willow countered with Charmazon, where you could buy directly from warehouses and have your order shipped overnight—just don’t buy anything that doesn't have at least a 4.5 star rating.
Sebastian only half listened, his fork idly tracing lines in the gravy on his plate. His attention kept drifting across the table, to where Evangeline was leaning in to hear Ethan over the din. She nodded at something he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, and that same uncomfortable stone settled heavy in Sebastian’s chest.
He forced his gaze away, pretending to study the scuffed wood of the table. He wanted to ask her to be his date. Of course he did. The thought had come to mind the moment the words Winter Ball left Verrier’s mouth. But wanting to ask her and actually doing it were two entirely different things. Timing mattered—and now wasn’t the time. Not with Ethan leaning toward her like he already had the idea in his own head.
Ominis shifted beside him, his expression unreadable to anyone else but Sebastian. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured.
“Just tired,” Sebastian replied automatically.
“Right.”
Sebastian stabbed a piece of potato with more force than necessary. “Still good to head to the library after this?”
“Of course.” Ominis inclined his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Unless you’ve suddenly decided you have better plans.”
Sebastian gave him a pointed look, shoving another bite of food into his mouth to avoid answering.
“I’m ready when you are,” Ominis continued, setting down his fork and wiping his hands. “Though I’m not convinced you’ll actually get any reading done.”
Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his own fork down with a quiet clink. “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
Ominis’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t comment. Yet.
Sebastian pushed back from the bench, standing just as Evangeline turned her head toward Seraphina, already drawn into another thread of conversation. He tamped down the urge to linger and instead reached for his bag. “We’ll be in the library if anyone wants to join,” he called to the group.
“Pass,” Dorian said without looking up.
“Suit yourself,” Sebastian shot back, and with that, he and Ominis made for the hall.
The noise faded behind them, replaced by the soft echo of their footsteps along the corridor. When they were far enough from the doors that their voices wouldn’t carry, Ominis spoke, casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
“So, are you going to ask Evie to the Winter Ball, or do you plan on just sulking about it?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—” He broke off. “I’m not sulking.”
“It was announced like ten minutes ago and you’re already miserable,” Ominis observed. “It’s impressive, really. Most people wait at least a day before wallowing.”
Sebastian shot him a sidelong glare. “You going to ask Willow, then?”
“...Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. I’m making conversation.”
“I… yes, I intend to ask when the moment is right.” Ominis’s mouth twitched like he’d just given something away he hadn’t meant to. “Which, I might add, is a moment I won’t miss because I was too busy brooding over imagined competition.”
Sebastian gave a low scoff, glancing down the length of the corridor. “It’s not imagined. Ethan is obsessed with her.”
“Everyone knows she doesn’t have feelings for him,” Ominous countered smoothly. “So I don’t see how them sharing conversation is the grave threat you seem to think it is.”
Sebastian’s lips pressed into a flat line. “It’s not just ‘sharing conversation’. He was asking her about the dance.”
“So?” Ominis gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “People talk. If every boy who asked her a question was a threat, you’d have to hex half the school by now.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Sebastian muttered as they turned a corner.
Ominis slowed his pace just enough to angle his head toward him. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. If you want to take her, ask her. If you wait too long, someone else will fill the space you’ve left.”
Sebastian didn’t respond immediately. The steady rhythm of their footsteps echoed between the stone walls, the scent of parchment and candle wax growing stronger as the library entrance came into view.
“She might not even say yes,” Sebastian grumbled.
Ominis didn’t hesitate. “She will.”
“You sound awfully sure.”
“That’s because I am.”
Sebastian pulled the heavy oak door open, holding it just long enough for Ominis to follow him inside. The familiar hush of the library met them immediately.
At the front desk, Librarian Augustus Voclain stood beside a younger assistant, both bent over a small cart stacked high with newly arrived books. Augustus’s dark hair was pulled back, a pencil tucked behind one ear as he murmured something to his assistant, fingers moving with swift precision as they sorted the pile into neat piles.
Sebastian wove between tables, heading for a corner where the shelves created a half-enclosed nook. He dropped his bag onto a chair and sat, leaning back with a quiet exhale. Ominis settled across from him, folding his hands over his wand and waiting, his silence more pointed than any question.
Sebastian rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay, look. It’s not that I think she’d say no because of Ethan,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. “She’s already told me she’s not interested in him. And—” he hesitated, eyes flicking toward the far shelves, “I mean… I’m pretty sure she likes me… at least, I think she does.”
Ominis tilted his head. “So the problem is…?”
Sebastian let out a frustrated sigh. “The problem is we haven’t actually talked about any of it. We’re… close, but—” He shook his head. “I don’t want to assume something’s there just because I want it to be.”
“...You’d rather drive yourself mad overanalyzing every look and word until the night of the ball, when you’ll be forced to watch someone else dance with her?”
Sebastian’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “When you put it like that, it sounds pathetic.”
“That’s because it is pathetic,” Ominis said mildly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not in fourth year anymore.”
Sebastian reached into his bag, pulling out a battered notebook and a stack of textbooks. One landed on the table with a dull thump—An Annotated Compendium of Indigenous Folklore and Magical Cryptids—its spine creased from thumbing through the same handful of pages. He flipped it open to the Wendigo chapter, letting the dense text and charcoal sketches serve as a convenient barrier between himself and Ominis’s steady, sightless gaze.
“So,” Sebastian said, keeping his tone deliberately casual as he uncapped his ink bottle, “what’s your plan, then?”
“My plan?” Ominis asked, one brow lifting.
“For asking Willow to the ball.” Sebastian clarified as he dipped his quill. “Since you’re such an expert, I assume you’ve got something in mind.”
Ominis’s mouth twitched, the faintest tell that Sebastian had landed a hit.
“Of course I have something in mind,” he replied evenly, though a faint flush crept up his neck—subtle enough that most would miss it, but not Sebastian.
Sebastian’s quill paused mid-stroke, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Merlin, you’re nervous.”
“I am not nervous,” Ominis said crisply, though the slight stiffness in his posture gave him away.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, enjoying himself, now. “Right. So, what are you not-nervously planning, then?”
Ominis exhaled through his nose, unamused. “Willow isn’t the sort to appreciate a spectacle. She’d hate being asked in front of an audience. And frankly, I’d hate it, as well.”
Sebastian made a show of nodding seriously. “No grand gestures, then. I’ll cross off the idea of hiring the Duelling Club to spell out Will you go to the Winter Ball with me? in midair for you.”
“That’s not funny,” Ominis deadpanned, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Something private. Sincere. I’ll find the right moment when it’s just the two of us.”
“Romantic,” Sebastian drawled, setting his quill down and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Are you planning to wait until the night before just to keep the tension at peak levels?”
“Patience is a virtue, Sebastian. One you might consider learning before you work yourself into a state.”
Sebastian snorted. “Patience is just procrastination in a nicer suit.”
Ominis rolled his eyes, the motion laced with the kind of long-suffering patience he seemed to reserve exclusively for Sebastian. “You have an answer for everything,” he muttered, leaning back slightly in his chair. Then his tone shifted, smoothing into something more businesslike. “How’s the Wendigo research going?”
“Slow,” Sebastian admitted. “Every source we’ve dug up is either tangled in folklore or flat-out contradicts the last. Some insist they’re cursed humans, starved into cannibalism; others swear they’re spirits that slip into the bodies of the desperate. And as for what actually kills them, no one can seem to agree. Not surprising, really, when all the credible material is locked away in the restricted section. The rest of what we’ve got reads more like ghost stories told around a campfire than anything resembling proper field notes.” He traced a thumb along the edge of the page, eyes catching on a spindly charcoal sketch of a gaunt, antlered figure glaring back at him.
“I don’t understand why it’s a restricted topic,” Ominis mused, his voice dipping low. “It’s not as if keeping the information locked away has made the threat disappear.” His fingers tapped lightly against the table in a slow, even rhythm, a habit that surfaced when he was mulling something over. “If anything, ignorance makes people more vulnerable. They don’t know what signs to look for, what to avoid… or how to defend themselves if it comes to that.”
Sebastian turned a page, the paper crackling faintly. “Maybe that’s exactly why it’s restricted. If they admit it exists, they have to admit they can’t control it. Easier to pretend it’s just a legend than to explain why people go missing in the woods and never come back.” His gaze lingered on another grim illustration—this one of skeletal hands emerging from snow, the figure’s elongated limbs disappearing into a tangle of winter-bare trees. “Besides, if they actually confirmed any of this, they’d have to answer some uncomfortable questions about the school’s proximity to the forest.”
A faint, humourless huff escaped Ominis. “Merlin forbid the Ministry look incompetent.” He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head toward the sound of Sebastian’s quill scratching across the page. “Have you found anything that’s at least consistent between the accounts?”
Sebastian nodded faintly. “Two things. One: every account agrees it’s drawn to desperation. Hunger, grief, isolation, et cetera. And two—” he tapped the open page, “—fire. Whether it’s the only way to kill it or just something that slows it down, it’s in almost every story.”
“Which makes sense,” Ominis murmured. “Fire’s the natural opposite of cold and ice—it draws the line between life and death in such climates. But that means we’d have to get close enough to the Wendigo to use it. Hardly an encouraging prospect.”
Sebastian’s eyes lingered on the page. “Yeah, well, none of this is encouraging,” he said quietly. “Every account we’ve found talks about it hunting in deep snow or during storms, but we’ve had none of that. Either it’s adapting or it doesn’t care about the rules the old stories laid out.”
Ominis’s expression tightened, his fingers stilling against the tabletop. “Or the rules were never rules to begin with, just patterns someone thought they saw. That’s the danger with oral history: the truth gets buried under layers of assumption until it’s more fiction than fact.”
Sebastian hummed in agreement, frowning. “I know. And Evangeline knows it too. She isn’t going to hold off much longer, Ominis, and honestly, I can’t blame her.”
“Unless Evie confronts Sky with proof, she’ll just deny it, you know that.”
“How much more proof do we need?” Sebastian countered. “Dead birds, animal carcasses, frostbite, death… I mean it’s a bloody checklist at this point.”
Ominis’s jaw tightened. “We need proof that can’t be explained by anything else. Something that could only be a Wendigo.”
Sebastian sighed heavily, slamming the book shut and earning a few glances from nearby students.
“Like what?” Sebastian snapped, the frustration bleeding through despite his effort to keep his voice down. “We need the restricted section to get the real information—details, patterns, whatever might point us toward undeniable proof—but we can’t get in there without proof first.” He shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a sharp exhale. “So what are we supposed to do? Wait until it drags another student into the woods so we can say, ‘Oh look, there’s your evidence’? That’s bollocks, Ominis.”
Ominis’s expression didn’t waver, but the faint crease between his brows deepened. “...The question is, how did it drag Grace into the woods in the first place?”
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, Ominis’s question looping in his head. It was a good point. Everyone had been so caught up in the aftermath, in asking Grace what she’d seen and marveling at how she was still alive, that no one had really stopped to consider the most unsettling part: how she’d ended up in the Greenwood.
The castle’s exterior doors had been sealed with layers of protective charms, and even without them, no one in their right mind was setting foot near the trees unless they had a death wish. Grace least of all. From what her friends had said in hushed, shaken voices, she’d been terrified of the forest since September. So what had changed? What could have been strong enough to override that fear, to make her step willingly into the cold and keep going until she was beyond the safety of the castle?
His mind was still circling the possibilities when a familiar voice sliced through his concentration, scattering the thought like startled birds.
Evie.
He looked up instinctively, and there she was, walking in through the far doors with Ethan glued to her side. The other boy was leaning close, speaking animatedly, his expression lit with easy charm. Evie’s head was tilted toward him in that polite, attentive way she had, her lips curved in a small smile that Sebastian couldn’t quite read from this distance. Ethan’s shoulder brushed hers as they moved through the library, close enough that Sebastian’s jaw clenched before he could stop it.
A quiet snort came from across the table.
Sebastian’s eyes flicked to Ominis, who was smirking faintly in their direction. “Ethan’s pestering her about what colour her dress will be,” he murmured.
Sebastian frowned. “How the hell did you hear that?”
“Relax,” Ominis said dryly, tilting his head just enough to catch the thread of sound again. “I don’t have supersonic hearing, Sebastian. You just can’t hear over the sound of your own blood pressure spiking.”
Sebastian shot him a flat look, but Ominis carried on as though he hadn’t noticed. “Don’t worry—she’s refusing to tell him. Gave some breezy, non-answer about wanting it to be a surprise. Which, if I had to guess, is because she’s not planning a repeat of Halloween.”
Satisfaction coursed through Sebastian before he could smother it. The tension in his jaw eased by a fraction, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.
“Speaking of outfits,” Sebastian leaned back in his chair, affecting a casualness he didn’t feel, “where are you going to order your suit from?"
“Ah. While you were busy brooding at dinner, Kymar mentioned a retailer that sounded reliable. A menswear place called Blackthorn.” Ominis replied smoothly. “Though, of course, I can’t really order anything until I’ve spoken to Willow.”
Sebastian already had his phone out before Ominis finished speaking, typing the name into the search bar of his browser. Blackthorn’s homepage was all dark backgrounds and sharp photography—rows of tailored suits in charcoal, midnight blue, and deep forest green. Crisp lines. Immaculate stitching. Nothing cheap about any of it.
He scrolled absently, but the thought was already there, annoying and persistent: Ominis was right. How could he possibly know what to get if he didn’t know what Evangeline was wearing? Matching was one thing, but the idea of turning up in something that clashed was a nightmare. No wonder Ethan had been pestering her. For once, Sebastian could almost understand the git’s reasoning.
Which was why—
You just need to ask her.
The voice wasn’t real, but it might as well have been. He could hear Ominis saying it in that maddeningly reasonable tone, probably with a faint smirk like he was stating the obvious.
Across the table, Ominis tilted his head. “Are we going to get any actual work done or…?”
Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Probably not.”
Ominis gave a small, knowing nod, already reaching for his bag. “In that case,” he said, his tone light but purposeful, “I have a girl to find.”
They both pushed their chairs back, the legs scraping softly against the worn wooden floor. Sebastian stretched once, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the stiffness from sitting, and fell into step beside Ominis. They walked in companionable silence toward the far end of the aisle, their footsteps muffled on the carpet runner that led to the main archway.
At the end, just before the rows gave way to the open space of the reading area, Sebastian reached out and clapped Ominis on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he said, his voice pitched low to match the hush of the room. “Not that you’ll need it.”
Ominis smiled. “Appreciate it.”
They split at the doorway, Ominis veering off toward the south wing with his usual purposeful stride while Sebastian took the opposite direction, letting his own pace slow. The lazy drift of his steps carried him deeper into the castle and into the long, lamp-lit hallway that led toward the Griselwyn dorms.
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a blur of red fabric and auburn hair.
“Shit—”
“—oh, thank God,” Bee blurted before he could finish, catching him by the forearm to steady herself. “Finally, someone who isn’t going to ask me to the fucking dance.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “Finally?”
“Finally,” she repeated with feeling, letting go of his arm. “Do you know how many people have cornered me in the past hour?”
Sebastian’s brow quirked higher. “That bad?”
“Relentless,” Bee corrected, falling into step beside him as if they’d planned to walk together all along. “I’ve been ambushed outside the dining hall, in the corridors, and—I swear on Merlin’s left sock—accosted right outside the girls’ bathroom on the third floor. Ten times so far, Sebastian. Ten.”
“What’s it like to be Merlin’s favourite?” He grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Bee snorted. “It’s exhausting. How many different ways can I say I want to keep my options open?”
“Sounds like you’re running a tournament.”
Bee slowed her steps just enough to give him a side-eye. “Actually… that’s not the worst idea I’ve heard today.”
Sebastian glanced at her, wary. “I wasn’t being serious.”
She ignored him, brow furrowed in thought. “A bracket system. Survival of the fittest. They can compete for the spot. Duels, obstacle courses… The winner gets to match outfits with me and bask in my radiant glory for an entire evening.”
“So modest,” he said dryly, but there was amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Bee gave an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? I’m a gift.”
They reached the common room door, and Bee swept inside first. Sebastian followed, the warmth of the fire immediately washing over him after the cool hallway. The familiar scent of woodsmoke clung to the air, and the low hum of conversation blended with the occasional clink of chess pieces and the rustle of turning pages from the study tables in the corner.
Bee made a beeline for the pair of armchairs nearest the hearth, dropping into one with a sigh of exaggerated relief. Sebastian claimed the other, stretching his legs toward the fire until the heat prickled through his trousers. For a moment, the crackle of the logs and the glow of the flames promised an unbroken reprieve from the chaos of the day.
It lasted all of two seconds.
An eighth-year girl, tall and willowy with a nervous twist to her fingers, appeared almost out of nowhere, hovering beside Bee’s chair. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting between Bee and the fire before finally speaking. “Um, sorry to interrupt, Bee, but… I was wondering if you’d like to go to the dance with me?”
Sebastian felt the laugh bubbling up before he could stop it. He pressed his knuckles against his mouth, shoulders shaking as he bit back the sound, though he was fairly certain his eyes gave him away.
Bee shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but it only made his grin widen behind his hand.
“Oh, Darla, it’s so sweet of you to ask,” Bee’s tone softened into something warm but vague, the kind of voice that managed to sound both appreciative and evasive at once. “Really, it is. But I’m still… weighing my options.”
Darla’s shoulders dipped just slightly, though she recovered quickly, offering a small smile. “Right. Of course. Well… let me know?”
“Absolutely,” Bee replied, flashing a smile.
The girl nodded, lingered half a beat too long, then slipped away toward the staircase leading up to the dormitories.
Bee exhaled, long and dramatic, before sinking deeper into the cushions. “And that makes eleven,” she muttered.
“You might need to hole up somewhere until the night of the dance,” Sebastian suggested. “Barricade your door, maybe. Put up a sign that says, ‘Auditions closed.’”
Bee groaned, tilting her head back over the arm of the chair so she was staring up at the carved beams overhead. “Or I could just disappear. Change my name. Start fresh in the Alps.”
“That’s extreme,” Sebastian tutted. “Besides, I thought you wanted to keep your options open. Can’t do that if you’ve fled the country.”
She tipped her head enough to give him a pointed look. “I’m not going to take advice from someone so romantically stunted.”
Sebastian’s mouth opened, ready with some cutting retort, but all that came out was a useless huff of air. The tips of his ears burned, and he could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks—betrayal in the form of blood vessels.
Bee’s smirk only deepened. “You gonna ask her, or what?”
Sebastian slouched back in his chair. “Merlin’s sake, are you and Ominis telepathically connected or something?”
Bee blinked at him, all false innocence. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you sound exactly like him,” Sebastian shot back.
“Good.” Bee leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So, are you going to answer the question?”
Sebastian let his head tip back against the chair. “Do we have to talk about this?”
Bee didn’t bother answering. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her wand, and with a lazy flick, cast a muffling charm over their little corner. The background hum of the common room dulled to nothing, as if someone had thrown a blanket over the world.
“There,” she said, settling back into her chair and tucking one leg under herself. “Now there’s no need for you to squirm.”
Sebastian eyed her warily.
“Look, Sallow,” she went on, tone shifting from teasing to something a little more measured. “I’ve known Evie since we were twelve, and I’m telling you—you’ve got good odds.”
“...What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Bee said, drawing the word out like she was explaining something to a particularly slow first-year, “she’s got a type, and you tick every box. You might actually be the poster boy.”
He huffed, feigning disinterest, though the heat in his face hadn’t gone anywhere. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
Bee waved that off. “I’m not here to make you feel better, I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck it up. So listen. If you’re gonna ask her, don’t make it overly romantic, and don’t do it in front of everyone in Cascade Hall, alright? She’s not big on grand public gestures. You do that, she’ll smile through it, then spend the rest of the week avoiding you out of embarrassment.”
Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. “Noted.”
“And if you’re going to be too much of a coward to ask,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “at least have the decency to look good when you spend the night sulking in the corner.”
Sebastian gave her a flat look, but she pressed on, twirling her wand lazily between her fingers. “And by ‘look good,’ I mean no boring, safe, ‘I-own-one-nice-thing’ kind of suit. None of this charcoal grey with a sad tie nonsense. Make a statement.”
He arched a brow. “A statement suit. Right. Should I bedazzle it while I’m at it?”
Bee ignored the sarcasm entirely. “And if you were to, hypothetically, match a certain someone without making it obvious—well, let’s just say, working in some black it wouldn’t hurt. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Black.
Sebastian studied Bee’s face, the puzzle pieces sliding neatly into place. He leaned back, smirking. He nodded once. “Right. Never heard a word of it.”
“Exactly.” Bee grinned, clearly pleased with herself.
He hesitated, then muttered, “Thanks. For… y’know. The advice.”
Bee’s smile softened into something less smug, more knowing. “Don’t mention it. Just… try not to overthink it.”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something he quickly masked. “Yeah, well… we’ll see.”
Bee leaned back, satisfied, and with another flick of her wand, lifted the muffling charm. The low roar of the common room flooded back in—laughter, chess pieces clicking, the pop of fresh logs in the fire.
They lapsed into an easy quiet. Across the room, someone laughed loudly, and the faint scent of cinnamon drifted from a nearby mug of cider. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.
Bee absently scrolled through her phone, thumb flicking casually. Sebastian, after a long pause, pulled his own from his pocket. The screen’s glow lit his face as he opened the browser again. The suit shop’s website reloaded instantly, and his thumb moved to the filters without hesitation. Black and grey—gone. He eliminated navy while he was at it, along with anything labelled classic, timeless, or office-appropriate.
The page refreshed, flooding his screen with bolder choices. Deep emeralds, rich burgundies, even a daring plum that, on anyone else, would be a disaster, but on him… maybe not.
Sebastian continued scrolling, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as his mind began to wander. He pictured Cascade Hall transformed into a winter wonderland—fairylights strung from the rafters casting warm pools of light over the polished floor, frost-kissed garlands winding along the tables, and the air filled with the swell of music.
And there, just ahead of him, Evangeline.
He could see her clearly, her black dress catching the light with every step, the fabric flowing around her legs like shadows come to life. Her hair curled just so, pinned back enough to show the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. She’d turn when she sensed his approach, that small, knowing smile curving her mouth, the one that always made his chest feel too tight.
His arm would fit naturally at her waist, his palm resting against the soft drape of her dress. They’d step onto the dance floor together, heads turning as they passed. Not because of him, but because of her—and maybe because of the way they looked together.
The image lodged itself in his mind, warm and persistent. His thumb hovered over a three-piece suit in a dark, wine-red. The cut was razor-sharp, the lapels slim, the waistcoat double-breasted with sleek black buttons. Paired with a black shirt and tie, it was a statement without being ostentatious. Confident without shouting for attention.
He tapped the heart icon, saving it for later, though he already knew he wouldn’t be able to choose anything else.
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Author Note: I apologize for not having the exact list of OC's mentioned in the following chapters - I'm just trying to get chapters posted to catch the story back up to fit with the current seasonal timeline! With that said, all OCs mentioned in this story can be found here!
Banished from the only lives they’ve ever known, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt seek refuge at Nivalis, Canada’s school of witchcraft and wizardry. But fresh beginnings are fragile, and as new loves and friendships take root, something ancient and ravenous awakens in the northern wilderness.
Series Tags: Modern AU, Original AU, OC-based, Post-Hogwarts, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Slow Burn Romance, Second Chances, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Folklore, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending
Series Content Warnings: Mild Horror, Mild Gore
Collaborators/Beta-Readers: @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30
True North is a collaborative project that brings together original characters from talented creators across the Hogwarts Legacy fandom. Click here to meet them all!
➤ Learn more about Nivalis lore here.
➤ Find your House with the Sorting Quiz.
Mid November
Winter crept in early. It curled in silvery veins across the windowsills and laced itself through the cracks in Nivalis’s walls, whispering beneath thresholds like it belonged there.
Evangeline sat curled in one of the deep armchairs by the north-facing window in the library, her notes spread out across the low table in front of her, untouched. The ink in her quill had run out at least ten minutes ago, and still she hadn’t dipped it again. Sebastian was slouched at the opposite end of the table, reading through the same page of a Defense text for the third time.
The library was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt more stifled than serene. Candles flickered in their sconces, and the skylights above were thick with frost. Outside the tall, arching windows, the late afternoon sky had gone the colour of tarnished silver. Snow had fallen lightly that morning, melting and refreezing in uneven patches across the walkways and stone parapets outside.
Evangeline rubbed her hands together for warmth, though it did little to help. Her fingers were cold. So was her nose. So was everything lately.
Nothing had been the same since Halloween.
Classes still ran on schedule. Assignments still stacked on desks like nothing was wrong. Clubs still met in their designated rooms, their members pretending to laugh and chatter. Professors still handed out detentions with the same tired sighs. But beneath all of it, beneath the routine and the pretense, something had shifted.
A quiet panic had taken root.
Between the scream in the woods, the shadow they’d glimpsed, and the sudden, inexplicable death of dozens of birds, no one could claim ignorance about what lurked in the Greenwood anymore.
And on top of all, animals started dying, too.
Foxes. Raccoons. Deer.
Once or twice might have been a coincidence, but now… now it was routine. Some were found stiff and rimed with frost, others were torn open, left in deliberate ruin, as though something had been toying with the bodies.
And sometimes, if you were up in the grey haze before dawn or out far too late after curfew, you might catch sight of the head caretaker, Birk Henlow. A thin silhouette moving across the white expanse, breath clouding in the frigid air. Always alone. Always dragging something large behind him beneath a sodden, shape-hiding tarp.
But more than any of this, Evangeline was thinking about Grace McMorey from Cervalaire.
She’d been missing for nearly a full day before the staff found her curled against the edge of the woods like something had dropped her there. Her skin was blue with cold, her lips cracked and rimmed in frost. She hadn’t spoken for the first two hours after they brought her in, just trembled in the infirmary while the nurses wrapped her in heating charms and layers of fleece.
She didn’t remember anything.
“Evie?”
She blinked, glancing up to find Sebastian watching her. His book was still open in his lap, but his eyes were on her—creased at the corners with concern, his brows drawn in that way they got when he didn’t know how to ask what he really wanted to.
“You alright?” he asked, voice low.
Evangeline hesitated, then offered a slow nod. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
Sebastian didn’t look convinced, but just thinking wasn’t exactly a lie. She’d been thinking too much, really—turning over the same questions in her mind like loose stones.
What had Grace seen? Why had she been spared? And why wasn’t anyone doing anything about what was so obviously wrong?
Nivalis had always been Evangeline’s home. Her sanctuary. The one place in her life that had felt like it belonged to her and she to it. She had grown up in its dormitories, found her people in its halls. But the warmth she used to take for granted—the cozy glow of Cascade Hall, the laughter in the Damriel common room, the quiet comfort of the library—had dulled into something brittle.
Evangeline drew a slow breath. “I just don’t understand why we’re all pretending everything is fine.” She gestured towards the window. “I mean, they called all those Wardens out when Merrill Wiebe went missing, but they haven’t been back since.”
Sebastian closed his book gently, the soft thump of pages sounding louder than it should’ve in the hush of the library.
“They’re the professionals,” Evangeline went on, frustration edging into her voice. “They’re supposed to be the ones who know what to do.”
Sebastian let the silence settle for a moment before speaking. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know how that feels.”
Evangeline looked up at him, and he wasn’t avoiding her gaze so much as staring past her like he was seeing something else entirely.
“They say they’ll do their best,” he went on, voice low. “It’ll just take time and you just have to trust them.” He gave a small, humourless laugh. “And then they do nothing.”
Evangeline didn’t interrupt. She knew, of course, he was talking about Anne.
Sebastian glanced down at his hands. “You spend so much time waiting for someone to step in, to fix it—someone who’s supposed to know—and then you look around one day and realize they’re not coming. And if anything’s going to be done at all…”
He trailed off, jaw working like he’d thought better of finishing the sentence.
Instead, he sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his mouth like he was physically pushing the words away. “Anyway,” he muttered, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone to check the time. “It’s nearly seven. If we still want to go to Moosehead, we should probably head down to the main hall.”
Evangeline blinked, the sharp shift catching her off guard. “Oh… right. Yeah.”
Her eyes flicked down to her notes—still untouched—and then back to him.
Sebastian stood, stretching a little. “It’ll be good to get out for a bit,” he said. “We can get you an iced coffee from Him Tortons to tide you over. I hear they’re still doing the maple cold brew.”
That earned a faint smile from her. “Tempting.”
Sebastian offered his hand. “Come on, Sterling. We’ll be late.”
She took it, rising from the chair, her fingers curling around his without hesitation.
They grabbed their bags, pre-packed with their winter outerwear, and walked together past the rows of tall shelves, the old wood creaking beneath their steps.
In the main hall, the heavy oak doors groaned softly as Evangeline and Sebastian pushed them open. Professor Takoda, who taught Divination, stood near a hearth, her silver-streaked braid trailing down her back like a rope of moonlight. Eller, the cartography professor, was holding a clipboard and scribbling down names with his quill.
Around them, about twenty students milled in a loose cluster, all bundled in coats and scarves, voices hushed despite the buzz of anticipation. Trips to Moosehead had been different since the lockdowns. No more casual wanders or slipping out in twos and threes—every outing was scheduled, chaperoned, and headcounted.
Eller looked up from his clipboard as Evangeline and Sebastian. “You’re just in time,” he said, scribbling their names down before giving a satisfied nod. “That makes twenty-three. Right, everyone, let’s move out.”
Takoda gave the group a slow, deliberate once-over. “Stay together. Stay on the path. Wands out, but keep them down unless I say otherwise.”
With that, the front doors creaked open, letting in a wave of bracing cold, and the group stepped into the early evening gloom. The sun had already slipped behind the mountains, leaving the world tinted in fading grey-blue light.
No one spoke much on the walk.
The Greenwood, once bright with moss and chattering birds, had changed since the frost came. The canopy above had thinned, skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Shadows stretched long between the trunks, and the wind that whispered through them no longer sounded playful, but wary.
Evangeline stayed close to Sebastian, their shoulders occasionally bumping as the path narrowed. She kept her hand tucked in her coat pocket, curled loosely around her wand. Behind them, boots crunched on frozen leaves, and the only other sounds were the soft rustle of coats and the occasional sniffle or cough.
The wind picked up as they crossed one of the narrower stretches of trail, sweeping down from the ridge in a sharp gust that cut straight through wool and fleece. Evangeline shivered, but before she could do much more than grit her teeth, Sebastian slid an arm around her shoulders.
It wasn’t dramatic or showy. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say anything. Just pulled her into his side with quiet certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it wasn’t something that would replay in her head later, over and over.
They walked like that for several steps before Evangeline let herself glance up at him, just briefly.
Since Halloween, there had been more and more of this. Quiet touches. Subtle glances. The kind of small, unspoken gestures that might’ve passed for friendship if not for the way they lingered.
The night of the party was still a little fuzzy in Evangeline’s memory, softened by drink and dim lighting and the swirl of music. But she remembered the important parts. She remembered dancing with him. Laughing. Moving too close, pressed together in the crush of bodies and bass.
Evangeline still couldn’t believe she’d let herself get that close to him in front of everyone. It wasn’t like her. But then again, it wasn’t just her who had let it happen. He hadn’t pulled away. He’d just held her. Danced with her. Complimented her.
Called her his best friend.
Maybe that was all it was.
They’d only spoken about it once. That day in Potions, when the air had been thick with the sweet, dizzy scent of Amortentia from the sixth years’ lesson. It had smelled overwhelmingly like him—warm and far too distracting for her to focus properly on her brewing. He’d asked what she remembered, casual enough to pass for idle curiosity.
Evangeline had chosen her words carefully, keeping her tone light. She’d mentioned the drink they’d shared, the walk to the dancefloor… and then skipped straight ahead, leaving the rest in deliberate silence.
It was a test, in its own quiet way—an opening for him to step into, to show if it had meant something to him too. But he hadn’t taken it. So she didn’t push. Didn’t correct him. And if her heart had sunk a little in the space between that moment and the next, she didn’t let it show. Better to let it drift unspoken than risk hearing him say it hadn’t mattered at all.
Now, walking with him through the Greenwood, she sighed—soft enough not to draw any attention—and edged a little closer against his side, just enough to feel his arm brush hers with each step, borrowing his warmth for as long as she could get away with it.
Frost clung stubbornly to every blade of grass and low-hanging branch, each breath they exhaled puffing out in pale clouds that drifted and vanished in the brittle air. The group trudged on for another minute or two, their voices low and scattered, the sound of boots and frost-hardened leaves crunching underfoot filling the stillness.
The trail wound gently downward, hemmed in by the towering silhouettes of bare trees. Somewhere deeper in the Greenwood, a raven cawed—harsh and lonely against the muffled quiet. Evangeline’s gaze flicked upward, catching a tangle of frost-gilded branches against a pale sky, and for a brief moment, she let herself relax.
Then, like a cruel echo of Halloween night, the calm broke, and shriek split the air. It came from somewhere near the front of the group, abrupt and ragged, cutting through the crunch of boots and the low murmur of conversation.
Evangeline startled, heart lurching as heads turned and wands flew up. Just ahead, a girl from Cervalaire was pointing toward the trees, her face pale with shock, her other hand pressed tightly to her mouth.
Takoda moved instantly.
“Everyone stay back,” she commanded, voice sharp as flint. With one hand she reached for the trembling student, steadying her, guiding her back toward the cluster of others. “With Professor Eller. Now.”
The group erupted into frantic whispers. Professor Eller’s voice rose above it all—calm but urgent—as he guided students back down the trail, his arms outstretched to herd them like a shield.
She stood frozen, wand clenched tightly in her hand, heart hammering against her ribs. Sebastian had stepped in front of her instinctively, his arm still around her shoulders, his body tense. His wand was already drawn, glowing faintly in the deepening dusk.
And then Evangeline saw it.
Just beyond the nearest copse, half-concealed by dead leaves and sticks rimmed in frost, were two boots, scuffed and sticking out past the treeline.
Her throat clenched tight and for a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. She reached out, caught Sebastian’s sleeve in her fist.
He looked down at her, alarm flashing across his face. “Evie?”
All she could do was point.
Sebastian followed her gaze, and his expression changed instantly. His grip tightened around his wand, his eyes narrowing, flicking immediately to Takoda’s form as she reached the spot a moment later.
Even from this distance, they could see the way her body stiffened. The way her wand dipped slowly, uselessly, to her side. Then, Takoda crouched, one hand pressing into the frozen ground, the other reaching forward with careful deliberation. Her face was drawn and grim.
“Merrill,” Evie breathed suddenly, realization dawning. “That’s Merrill Wiebe. It has to be—”
“Miss Sterling,” Eller’s voice cracked across the path like a whip, sharp and urgent despite its trembling edge. “Back with the others. Now.”
Sebastian stepped forward slightly, his stance unconsciously angled between her and the scene ahead. “Come on,” he said, hand ghosting over the small of her back. “We need to go.”
Evangeline let herself be guided, her legs moving on instinct more than intent. Sebastian stayed close, his hand steadying without steering, but the image of those boots—Merrill’s boots—was burned behind her eyelids. Every time she blinked, they reappeared.
How? How had no one found her until now?
The staff, the faculty, the Wardens—they’d scoured the entire school grounds in the days after Merrill went missing. Dozens of them. And yet now, nearly a month later, Merrill’s body turned up not in some cave or crevice, not hidden deep in the forest, but right off the fucking trail?
Evangeline’s jaw tensed, the cold biting deeper now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She barely noticed when the looming treeline gave way to open lawn, the castle rising ahead like a slab of stone against the winter sky.
By the time they crossed the courtyard, the sharp wind had flushed every cheek and numbed every finger. The heavy doors creaked open, spilling them into the atrium. The shift was jarring.
Eller and Takoda led the students in a hushed, orderly line, their voices low and clipped when anyone lagged. The crowd moved as one toward the grand staircase, the only sound the shuffle of boots and the occasional cough. They were funneling everyone toward one of the lecture rooms on the second floor for—Evangeline realized with a sinking certainty—a debrief. A place where the professors could close the doors, smooth over the edges of what had happened, and feed them reassurances.
Sebastian fell in with the stream of students, his shoulder brushing hers as they mounted the first step. But Evangeline’s feet slowed, then stopped entirely. She reached for his sleeve without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric to anchor him.
“Come with me,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.
He blinked down at her, then glanced toward the staircase where the line was already thinning. “Evie—”
“Sebastian.” Her tone carried quiet insistence, steady and unyielding.
Their eyes met, and for a moment the murmur of footsteps and distant voices seemed to fade. Whatever protest had been forming on his tongue dissolved, leaving him with only a small, deliberate nod.
Without another word, she drew him away from the flow of students. They slipped into the side corridor, the muffled hush of thick runner rugs swallowing their footsteps. No one called after them. No one even seemed to notice they were gone.
The climb to the Astronomy Wing was heavy. By the time they reached the final staircase, Evangeline’s hands had gone cold again. Not from the chill, but from the rising tide of pressure behind her ribs. She could feel it building, hot and relentless, pressing up against her chest like something was going to break if she didn’t let it out soon.
She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to scream.
Finally, they reached the tapestry and with a brush of Evangeline’s finger and a whisper under her breath, the observatory door creaked. Inside, the space was calm and soft. Cushions were scattered across the floor, and the table in the middle was cluttered with mugs, quills, notebooks, and a half-eaten plate of muffins.
Willow was curled up in a blanket on the floor, sketching something with a charcoal pencil. Bee sat cross-legged near the table, flipping lazily through an Arithmancy textbook, and Ominis was perched on one of the armchairs with his wand resting lightly against his knee, a steaming mug of tea beside him.
Willow looked up first. “Oh, you’re already back?” she asked brightly, setting her pencil down. “That was fast. Did they cancel or—”
She broke off the moment she caught sight of their faces.
Bee sat up straighter. Ominis, sensing the shift, tilted his head slightly.
Willow’s expression faltered, eyes darting between them. “What happened?”
Evangeline didn’t answer right away. She just stood there in the doorway, eyes wide and distant, like she was still somewhere else entirely.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “We— they found her.”
“Found who?” Willow asked, frowning.
“Merrill,” Evangeline said, voice thin.
“You mean, like, she’s alive?”
Neither Evie or Sebastian answered, and silence fell across the room. Everyone knew what it meant.
Ominis stood, slow and measured. “Evagenline, sit down,” he said softly.
Sebastian guided her without a word, his hand firm and steady on the small of her back as he led her toward the armchair Ominis had just vacated. Evangeline sat down heavily. Sebastian crouched beside her, one hand resting on the arm of the chair in case she needed something to hold on to.
Bee finally spoke.
“What happened? Where was she?”
Sebastian glanced at Evangeline, giving her a moment to answer if she wanted, but when she stayed silent, he spoke instead. “Just off the trail in the Greenwood. Not even far. She was right there.”
“What do you mean right there?” Bee asked, her voice rising slightly. “They searched the whole forest.”
Willow’s expression was pale. “How could they have missed her? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” Evangeline muttered quietly. Her voice had found its way back, bitter and thin like ice cracking. “If she wasn’t there before.”
Ominis’s brow furrowed. “You think she was moved?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Evangeline admitted. “But the way Takoda reacted… she was shocked to find her there. I mean, Merrill was in plain sight. Two boots, sticking out past the trees.”
Bee brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh god.”
“Who else saw?” Ominis asked softly.
Sebastian shook his head. “Not sure. At least one girl from Cervalaire saw her—she was the one who screamed. After that, Eller started herding everyone back. Wouldn’t let anyone else look.”
“They were shouting for everyone to keep walking and keep their eyes forward,” Evangeline added, her fingers tightening around the warm mug of tea that Ominis had placed in her hands. “Most of them probably didn’t get a good look. It was just panic and confusion.”
Bee exhaled shakily, still sitting upright with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “So it’s possible no one else even knows what they saw.”
“They don’t want rumours,” Evangeline said sharply, gaze fixed on the floor. “They’ve already funneled everyone into a lecture room to sanitize the whole thing. Reassure the students. Keep us calm. Make it sound like everything’s under control.”
Bee’s mouth tightened, her eyes flicking toward the domed window overhead. “And what are they going to say? That she just wandered off and dropped dead two steps from the trail?”
“Who knows,” Evie replied bitterly. “Maybe they’ll say she panicked, got lost, and didn’t cast a warming charm. We all know they won’t acknowledge the Wendigo.”
Ominis shifted slightly, his voice calm and careful. “Just because they won’t confirm it to us doesn’t mean they don’t know. The staff… they’re not incompetent. They’re just trying to manage panic. Can you imagine what would happen if they admitted a Wendigo was on the grounds? Parents would pull their kids from school by the dozen. The Ministry would descend. It would be chaos.”
Evangeline turned on him, her expression sharp. “Good. Maybe it should be chaos.”
Ominis blinked at the heat in her tone, but didn’t interrupt.
“Someone died, Ominis,” she went on, her voice rising. “She was gone for weeks and now we’ve found her body right off the trail. Either they missed her during the search, and somehow nobody noticed her on walks to Moosehead, or something put her there after. Neither option is comforting.”
“No,” he agreed quietly, “it’s not.”
“And I’m sorry,” she snapped, “but I don’t give a damn if parents would get upset. If the Ministry would throw a fit. This isn’t a PR crisis, it’s a student’s life. She was one of us.”
Willow and Bee were quiet now, both staring at Evangeline with wide eyes. Sebastian stood close by, jaw clenched, watching her with quiet intensity.
“You’re right,” Ominis agreed, his tone still measured. “But yelling at the people in this room won’t change what happened.”
“I know that,” Evie bit out, “but someone needs to be angry! Because I don’t think they are! I think they’re too busy spinning stories to think about what this actually means. Merrill is dead. And whatever killed her is still out there.”
Bee and Willow exchanged a look. It was subtle—just a flick of their eyes, a shared breath—but it said everything. They knew where this was going. They knew Evangeline too well.
Willow sat forward slowly, her sketchpad forgotten at her side. “Evie,” she said gently, “you’re not seriously thinking about getting involved again, are you?”
Evangeline didn’t answer, which, in itself, was an answer.
“Come on, Evie,” Bee added flatly, the words dropping like stones. “We’ve already been through this.”
“I’m not saying I’ll do anything stupid,” Evangeline replied quickly.
“You’re already halfway there,” Bee shot back. “You’re angry, and scared, and—yes, you’re right to be—but going off to play detective is exactly the kind of thing that gets people killed.”
“Last time we talked about this you told me to trust the professionals, and look how that turned out,” Evangeline snapped. “They missed her, Bee, and now a girl is dead.”
“And you think just because you have some ancient magic that somehow you’re better equipped than a dozen trained professors?” Bee’s voice was sharp now, her frustration breaking through. “You’re not invincible, Evie.”
Evangeline bristled, her fingers tightening around the mug in her lap. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Yes, it is,” Bee retorted, standing now, her arms folded. “You think you’re the exception. That if you go out there, you’ll find something they missed. That you’ll fix it.”
“Maybe I will,” Evangeline snapped, standing too. “Because sitting here waiting for someone else to do it clearly hasn’t worked.”
Ominis stepped forward, his tone calm but unmistakably firm. “Evangeline.”
She turned toward him, eyes still burning, jaw tight.
“I understand what you’re feeling,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “The anger. The helplessness. The need to act. But this is reckless, and reckless people get hurt. Or worse, they hurt other people, even when they never meant to.”
Evie’s lips parted as if to argue, but Ominis didn’t give her the chance.
“You think they missed something? Fine. So do I. But rushing into the woods won’t change that, it’ll just make things worse. If something is out there, the last thing we need is another student unaccounted for.”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” she muttered, her voice softer now, but no less stubborn. Her eyes darted to Sebastian without meaning to.
Everyone followed her gaze.
He hadn’t moved from his spot beside Evangeline’s chair, but now he straightened slightly, jaw tight, lips pressed in a line like he was chewing on the words before letting them loose. He looked at Bee. Then Willow. Then Ominis. Then finally, back to Evangeline.
The silence stretched.
When he spoke, it was careful and measured, but resolute. “I don’t think she’s wrong.”
Ominis’s head turned sharply, as if physically stung. “Sebastian—”
“—They did miss something. And the more they try to control the story, the more it’s clear they don’t have a handle on it. We’ve all been sitting around pretending things will go back to normal if we just wait it out, and now someone’s dead.”
“That doesn’t mean the solution is letting Evangeline throw herself into the forest like some sacrificial lamb,” Ominis snapped, his voice suddenly sharper than it had been all night. “Forgive me, Sebastian, if I don’t want to watch another one of my friends put themselves in danger chasing something they can’t possibly control.”
“I’m not chasing anything,” Evangeline retorted angrily. “I’m actually willing to do something. Which is more than I can say for most of the people in charge.”
Bee let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Okay, so what’s the grand plan then, Evie? March into the forest and ask the Wendigo if it wants to chat?”
“I’d obviously do some research first,” she shouted, cutting her off. “And if anyone in this school knows what’s going on, it’s Professor Sky. She’d have access to Wendigo texts—real ones, not the censored shit in the library. And she might actually have some information about how my magic could be useful!”
Bee opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but no words came out. Willow looked between them, caught in the crossfire.
Sebastian nodded slowly. “…She’s right.”
Ominis turned, voice sharp as a blade. “Of course you’d say that.”
Sebastian’s expression darkened. “Don’t start.”
“Don’t start?” Ominis scoffed. “This is exactly what you do, Sebastian! You talk circles around bad ideas until they sound noble. And then, when things go to hell, you act surprised.”
The edge to his tone went deeper than anger, and after analyzing Ominis’s last few comments in her mind, Evangeline realized why; this wasn’t just about Wendigos. This was about Sebastian and what happened in Feldcroft. About why they transferred here.
Unaware of the boys’ past, Willow and Bee were frozen, their confusion plain. Willow’s eyes flicked between the two boys like she was trying to follow a conversation that had started long before she arrived. Bee looked tense and uncertain, no longer sure if she was watching a disagreement or the unraveling of something deeper.
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t about me, Ominis. This is about getting to the bottom of what the hell is going on in those woods!”
“Of course it’s about you!” Ominis barked, the words ripping out of him. “Every single time you decide you know better, someone gets hurt! And this time it’s going to be Evangeline!”
“Excuse me?” Evangeline bristled, unable to stop herself from cutting in. “I can take care of myself, thanks. I don’t need someone to hold my fucking hand.”
“And what happens when this gets out of control?” Ominis snapped back. “When you go chasing something you don’t fully understand and someone ends up—”
He stopped right there, breath trembling. He didn’t say dead, but he didn’t have to. The word hung there anyway, heavy and suffocating.
Dead.
Evangeline knew who he was talking about. Sebastian clearly did too. He let out a long, slow breath.
“How many times do I have to apologize, Ominis? For Feldcroft? For Solomon? For Anne? For something I can’t undo?”
Ominis said nothing. His jaw was tight, his posture stiff with restraint, like he was holding back an entire tide of things he wasn’t ready to say.
“You’ve been making backhanded comments ever since we got here,” Sebastian went on, hands curling into fists at his side. “So if you’ve got something to say, say it. Stop dancing around it like a fucking coward.”
Ominis’s lips parted, but no sound came. His shoulders were rigid, like something inside him had gone brittle.
“I know I fucked up,” Sebastian bit out, voice rising. “I know I didn’t listen. I know I dragged you into something you never asked for and I know it cost us everything. But I can’t change it, Ominis. I can’t fix it. And I am so goddamn tired of you looking at me like I haven’t been trying every bloody day since to make up for it.”
The silence was thick with ghosts.
Ominis took a single breath, shallow and shaking. “Trying isn’t the same as learning. And you haven’t changed. You’re doing the same damn thing right now—”
Evangeline’s patience shattered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she burst out, loud enough to jolt Willow and Bee. “Do you even hear yourself, Ominis?”
He turned toward her, startled by the sheer force of her voice.
“You keep talking like Sebastian’s dragging me into something, like he’s deciding for me. Like I wouldn’t be doing this anyway!”
“That’s not what I—”
“Yes, it is,” she exploded. “Maybe not with those words, but that’s exactly what you meant! You’re treating me like a side effect of his recklessness. Like I’m some helpless pawn he’s dragging along.”
The words came fast, heated, all at once. Ominis opened his mouth, but she cut him off again.
“I make my own choices. I don’t need Sebastian to give me permission, and I sure as hell don’t need yours.” Her hands were shaking now, but she didn’t stop. “And I’m sorry for what you went through, okay? But you’re holding the past over Sebastian’s head just because he’s supporting me! That doesn’t make him a villain, and it sure as hell doesn’t make me some idiot who needs saving!”
Ominis stared at her, his lips pressed tight, but his jaw was trembling.
“You’re just too caught up in what happened at Hogwarts to recognize what’s happening here. Right now. This isn’t about Solomon. Or Feldcroft. Or Anne. This is not about the past.”
Evie drew in a shaky breath, trying to rein it in, but it was too late. The dam had broken.
“This is about Merrill. And Grace. And whoever else might be next. This is about the school I love turning into a hunting ground while the people in charge sit on their hands! And if you want to keep pretending that obedience is the same as safety, fine. Do that. But this isn’t about what happened to you and Sebastian!”
The room was silent. Thick with it. Bee looked stunned. Willow was staring at the floor like she wanted to melt through it. Ominis’s face had gone pale.
Evangeline turned, stepping toward the observatory door. “I’m going to talk to Professor Sky. You can either help me or get out of my way.”
The second Evie moved, Willow went to follow, nearly tripping over her own sketchpad in her haste. “Evie, wait—”
Bee cursed under her breath and went after them, grabbing her hoodie from the back of the chair as she went. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor as they disappeared down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind them with a low thud.
The room was suddenly, achingly quiet.
Ominis stood where he was, still pale, still rigid, his hands clenched at his sides like he hadn’t realized they were fists. His breath came shallow and uneven, but he didn’t move.
Sebastian remained by the armchair, head bowed, jaw clenched like he was biting down on something sharp. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Then, finally, Sebastian broke the silence. His voice was quieter now, raw.
“You could’ve just said you still blame me.”
Ominis flinched.
Sebastian gave a hollow laugh and turned away, dragging a hand down his face. “And you’re so hypocritical. I mean, Merlin, you haven’t changed either. You still think I’m one bad choice away from dragging everyone under. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, it’s never enough for you, is it?”
Ominis closed his eyes. A long breath escaped his chest like it hurt to let go of it.
“I didn’t push Evangeline to do anything,” Sebastian continued, his expression carved from exhaustion more than anger now. “She would go out there with or without me, and she’s right, you don’t get to strip her of her agency just to prove a point.”
“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but his voice was too thin, and he cut himself off midway.
Sebastian shook his head. “You’re scared. So am I. So is she. But she’s going to fight anyway, and I’d rather be beside her than behind her begging her not to go.”
Ominis didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, unmoving, like the fire inside him had finally burned itself out and left only ash. Still, Sebastian waited. He wasn’t sure why, maybe he thought Ominis would argue again, but no fight came. Eventually, the blonde just collapsed into the nearest arm chair, running a hand down running a hand down his face.
“You’re right,” Ominis said at length. “I’ve been cruel. Blaming you for everything, for the transfer here, the mess we left behind. Resenting you.” He exhaled slowly, leaning forward onto his knees. “I just hate that the only reason we’re here is because we survived something that broke us. And now, instead of healing, now we’re facing a goddamn monster in the forest like it’s just the next chapter in some cursed story we can’t stop living.”
Sebastian let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I get it. I do. I just wish you’d told me all this sooner. We should’ve had this conversation months ago.”
“I know,” Ominis nodded, his voice just above a whisper.
A beat passed. Long enough for the tension between them to ebb, just a little. The weight of it didn’t vanish, but it shifted—less sharp now, more manageable.
Sebastian looked over at him, eyes tired but steady. “You’re my brother, Ominis. Always have been. Even when we’re at each other’s throats.” He hesitated, then added, “But you can’t keep treating me like I’m some kind of ticking time bomb.”
“I know,” Ominis repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Sebastian nodded, leaning against the back of the couch with a sigh. Some of the weight seemed to fall off his shoulders, if only for a moment.
Ominis glanced toward the door. “You should probably go after her.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“She’s probably halfway to Professor Sky’s office by now,” Ominis explained quietly. “And if we’re going to get any answers out of her, it won’t be after Evie kicks the bloody door off its hinges.”
“Right,” Sebastian straightened. “And you should probably start drafting your apology. She’s going to bite your head off once she cools down enough to face you again.”
“Merlin help me,” Ominis muttered.
“You’re on your own with that one,” Sebastian told him, turning towards the observatory door.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ominis replied, shaking his head. “Now go.”
Sebastian darted into the corridor, heart pounding. Professor Sky’s office was tucked away in the west wing, just above the History corridor. Out of the way. Isolated. But he knew Evangeline’s shortcut through the old cloister walk, a narrow stone passage that curved along the castle’s outer edge.
He veered into it without hesitation, boots striking the floor in a steady rhythm that echoed against the cold stone. The air was sharp in his lungs, breath fogging faintly as he picked up speed. At the stairwell, he didn’t pause, just took the steps two at a time, his footfalls reverberating in the quiet like a warning bell.
As he rounded the last bend, he skidded slightly, one hand slapping against the wall for balance. He caught himself, steadied, and pushed forward without breaking stride.
He found the girls clustered outside Professor Sky’s office.
Willow and Bee stood like human barricades on either side of Evangeline, flanking her in a loose semicircle. Both of them were speaking low and fast, their voices layered with urgency and something close to pleading. Evangeline, however, stood immovable and rigid as a statue, her fists clenched at her sides, chest rising and falling in short, furious bursts. The oak door loomed in front of her, still shut. For now.
“Evie, just breathe, okay?” Willow’s voice was tight with worry. “Please?”
“You don’t even know if she’s in there,” Bee added quickly. “Just wait a second—just wait—”
Sebastian slowed as he approached, the thud of his boots drawing their attention. His chest still ached from the sprint up the stairs, but he barely noticed it. Willow turned first, her eyes wide with relief.
“Thank Merlin,” she breathed.
“Evie,” Sebastian murmured, his voice softer as he closed the distance.
She didn’t turn at first, but he saw her shoulders shift, tension flaring before it started to crack. When she finally glanced over her shoulder at him, the storm in her expression didn’t disappear, but it faltered.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Don’t do it like this.”
Evangeline turned to face him fully, arms folding tightly across her chest like armour. “Do what, exactly?”
“Kick down a door and scream at the only professor who might actually be on our side.”
The words hung in the air. Evangeline glared at him.
“I’m not saying she’s right,” Sebastian added quickly, “for keeping things from us. None of the faculty are. But we need her. And if you blow up now, if you push too hard, she might shut us out completely.”
Evangeline’s jaw worked as she ground her teeth, lips pressing into a firm line. She didn’t look away, but her stance shifted, just slightly.
“So what?” she said, low and bitter. “We just let her continue lying to our faces?”
“No,” Sebastian shook his head. “But don’t give her a reason to write us off as reckless kids playing detective. We come to her with proof that we know it’s a Wendigo, not just accusations.”
“Which means no door-kicking,” Bee cut in, holding up her hands like she was trying to physically steady the air between them. “Please.”
“I like this door,” Willow added, a little desperate now. “It’s a good door. Let’s not destroy it.”
There was a beat of silence. The fire in Evangeline’s eyes flickered, but didn’t go out.
Finally, she exhaled through her nose. “Fine.”
← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →
Author Note: I apologize for not having the exact list of OC's mentioned in the following chapters - I'm just trying to get chapters posted to catch the story back up to fit with the current seasonal timeline! With that said, all OCs mentioned in this story can be found here!
Banished from the only lives they’ve ever known, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt seek refuge at Nivalis, Canada’s school of witchcraft and wizardry. But fresh beginnings are fragile, and as new loves and friendships take root, something ancient and ravenous awakens in the northern wilderness.
Series Tags: Modern AU, Original AU, OC-based, Post-Hogwarts, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Slow Burn Romance, Second Chances, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Folklore, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending
Series Content Warnings: Mild Horror, Mild Gore
Collaborators/Beta-Readers: @sunnyrealist and @dreamy-gal-30
True North is a collaborative project that brings together original characters from talented creators across the Hogwarts Legacy fandom. Click here to meet them all!
➤ Learn more about Nivalis lore here.
➤ Find your House with the Sorting Quiz.
Early November
Sebastian woke to the distant thump of a book hitting stone and the slow, blooming throb of a headache unfurling behind his eyes. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow with a low, pitiful noise. His mouth tasted like stale whiskey, and his stomach gave a warning lurch—not quite nausea, but close enough to register its displeasure. It felt like his body had been hexed from the inside out, every breath thick with the aftertaste of too many drinks and too little sleep.
Through a cracked eye, Sebastian registered the soft amber glow of the wall sconces, their light charmed to mimic morning sun since Griselwyn was buried deep in the mountain’s belly. It was just convincing enough to irritate him. He wondered, vaguely, who the hell had decided that throwing a Halloween party on a Sunday was a good idea. Now he would be expected to survive all eight of his Monday classes, and do it without collapsing face-first into a cauldron or jinxing the next person who spoke too loudly. Brilliant.
Around the dorm, the other seventh-years were beginning to stir, groaning and shifting beneath their blankets like the risen dead. Sebastian should get up, too. He really should. Drag himself to the showers, make himself look human, find Ominis, choke down breakfast, and pray to Merlin he wasn’t scheduled for anything explosive in Potions later. But instead, he lay there, unmoving, as the memories or last night crept in.
He thought of Evangeline glowing beneath the lights, her hair curled just so, dress hugging her like a second skin. The way she’d smiled at him, pulled him onto the dance floor, pressed close without hesitation. The scent of perfume and sweet cider clinging to her. The warmth of her hand in his.
Sebastian remembered the look in her eye she said she wasn’t into Ethan. How she’d described her type and how every word felt like it had been plucked straight from his own reflection.
How she’d called him her best friend.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and dragged his arm over his face. Were the memories rose-tinted because he’d been drunk? Was he remembering what actually happened, or just what he wanted to have happened? Maybe she hadn’t meant any of it, maybe it had all been alcohol-fueled nonsense, the way people said stupid things with flushed cheeks and no consequences. It could be that the smile she gave him was just friendly. That the way she leaned in was just proximity on a crowded dance floor. Maybe she didn’t even remember saying any of it. Or worse, maybe she did remember, and meant it exactly as she’d said it: platonic. Best friend territory.
He was probably overthinking it. Had to be. This was just classic post-party spiraling—too many feelings, not enough sleep. He shouldn’t be assigning meaning to every glance, every laugh, every touch. Just because she’d danced on him like she meant it didn’t mean she actually did. And yet just the memory of her pressed against him, hips rolling in time with the music was already getting him half-hard under the blanket.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
Sebastian scrubbed both hands down his face and forced himself upright with a groan, pushing off the mattress. The room tilted slightly, and a wave of chill air hit his bare chest, raising goosebumps along his arms. He braced one hand on the edge of the bed and waited for the worst of it to pass, shivering. At least he’d had the foresight to pull on pajama pants last night—small mercies. Without them, he probably would’ve frozen solid right there.
Lifting his head, Sebastian squinted against the glow of the sconces and glanced blearily around the dormitory. A few others were upright now, shuffling toward the showers, muttering half-coherent curses under their breath. One guy sat slumped at the foot of his bed in boxers and mismatched socks, nursing a cup of something steaming. Across the room, someone else gagged audibly and cast a cleaning charm on their shoes.
Misery loves company, Sebastian thought, moving towards his trunk to find a clean uniform. The toga from the night before was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, but he kicked it aside and found a wrinkled shirt, sniffing it once before deciding it was good enough.
Uniform in hand, Sebastian grabbed his wand off the nightstand and shoved it into his pocket before trudging barefoot toward the showers.
The corridor was warm and thick with steam, the air laced with the scent of soap, peppermint toothpaste, and whatever poor bastard had thrown up in the sink and failed to clean it properly.
Sebastian ducked into an open stall and twisted the tap. The first blast of cold water hit his feet and ankles before the steam caught up, but stepped under the stream anyway, letting it hit his chest. It helped. Not entirely, but enough. The fog in his skull started to lift, and the headache dulled to something manageable—like a dull, heavy heartbeat behind his eyes rather than a spike. He scrubbed himself down fast, more out of duty than vanity, and avoided looking too long in the polished bronze mirror above the sink when he changed into his uniform.
By the time he stepped into the main common area, hair still soaked, shirt only half tucked in, and tie hanging loose around his neck, it had started to buzz with life. Other students emerged in varying states of disrepair, trading groggy greetings as they made their way toward breakfast.
Sebastian fell into step behind a pair of sixth-years who were arguing about whether it was possible to overdose on pepper-up potion. He tuned them out, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other gripping the strap of his satchel.
He didn’t know what he’d say when he saw Evangeline. Maybe she’d act like nothing had happened. Maybe she’d tease him about his toga or the dancing or the drinks, and he’d laugh it off and pretend it didn’t mean anything either. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing.
But he hated the thought of pretending.
His stomach growled, sharp and sudden, snapping him back to the present. Cascade Hall was just ahead now, the scent of breakfast starting to drift toward him—fresh bread, brewed coffee, sizzling sausage, and eggs. The promise of caffeine alone was enough to keep him moving.
Sebastian pushed through the wide double doors, blinking against the sudden warmth and brightness. The space buzzed softly with clinking cutlery and the low murmur of tired conversation, though it was noticeably quieter than usual for a Monday morning. Most of the upper-years were conspicuously absent, no doubt still facedown in their pillows or crawling toward consciousness at a glacial pace.
Near the far end of the Griselwyn table, Ominis was nursing a cup of coffee with both hands like it was a lifeline. Theo and Dorian flanked him, equally sluggish—Theo had his forehead resting dramatically on the table beside a half-eaten piece of toast, and Dorian was squinting suspiciously at a cup of juice.
Sebastian slid onto the bench beside them with a grunt. He grabbed a mug from the nearest stack and poured himself a long, glorious cup of coffee from the silver pot in the center of the table.
“Morning,” he rasped.
“Don’t speak,” Theo mumbled into the wood.
“Seconded,” Dorian muttered, rubbing his temples.
Happy to oblige, Sebastian took a long sip of the coffee—blissfully hot and bitter—and let it settle into the pit of his stomach.
The group ate in miserable silence for a while, punctuated only by Theo’s exaggerated sighs as he attempted to finish his toast without actually lifting his head from the table. Sebastian nursed his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright, eyes half-lidded, gaze fixed vaguely on the swirl of steam rising from the mug. Ominis was the only one of them who looked remotely put together, though even he was paler than usual, his expression drawn. He’d finished his coffee and was now methodically peeling a clementine.
“So,” Dorian said at last, his voice still rough with sleep and regret, “what exactly happened on the trail last night?”
Sebastian didn’t answer right away. He set his mug down with a soft clink, fingers curling loosely around the rim before he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. The bench creaked beneath him, loud in the heavy silence.
Theo picked at a crumb on his plate, his brows drawn low. “Rumour’s already spreading that someone saw it. Actually saw it.”
Ominis sighed, the sound quiet but weary. “Of course it is. There were too many people out there. Even if they didn’t see it, everyone heard the scream.”
Sebastian gave a grim nod. “We didn’t see it ourselves, but we ran into a group of eighth-years down the trail. They said the lot ahead of them saw antlers in the trees. Something tall.”
Theo finally lifted his head from the table, visibly unsettled. “So that’s it, then. There’s no more speculating… it’s a Wendigo.”
Dorian pushed his plate away. “It’s not like there’s a long list of creatures it could be.”
No one answered. They didn’t have to.
Sebastian scanned the rest of the hall, eyes drifting across the scattered groups of students. At a nearby table, a couple of Lochenne fourth-years leaned in close, whispering with furrowed brows and wide eyes. One girl cupped her hand to her mouth and gasped theatrically at whatever had just been said. Down at the Damriel end, a tall boy was waving his arms, mimicking what looked like antlers towering above his head. A cluster of first-years sat frozen in fascination and dread.
It was out and spreading like wildfire.
“We all know what it is,” Sebastian said finally, “but it doesn’t matter, because no one’s going to report it. Not without admitting they snuck out during a lockdown. The moment anyone says something to the faculty, we’re all fucked. Detention, restrictions, no more trips to Moosehead for the rest of the year.”
“Fear of repercussions outweighing fear of getting eaten alive,” Dorian muttered.
Theo slouched back against the bench, frowning. “Come on, though. Surely the staff know. Eighty percent of the upper years vanished after lights-out. It’s not exactly subtle. They can’t be that dense.”
“They’re not,” Dorian replied, voice flat. “But without proof, they can’t do shit. No patrols caught us. If nobody confesses, there’s nothing they can pin on anyone. Just a bunch of suspiciously tired students come morning.”
“Even if someone does crack,” Ominis said simply, “the professors won’t confirm anything about it being a Wendigo. They’ll double down on restrictions, but they won’t say the word. Not officially.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. No one argued. No one tried to spin a hopeful theory or play devil’s advocate. What Ominis said was true, and they all knew it. It was the same strategy the staff and faculty had been employing all along; they weren’t about to change it now.
Theo groaned suddenly and pulled out his phone, squinting at the time. “Shit. If I don’t leave now, Professor Eller’s gonna skin me alive.”
“Cartography?” Dorian guessed.
“And Exploration,” Theo corrected with mock grandeur, swinging his legs off the bench. “In the fucking south tower. Takes half a day just to get up there. If I run, I might only be ten minutes late.” He stood with a dramatic stretch and winced. “Ugh. Nope. Can’t run. My legs are still drunk.”
Sebastian snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Tell my parents I died nobly,” Theo said, already weaving through the tables.
As he disappeared through the doors, the rest of the table began to stir. The hum of Cascade Hall was picking up now, the volume rising as the clock ticked down to first period.
Ominis stood smoothly, brushing imaginary lint from his robes. “I’ve got Ethics. Koenraad’s classroom is on the main floor, thank Merlin.”
“See you at lunch,” Dorian said as Ominis turned to go.
Sebastian and Dorian lingered a moment longer, then exchanged a glance and stood in tandem.
“Probably gonna be another class watching videos of not handling creatures correctly,” Dorian muttered as they started toward the exit. “Honestly I feel bad for Finch. How d’you teach Creatures when we can’t even go outside to the paddocks?”
Sebastian let out a soft huff of agreement as they stepped into the corridor. “Probably another slideshow of bite wounds and improperly secured pens. Maybe we’ll get the manticore incident again.”
Dorian grimaced. “Ugh, don’t. I was eating last time he showed that one.”
They fell into step side by side, navigating the gradually thickening tide of students. Lockdown hadn’t dampened the foot traffic—if anything, it made it worse. No one could slip outside between classes anymore, and even some of the shortcuts had been sealed by faculty charms.
They passed a group of younger students clustered near a bulletin board. One of them was mimicking antlers with their hands, whispering dramatically to an enraptured audience of second-years.
Before long, the old east wing came into view, its walls steeped in the perpetual scent of damp stone and fallen leaves, untouched by season. The corridor was usually reserved for herbology and groundskeeping storage, but with outdoor access restricted, both herbology and creatures lessons had been displaced here into makeshift classrooms.
The classroom was quiet when they entered. The usual din of students settling in, dragging chairs, swapping last-minute homework notes was noticeably muted. Half the seats were still empty. Sebastian’s eyes scanned the room automatically.
Evie wasn’t there. Neither was Bee.
Sebastian’s gaze swept the room once, then again, that faint, restless pull tightening at the base of his spine. The girls were nowhere in sight. Ethan was, though—seated alone at one of the long worktables in the middle, shuffling through his notes with the kind of overdone concentration Sebastian always suspected was more for show than anything else. His uniform was crisp, every button and crease in place, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed a night of little sleep. Even so, he still managed a brief nod as they passed.
Sebastian dropped into the front row beside Dorian, his eyes lingering on the empty space where Evangeline usually sat shoulder to shoulder with Bee. He could picture her now, still in bed, wrapped in a blanket, a pillow dragged over her head to block the light. But it wasn’t just the hangover keeping her away. He was certain of that.
The scream. The antlers. The cold rush of fear on the trail. He wondered if she’d slept at all. If she’d lain awake turning it over in her head like he had. If she’d talked to Willow about it in the common room or if they’d let silence sit between them.
Class crawled by with the slow, syrupy drag of a Monday morning made worse by sleeplessness.
Professor Finch did his best—he always did, cheerful to a fault—but there was only so much energy even he could muster to make “case studies of aggressive herbivores” feel engaging from inside four stone walls.
“Now this one,” Finch said brightly, tapping his wand against the shimmering projection on the screen, “is a classic example of underestimating a flufftail ram. You’ll notice here the handler turns his back—don’t do that.”
A few students managed a weak chuckle. Most simply stared forward with glassy eyes, half-present at best.
Sebastian barely noticed. His chin rested heavily in one hand, the other idly turning pages in his open notes without ever settling on a line to read. His thoughts kept circling back to the empty chair across the aisle.
By the time class ended, Sebastian’s shoulders ached from the hour of leaning forward, his neck stiff with tension. He trailed Dorian into the hallway without a word. Around them, the castle came alive with that in-between class energy—doors slamming open, laughter echoing off the walls, snippets of conversation bleeding together into a steady hum.
Warding wasn’t much better than Creatures.
Bee didn’t turn up for that class either.
Sebastian caught himself staring at the faint shimmer of a defensive sigil on the blackboard, his mind wandering somewhere far away until Dorian’s elbow nudged his ribs, bringing him back with a blink.
When lunch came, Cascade Hall was bustling again, the air thick with the clatter of cutlery and the rise and fall of overlapping conversations. At the Damriel table, Isabelle, Kymar, Seraphina, and Théo had clustered together, plates half-forgotten as they talked. Dorian and Sebastian joined them. All around the room, the antlers and the scream were on everyone’s lips, the tale already splintered into a dozen variations, each retelling more embellished than the last.
“We need to tell someone,” Seraphina said after a long moment. “Even if it means admitting we were out after curfew.”
“No way,” Kymar said, shaking his head. “Realistically, the only people who actually saw it firsthand are credible. The rest of us are just passing along a rumour. Evie, Seb, Ominis, and Willow heard the scream, sure, but that’s not proof. It’s still just hearsay.”
“Still, wouldn’t this rumour warrant some investigation?” Isabelle asked, her voice low but firm. “Even if it is just hearsay, it’s not like we’re talking about a stolen broomstick or a hexed toilet.”
Théo leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “It doesn’t matter what we think it warrants. You’ve seen how the professors handle this stuff; they’ll lock us down tighter, keep it quiet, and that’s it.”
“Until someone else ends up frostbitten in the middle of a temperate forest,” Seraphina muttered.
Kymar’s expression softened a fraction, but he didn’t answer.
When the bell finally signaled the end of the lunch period, Sebastian was halfway to standing before he realized it. He slung his bag over his shoulder and muttered a quick goodbye to the group. Dorian fell into step beside him as they stepped out into the corridor, just in time to see two familiar figures approaching from the opposite direction.
Bee and Evie.
They were coming from the direction of Griselwyn’s dorms, walking shoulder to shoulder through the crowd. Bee was animated, talking with her hands and occasionally tugging the strap of her satchel higher on her shoulder. Evie looked… tired. Paler than usual, her features soft with something unreadable. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, like she’d done it quickly, and she was clutching a folded cardigan to her chest like a shield. But she was upright. Awake. Present.
“So you two are alive,” Dorian called in greeting, offering a half-smile as they approached. “We were starting to think you’d melted into your mattresses.”
Bee rolled her eyes. “I’m at least emotionally fused with mine.”
Evie didn’t say anything, just managed a faint smile as they reached the others. Her eyes flicked to Sebastian, brief but steady.
A hundred questions clawed at the back of his throat. Some of them were selfish, like what had last night meant? Had she meant it when she looked at him like that on the dance floor, or had it just been the haze of drink and music? Other questions were more careful, more worried, like had she slept at all? Where was she this morning? But all that came out, too small for everything he wanted it to hold, was:
“You alright?”
She gave a shallow nod. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
Bee snorted. “She hasn’t slept.”
Well, that answers that.
Dorian frowned. “Don’t blame you. Sounds like you guys really went through it on the trail, Evie. Everyone’s talking about it.”
Evie exhaled through her nose, the ghost of a humourless smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, we noticed.”
“At least everyone agrees on what’s out there now,” Bee muttered. “There’s no more pretending it’s just some wild raccoon. Even the younger years are whispering ‘Wendigo’ like it’s Voldemort.”
“People are also saying it sings to you,” Dorian added, lifting a brow. “And that it steals your soul if you meet its eyes.”
“We should make t-shirts,” Bee said dryly. “‘I survived the Salty Fiddle Wendigo.’”
That pulled a faint snort from Evie, and something in Sebastian uncoiled slightly at the sound.
“We’d better go,” Dorian sighed, glancing toward the stairs. “If Moraine is in one of her moods, we’re doomed. Remember when she made the class redo an entire elixir because someone stirred counter-clockwise once?”
“How could I forget,” Bee whinged as the four of them started toward the south wing staircase. “She made us all half an hour late to Runes.”
While Bee and Dorian continued chatting ahead, Sebastian eased back half a step, letting the space close between himself and Evie until their shoulders hovered in that narrow, charged distance where a single sway could brush them together. He thought about saying something.
About last night. About the trail. Or maybe something safer, like a joke about Bee’s T-shirt idea, but nothing felt right. Everything seemed either too much or not enough.
He glanced down at her, just for a moment. She was focused on the steps ahead, cardigan still folded in her arms like she wasn’t ready to put it down. Her ponytail swayed with each climb, a loose strand catching against her cheek.
He was still searching for the right words when they reached the corridor outside the Potions lab, all four of them slowing in unison as the scent hit them like a wall.
Pine needles crushed underfoot, wildflowers in late summer bloom, and old parchment warmed by candlelight. It hit so cleanly it made Sebastian’s heart stutter, made something low in his stomach tighten.
Bee paused mid-step. “Oh. Oh no.”
Dorian’s nose wrinkled. “Really? That’s what the sixth years brewed last period?”
“Looks like it,” Evie murmured.
She wasn’t looking at him, but Sebastian was definitely looking at her. The scent hadn’t faded. If anything, it was stronger now, making the air feel thicker. He swallowed and forced himself to keep walking.
They filed through the open doors, the scent only intensifying as they stepped into the warm, brightly lit room. Sebastian kept his eyes ahead, but the flutter in his chest refused to settle.
About half the class was already inside, most of them milling around awkwardly. At the front, Professor Moraine stood at her workbench, sleeves rolled to her elbows, vanishing cauldron after cauldron of the last class’s brew with a few efficient flicks of her wand. She glanced up as more students filtered in, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Oh, come now,” she said, lips twitching into a smirk. “You all look like you walked into a trap. I promise I’m not going to make you stand up and confess what you smelled.”
A visible wave of relief passed through the room.
Sebastian took a seat at the nearest open cauldron, his chest still tight.
Back at Hogwarts, when Sharp had rolled out the gleaming cauldron of Amortentia for their sixth-year lesson, Sebastian had been flat on his back in the hospital wing, burning with fever and barely able to breathe. By the time he was well enough to return, the moment had passed, and he’d never known what it would smell like for him. Never cared much, honestly.
Now he knew.
And it was nothing like the fleeting traces of her he sometimes caught on the air when she walked beside him in the hall—those light, teasing notes of parchment and pine clinging to her hair or clothes. This was different. Stronger. Concentrated. Like someone had taken the very core of her and distilled it into something tangible, something that filled his lungs until there was no room for anything else.
He wondered, despite himself, what she smelled. If, somewhere in that swirl of scent only she could sense, there was something recognizably his. Or if it was something else entirely, something that had nothing to do with him at all.
The thought sat uncomfortably in his chest, twisting somewhere between curiosity and something darker.
Before he could chase it further, Moraine clapped her hands once, sharp enough to cut through the thick hum of side conversations.
“Since attendance is light today—surprise, surprise—I’m pairing you off at random. No complaints.”
A collective sigh rose from the room. Some students scrambled to move toward their usual partners before realizing it wouldn’t matter. Moraine was already walking between benches, pointing and calling names with a kind of careless precision.
“Ethan and Dorian. Bee and Eleanor. Sara and Hollis.” She pointed to Sebastian’s table. “Sebastian and Evangeline.”
Of course.
Evie’s gaze met his across the space between their tables, and slowly, her mouth curved into the faintest smile. Not bright, not wry, not quite guarded either. The kind of smile that could mean a dozen different things, all impossible to pin down. Mona Lisa in a Nivalis uniform.
Then, without a word, she crossed the aisle and set her things down at the cauldron beside him. The scent in the air seemed to shift with her proximity, the Amortentia pulling sharper in his lungs until he swore he could taste it on his tongue.
She tied her hair back a little tighter, a few loose strands slipping to frame her face, and glanced toward the front where Moraine was conjuring a fresh set of ingredient crates onto the central table.
“Guess we’re partners,” she said lightly.
Sebastian managed a small nod, hoping it passed for casual while his mind scrambled for footing.
As per Moraine’s next instructions, he flipped open his textbook, the pages whispering beneath his fingers until they landed on 752. The instructions were laid out in neat, precise bullet points.
Evie was already pulling her wand to light the flame beneath their cauldron, the blue glow catching in her eyes for a moment before she bent to check the first ingredient list.
“Four drops of distilled honeydew nectar, one sliced moonapple, peeled, two sprigs of watermint,” she murmured, half to herself, scanning the page. “Fresh, not dried.”
“I’ll get everything,” Sebastian said quickly, perhaps too quickly, judging by the faint lift of her brow.
He pushed back from the bench before she could reply, making for the central table where Moraine had stacked the ingredients. Sebastian gathered each item with deliberate care, checking the watermint leaves for bruises the way the textbook instructed, counting the frostberry seeds twice before tipping them into a small ceramic dish. The motions gave his hands something to do, but his mind kept circling back to the girl waiting at his table.
When he returned, she’d rolled up her sleeves and was checking the temperature of the cauldron. The flame held at just the right simmer, exactly as the book specified: 72 degrees, not a fraction higher. She didn’t look up when he set the ingredients down in a neat line, but there was the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
“...Did you sleep last night?” She asked, still watching the flame.
Sebastian hesitated, one hand lingering on the dish of frostberry seeds. “Not much,” he admitted.
“Me neither,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “Not to mention the hangover this morning. Merlin, I thought my head was going to split in two.”
A faint huff escaped him before he could stop it. “Guess you can’t handle your alcohol, Sterling.”
She snorted, sprinkling exactly seven frostberry seeds into the cauldron. “You’re not looking too chipper yourself. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit hazy on some of what happened last night.”
Sebastian’s knife slowed over the moonapple, the edge pressing but not cutting. If she didn’t remember, did last night mean anything at all? The way she’d moved against him to the rhythm, her mouth brushing close to his ear, the low words about Ethan, about her type…
She laughed under her breath, a sound that pulled at him despite the knot forming in his chest. “Sorry if I said anything stupid.”
He kept his head down, the knife resuming its work in steady, even slices. “Nothing stupider than usual,” he quipped, tone easy and teasing.
He slid the slices into the cauldron one by one, watching them sink and curl into the shimmering amber. “But I am curious… what do you remember?”
Evangeline’s stirring slowed, just for a moment. “Bits and pieces,” she replied, eyes still on the potion. “I remember you knocking my drink out of my hand on the dancefloor, for one thing.”
“That was an accident,” Sebastian retorted. “I bought you a replacement!”
Evangeline’s smile curved wider. “I remember that too. It was delicious.”
“Trust me, I could tell,” he said, lips twitching into a smirk before he reached for the honeydew nectar.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, narrowing her eyes as she began stirring more briskly in the opposite direction.
Sebastian kept his tone even as he tipped the dropper, letting four golden beads of honeydew nectar fall into the brew. “Just that you didn’t exactly sip it delicately,” he explained.
Her brows arched. “I was thirsty.”
“I noticed,” he replied, sliding the dropper aside and reaching for the watermint. “Sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
She shook her head, muttering “unbelieveable” under her breath, though there was a faint, reluctant curve to her lips.
“I remember you conjured me those fluffy slippers too,” Evie added after a moment, her tone thoughtful now, as if she were sorting through the night in fragments.
Sebastian’s hands paused over the watermint. “That,” he said, tearing the leaves cleanly down the vein, “was a public service. You would’ve broken your neck walking back in those heels.”
She let out a soft laugh, the sound low enough that he almost missed it over the gentle bubble of the potion. “You always that chivalrous, or was that just the whiskey?”
His mouth pulled into a half-smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t about to have you face-plant in front of half the school. Would’ve been bad for my image.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, voice warm with mock agreement. “I guess that’s also why you looked so proud to be wearing a matching costume to mine? For your image?”
Sebastian paused and he shot her a sidelong glance. “Proud isn’t the word I’d use.”
“No?” she asked, feigning innocence as she sprinkled a pinch of powdered kelpfire into the cauldron, the liquid flashing briefly gold before settling. “I thought you seemed pretty happy with the whole Ares-and-Aphrodite thing.”
Sebastian gave a quiet huff, pretending to focus on measuring the next ingredient. “If I’d known you were dressing as Aphrodite, I might’ve picked something else.”
“Mm. Sure,” she said, clearly unconvinced, her spoon making a lazy circuit through the potion. “That’s why you were staring daggers through Ethan, too, right?”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked to her, sharp but brief, before dropping back to the neat pile of mint leaves. He cleared his throat. “Thought you said you didn’t remember much,”
“Some things stick,” she murmured, eyes still on the potion as she stirred. “And subtlety isn’t really your strong suit.”
Sebastian dropped the leaves into the cauldron, watching them darken and curl on the surface before sinking. The faint hiss of the reaction gave him something to focus on other than the weight of her gaze. “Any other memories I should be aware of?”
Evangeline hummed, her brow knitting as she searched her memory. After a moment, she gave a small shake of her head. “Honestly? No,” she said, her tone earnest. “I remember having that drink with you, heading to the dancefloor… and then it’s just flashes. Bits and pieces until you transfigured those slippers and we walked home.”
Sebastian’s grip on the pestle tightened just slightly as he began to grind the dried dandelion root they’d need next. “Huh,” he said after a moment, keeping his voice even. “Well… I guess that does sum it up.”
The steady scrape of root against stone filled the space between them, underscored by the gentle simmer of the potion. He didn’t look up, but he could feel the ghost of her attention lingering on him before she turned back to the cauldron.
“Unless,” she said lightly, almost as if it were an afterthought, “there’s something I’ve forgotten that you think I should remember?”
The question landed somewhere between playful and pointed, and it made his shoulders tense before he could help it. “Nothing worth mentioning,” Sebastian replied casually, despite the tight coil in his chest.”
Evangeline gazed at him a moment longer. “If you say so.” She stirred once more, slow and deliberate, before leaning in to check the potion’s colour.
“It’s mint green like the book says,” she confirmed. “Now we need to let it steep for three minutes before adding the powdered root.”
Sebastian set the pestle aside before he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Three minutes,” he echoed, swiping it open to start a timer.
She nodded absently, still watching the slow swirl of the potion as if it might reveal something to her if she stared long enough. The steam curled upward in delicate tendrils, carrying with it that unmistakable pull of sharp pine and wildflowers that still hung in the air, making it far too easy for Sebastian’s thoughts to drift somewhere he shouldn’t.
A sudden, violent bang rattled the window beside them, sharp enough to make several students jump. Sebastian’s head snapped toward the sound just in time to see a dark smear sliding down the pane—a great black bird, limp and broken, had hit with enough force to leave a streak of red against the frost-rimmed surface.
The room went utterly still. Even the low hum of conversation and the bubbling of cauldrons seemed to vanish as every head turned toward the window.
Professor Moraine straightened from the desk where she’d been marking, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. “It’s nothing to panic over,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the hush. “Birds sometimes misjudge the glass. Everyone back to work.”
But before anyone could fully obey, another thud struck another pane, then a third, louder, a heavy impact that made the window quiver in its fittings.
Sebastian felt Evangeline stiffen beside him. She set down her stirring rod and moved toward the window, close enough that her breath fogged a small patch of glass. Her hand came up to brace against the frame, fingers splayed. She peered out into the grey light beyond, her head tilting just slightly.
“Oh, Merlin…” she whispered, the sound more gasp than words.
Moraine rose from her desk, her quill clattering to the wood as she crossed the room. “Miss Sterling, back to your desk,” she instructed, though her pace quickened when she caught sight of Evangeline’s expression.
Sebastian moved to her side, ignoring the professor’s approach, and followed her gaze out into the frost-dimmed grounds. His stomach tightened.
The grass just beyond the Greenwood was littered with birds, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles, wings half-spread as if frozen mid-flight before impact. There were a dozen, maybe more.
In the distance, a small flock wheeled low over the lake, their flight erratic, dipping too close to the water’s dark surface before careening back toward the castle. Sebastian’s stomach sank with the realization of where their path would take them.
“Sebastian,” Evangeline murmured, her voice low and worried.
He turned to look at her. Her pupils were wide, almost swallowing the hazel of her irises, her posture rigid. She didn’t tear her gaze from the approaching birds.
Gasps rippled through the room as others caught on. Someone near the back made a sound that was half-yelp, half-curse. Moraine’s voice rose over it, firm and clipped. “Everyone, away from the windows. Now.”
Sebastian grabbed Evangeline’s hand, tugging her firmly back from the glass until she was shielded slightly behind him. Her fingers tightened reflexively around his, but she didn’t protest, her gaze still locked on the streaked pane.
Over her shoulder, Sebastian caught Ethan’s eyes across the aisle. The other boy’s usual easy confidence was gone, replaced by a hard, assessing look. Dorian was on his feet beside him, jaw set, his hand hovering just above the hilt of his wand as if weighing whether to draw it. Bee stood frozen halfway between their tables, her brows knit in alarm, darting glances between the window and Moraine as if trying to gauge just how worried she ought to be.
Moraine had no such hesitation. With a sharp flick of her wand, a shimmer spread outward from the glass like ripples in water, settling into a faintly glowing lattice that clung to the pane. A reinforcement charm.
It was barely in place before the first of the oncoming flock slammed into the window—then another, and another. The impacts came in rapid, jarring succession, each thud reverberating through the reinforced panes. Dark wings and claws blurred past in a frenzy, the smear of blood and feathers growing with each hit.
Sebastian tightened his grip on Evangeline’s hand, keeping her anchored beside him. Around them, everyone was silent, watching in horror.
Moraine’s voice cut through the pounding of wings, steady but edged with a steel that left no room for argument. “Class is dismissed,” she said, turning to sweep the room with her gaze. “Leave your cauldrons exactly as they are. I will assess them from their current state.”
No one moved at first, as if they needed a second to process that they were being let out early. Moraine didn’t give them one. She gestured sharply toward the door, the glow of the reinforcement charm still flickering at her back. “You are to return directly to your common rooms. No detours, no lingering.”
A few murmurs rose from the benches, quickly silenced by the sharpness in her tone. “Go.”
The scrape of stools and the shuffle of hurried footsteps filled the air as students gathered their bags, some still casting uneasy glances at the windows where the barrage of bodies showed no sign of slowing. The smell of feathers and blood seemed to cling to the back of the throat, and even those trying to look unbothered moved with clipped, deliberate steps.
Sebastian kept Evangeline close as they edged toward the door, her hand still looped firmly in his. Ethan fell in behind them without a word, his eyes scanning the high glass panels, while Dorian and Bee flanked their other side as if the group had fallen into formation without needing to discuss it.
Behind them, Moraine held her position at the window, wand poised, the lattice shimmer pulsing with each new strike. The classroom door creaked open to the corridor’s cooler air, and Sebastian felt a rush of relief to have even a wall between them and whatever madness had seized the flock outside.
“What the fuck was that?” Dorian hissed as they filed into the hallway.
Bee hugged her bag close to her chest, quickening her pace to keep up with them. “They were aiming for the windows. All of them. Did you see how fast they were flying? It’s like they didn’t even care if they—” She cut herself off, shuddering.
Sebastian cast a sidelong glance at Evangeline. Her expression was unreadable, but her grip on his hand hadn’t loosened. “You alright?” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, though her eyes were distant, tracking the shadowy stretch of corridor ahead as if expecting something to appear. “Just… that many at once—it’s not natural.”
They turned a corner, the noise of the potions room fading behind them, but the image lingered: black bodies hitting the glass, blood smearing across glass.
“It’s like they were cursed,” Ethan added grimly.
Bee glanced at him, unease flickering across her face. “You think it’s tied to the Wendigo?”
Dorian’s mouth tightened. “What else could it be?”
Evangeline’s jaw was set, her gaze still fixed straight ahead. “If it is,” she said quietly, “then… this must be some kind of warning.”
The group fell silent at that, their footsteps echoing off the high stone walls. They passed another window, and every head turned instinctively toward it. Outside, the lawn was littered with even more feathered bodies.
“You think they’ll cancel classes for everyone?” Dorian kept his voice low, but it carried in the otherwise empty corridor.
Sebastian nodded. “We can’t be the only ones seeing this. The castle’s full of windows. Give it ten minutes and the hallways will be buzzing.”
“Yeah,” Ethan muttered, his gaze flicking toward the next bend in the corridor, “but that doesn’t mean the professors will tell us anything.”
“They’ll probably call it a freak incident and lock it down in the staffroom,” Dorian said darkly. “Same as everything else lately.”
Evangeline didn’t speak, but Sebastian could see the tension in her jaw, the way her free hand curled into a fist at her side. Her eyes kept darting to every window they passed, as if she was bracing for another sudden thud.
“We should probably get back our common rooms,” Bee murmured. “Moraine said no detours, and I don’t think she was exaggerating.”
“Agreed,” Ethan said, his tone clipped. He glanced between Evangeline and Sebastian. “Come on, E. We’ll head back together.”
Sebastian’s mouth pulled into a faint frown before he could stop it. “I can walk her back—”
Ethan cut in with a shake of his head. “You’d be going out of your way, and Moraine said straight to the common rooms. We’ll be fine.”
Sebastian’s jaw worked, something hot and instinctive prickling under his skin, but he nodded, forcing himself to let go of Evangeline’s hand. “Right.”
Bee shifted her bag onto her shoulder, glancing between them. “Come on. We should keep moving before the corridors fill up.”
Dorian gave a short nod toward Sebastian, already starting down the Griselwyn route. “Let’s go, Sallow.”
Sebastian hesitated a beat longer, his fingers flexing at his side as if fighting the urge to reach for her hand again. Finally, he gave her a curt nod, eyes holding hers for a second too long. “Text me when you’re back,” he said.
“I will,” she promised.
Only then did he turn away, following Dorian and Bee down the dim corridor toward the stairwell.
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Author Note: I apologize for not having the exact list of OC's mentioned in the following chapters - I'm just trying to get chapters posted to catch the story back up to fit with the current seasonal timeline! With that said, all OCs mentioned in this story can be found here!
Officially announcing my new fanfic to be published and completed in December 2025:
Mapping Your Love
A Post-Hogwarts Legacy Ominis Gaunt x OC Story 🎄
Summary: Disowned with nowhere else to go, Ominis Gaunt accepts an invitation to spend Christmas and Winter Break in Toronto with his crush, Willow Abbott. There, he learns what it means to be part of a family and have a place to call home. Will he and Willow find the courage to become more than friends?
You'll love the story if...
you enjoy the following tropes - friends to lovers, first love, holiday romance
you're looking for a sweet, fluffy story
you prefer reading shorter works
you're curious what the modern Wizarding World in Canada might be like
Context Note: While this is being posted as a standalone story, these chapters are also part of the collaborative fanfic True North, in which Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt are expelled from Hogwarts but given a second chance to finish their education at Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Canada. There is much more to Willow and Ominis’s story, and you’ll find it there! See links below.
Length and Updates: About ten chapters will be posted in December 2025 to coincide with the holiday setting of the story (Christmas and Winter Break!).
Content Warnings: This story is intended for mature audiences (18+) and features past trauma, past child abuse, and eventual smut.
Credits: @writingsoftarnishedsilver for creating Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and True North, beta-reading, and lots of collaboration; my husband, Mr. Sunny, for beta-reading, brainstorming, and motivation; @giselsann for brilliant illustrations (more to come - I may end up changing the cover art when I have new commissions!); and @dreamy-gal-30 for encouragement and lending a great OC to True North!
Links (will eventually be posted):
Wattpad | AO3 | True North on Tumblr
Author's Note: I have been working on this fanfic since August, and I am so excited to finally share it with the world! I would love nothing more than to discuss this adorable fic and my favorite HL character, Ominis Gaunt; feel free to reach out if you have any questions. Using a blind character's POV has been challenging, but I feel as though I have grown quite a bit as a writer because of it. I sincerely hope you enjoy this story!
First off, credit for this commission goes to @giselsann, who never disappoints. I love this piece - there are so many details in here that she absolutely NAILED. I could go on and on and on. She's made many commissions for me over the years, and I cannot recommend her enough.
I only recently introduced Willow Abbott, my newest OC for True North (a collaborative fanfic!). My chapters for the story take place later in the plot (in December/January of that school year), but they're nearly finished, and I'm very excited to share them!
To give a small preview, here's the context of this scene: Willow's mum runs an ice cream parlour in Magical Toronto's Copway Market. Willow, who loves baking and cooking, works there during her summer breaks from Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She is extremely creative and loves experimenting and perfecting new flavours and seasonal flavour collections for the shop. When she brings Ominis home for the holidays, she hosts him for a special ice cream tasting. He learns so much more about her passion and talent, and she discovers just how precise his senses really are in compensating for his lack of vision.
These two are adorable and so well-suited for each other. I find myself constantly giggling and kicking my feet all the time while writing their chapters.
Interested in learning more about True North?
Here's a quick summary: Banished from the only lives they’ve ever known, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt seek refuge at Nivalis, Canada’s school of witchcraft and wizardry. But fresh beginnings are fragile, and as new loves and friendships take root, something ancient and ravenous awakens in the northern wilderness.
LINKS: AO3 | Wattpad | Tumblr
Link to Info/Lore about Nivalis School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The mastermind behind this project is the brilliant @writingsoftarnishedsilver!
It's 10:30 pm on a work night, I have to be up at 5am, and I am wiping tears from my eyes as I finish Almost, Always. Gods, I have so many feelings about this.
First, this may be my favourite work of yours to date. I love everything you write but this? This was...gut wrenching, heart breaking, earth shattering, mind blowing, just...this was everything. From the beginning to end, I was hooked.
Second, the way you write Sebastian is probably my favourite rendition of him I've ever read. He's sweet but flawed, possessive and jealous but loyal and charming. The way you portray him is what I strive to achieve one day.
Third, you are by far the most realistic writer I have read. You tackle dark topics and heart breaking scenarios with such grace and poise that it makes me sob but smile because it's real and raw and true. Your writing is deep and descriptive and elicits so many emotions from everytime i read something of yours.
Finally fourth, you are, without a doubt, my biggest inspiration when it comes to writing. I only hope that one day I can write something so beautiful like you have done so many times.
I'm sorry this is a long message, but I just had to let this out.
Thank you for writing. Thank you for sharing it with us. And know that your writing has forever changed me and will stay with me forever.
Oh my god, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m genuinely speechless reading this. I saw your DM too, and I’m so touched. It means the world that you took the time to write something so thoughtful and heartfelt, especially so late at night when you should’ve been sleeping.
Almost, Always was emotional to write, and knowing that it reached someone else on such a deep level makes every hard moment of writing it feel completely worth it.
Your words about Sebastian hit especially hard. He’s a character who means so much to me, and it’s incredibly validating to know that his complexity came through the way I hoped it would. To hear that my portrayal of him inspired you in your own writing is one of the highest compliments I could ever receive. And your comment about realism truly touches me. Writing difficult and heavy themes is never easy, but I’ve always endeavoured to portray them in thoughtful, realistic ways. To know that you felt that balance makes me feel so deeply seen as a writer.
The idea that my writing could stay with someone, that it could change someone in even the smallest way, is the kind of thing I dreamed about when I first started sharing my stories. Thank you, sincerely, for telling me this; for feeling so deeply and for sharing that feeling with me.
I appreciate you more than I can express. Truly, thank you for reading and for letting me know what this story meant to you. Your message will stay with me for a very long time.
no you have to contribute to your fandom if you don't want it to die. most fandoms die because people say 'it's so sad watching the fandom die when the hype dies' without doing anything about it. I'm not saying you have to push out 100k word slow-burn fic, I'm not saying you have to make fan art or gif sets or edits or anything. I'm just saying we as a community should contribute to our fandom if we don't want it to die, and by contributing, I'm talking about giving kudos, commenting on your favorite fics, reblogging your favorite art and just talking about your favorite characters. that's enough to keep a fandom alive. that's the most effective way to keep a fandom alive in my humble opinion.
fandoms die because people stop talking about it, fandoms die because people stop engaging with fan content once the hype is gone. what I'm saying is, mainstream media's hype may be gone, but our fandom can stay alive and thriving if us as a community don't let it die.
