Chapter Text
As the afternoon sun bathed Hogsmeade in a soft glow that shimmered off the snow-clad rooftops, Sebastian and Flintwick strolled along the icy cobbled streets, the air crisp and filled with the distant hum of activity.
“I can only apologise for his drinking you out of Wiggenweld potions,” she remarked with a small shake of her head.
“Better that than Firewhiskey,” he chuckled lightly.
Her expression softened as her gaze flicked toward him.
“How’s your wife?”
Sebastian’s steps faltered briefly, but he pressed forward, his voice low and heavy.
“Not here,” he sighed. "Still in St. Mungo's."
She nodded, the understanding in her eyes plain. They walked in silence for a moment before she spoke again.
“I know how it feels,” she said softly, “to see someone you love suffer… And be utterly powerless to do anything about it. I'm truly so sorry.”
Sebastian glanced at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. “Have you always known?” he asked cautiously.
“No,” she replied, her voice carrying a tinge of memory. “He tried to push me away at first, kept telling me that we could never be together and advised me to move on. But eventually…”
She trailed off, and Sebastian raised his eyebrows, silently encouraging her to continue.
She took a deep breath, her lips curving in a faint, bittersweet smile. “One night, I was sent to Gloucestershire to apprehend a group of poachers. He was supposed to come with me, but he insisted on going alone and leaving me in London. They were a notoriously dangerous lot. Fought like cornered animals... So, I followed him anyway…”
“And it was a full moon?” Sebastian guessed.
“And it was a full moon,” she affirmed, her smile widening just slightly. “The fight went sideways, and I arrived to see him there in the clearing of the forest… Well, to see what he really was.”
Sebastian let out a low whistle. “And yet, here you are.”
Seraphina nodded. “Here I am. I’ve seen the good he does, the lives he saves. It doesn’t define him… It’s just one piece of the whole.”
“That’s a rare perspective,” Sebastian murmured, a trace of admiration in his voice.
“It’s not easy,” she admitted, looking down at the path ahead. “But when you love someone, you accept the darkness along with the light. And sometimes… The darkness makes the light shine brighter.”
Sebastian’s gaze drifted to the ground, her words striking a chord. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “It must have been terrifying, though. The first time, I mean.”
She nodded, but her smile turned warm. “It was. But when he looked at me with those big, yellow eyes… I didn’t see a monster. Just… A frightened man, doing the best he could to fight something he couldn't control.”
Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. He glanced over at her as they continued their walk.
“He always makes sure to be as far away from people as possible in the build-up to a transformation,” she continued. “He always picks either the Highlands or the West Country. Somewhere he knows he won’t encounter anyone… Sometimes, he doesn’t even tell me where he’s going,” she chuckled half-heartedly.
“Do you think it can work… Between species?” he asked, his voice low, as though afraid of the question itself.
Flintwick’s expression softened, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “We’re living proof of it,” she said simply, her tone steady and warm.
Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but her smile didn’t waver. “It’s not without its challenges,” she admitted, “but love… Real love… Has a way of finding its own balance. The differences… They don’t seem so big when you focus on what actually matters.”
Sebastian nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, the bustling sounds of Hogsmeade fading into the background.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve always believed love doesn’t follow rules or expectations.”
“No,” she agreed with a chuckle. “It doesn’t. And thank Merlin for that.”
Her expression shifted, her usual confident demeanour giving way to raw vulnerability.
“It doesn’t stop your heart from aching for them, though…” she murmured. “Merlin, I’d do anything to stop his pain… I’d even take it on myself.”
Sebastian’s stride faltered, his gaze snapping to hers. The weight of her words left him momentarily speechless.
“You’d become…” he began, his voice trailing off as they neared the busier streets of Hogsmeade. His eyes darted to the passing witches and wizards, the hum of conversation and clinking of cauldrons filling the air. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer. “You’d… Become a werewolf with him?” he whispered.
Her eyes didn’t waver. “With him, for him, instead of him… You name it,” she said quietly, her tone resolute.
Sebastian stared at her, the magnitude of her statement settling heavily between them. “That’s… Devotion,” he finally managed.
“It’s not about devotion,” Flintwick replied, shaking her head slightly. “It’s about love. When you love someone that much, the lines blur. It stops being about what you’d do for them and starts being about who you are with them.”
Sebastian’s throat tightened. Her words hit too close to home.
“And he feels the same for you?” he asked softly.
She smiled faintly. “I know he does. Even if he won’t always say it.”
“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I hope you two never have to make that choice.”
“So do I,” she admitted, her gaze turning wistful as they continued toward the village. “But if it came to it… I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Sebastian nodded, his respect for her deepening.
“Do you know,” she began again, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “that my Patronus wasn’t always a wolf?”
Sebastian glanced at her, intrigued. “Oh?”
She nodded, the smirk softening into a wistful smile. “No. It was a raven when I first found it.”
“Fitting,” Sebastian teased lightly.
She chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But, only after I met him… The real him… Did it change.”
Sebastian’s steps slowed. “To a wolf?”
She hummed affirmingly, her smile growing. “One day, I cast it, and there it was… This gorgeous wolf, charging forward with this unshakable loyalty. I didn’t even realize the connection at first, but…”
“But you knew,” Sebastian finished for her.
“Yes.” Her voice dropped to a softer note. “It was like something inside me shifted, like a part of my magic had decided I wasn’t complete without him.”
Sebastian couldn’t help but marvel at her words. “Patronuses don’t lie, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” she said with a knowing glance. “They show us what we might not always admit to ourselves.”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked away, as though searching for something in the cobblestones beneath their feet…
He thought of his wife’s Patronus.
“That’s… Something,” he murmured.
“It is,” she agreed, her tone lightening as they drew closer to Hogsmeade’s bustling centre. “And a constant reminder, every time I cast it, of how much he’s a part of me.”
“Is it always a wolf?” Sebastian asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Almost always,” she nodded, her smile carrying a hint of amusement. “Although, every now and then, it surprises me with a Raven… It can take on whichever.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured, his gaze distant.
“It’s like they have a mind of their own,” she continued. “But one that knows us better than we know ourselves.”
He chuckled softly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “And here I thought I understood most magic.”
She gave him a wry smile. “There’s always more to discover, Sallow.”
“And there’s no cure for lycanthropy?” Sebastian asked softly, glancing at her.
“None,” she sighed, her voice heavy with resignation. “Believe me, I’ve searched for years.”
Sebastian’s expression hardened for a moment, a flicker of shared pain passing between them. “I know that feeling,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted.
She looked at him, understanding in her gaze. “It’s maddening, isn’t it? To know there’s nothing you can do, no potion to brew, no spell to cast…”
“No relic to wield,” he added, his voice tinged with bitterness.
She raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t press. “And yet, we keep trying, don’t we? Even when the world tells us it’s hopeless.”
“Especially then,” he said, a determined edge creeping into his tone.
“Even the older forms of magic can’t protect from it,” she sighed, her gaze wandering briefly to the cobblestone path ahead. “Some sources even argue that a corrupted streak of Ancient Earth Magick is what caused it…”
Sebastian jolted.
“You know about older forms of magic?”
“I’ve studied my fair share,” she replied, her tone cautious but intrigued. “But it’s still such a taboo subject, with so little still traceable…”
Sebastian leaned in slightly. “Have you ever come across Atlantean Magic, or come to think of it, sacrificial protection?”
Her eyes narrowed, then widened slightly in recognition before she half-laughed. “Atlantean Magic? Now we’re going too far back…” She hesitated briefly before continuing. “But the latter, I have heard of... Complicated magic, though.”
Seeing the cogs begin to whir in his head, she paused, her sharp gaze scanning his face for answers. “Is this about what happened to your uncle in the Catacombs?”
“Sort of,” he admitted with a shrug, his voice lowering.
He nodded toward The Three Broomsticks.
“Drink?”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Only if you’re buying.”
Sebastian smirked, his hand already reaching into his pocket. “Naturally…”
As they settled into a quiet corner of The Three Broomsticks, mugs of butterbeer steaming between them, Flintwick leaned forward, her curiosity evident.
“So, Sallow… what can I teach you about Sacrificial Protection?”
Sebastian ran a finger along the rim of his mug, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he looked up, his expression heavy with both hope and worry. “I’ve a good reason to believe that it’s what’s keeping my wife alive…”
Her brow furrowed, her curiosity turning to concern. “What makes you think that?”
He leaned forward sharply, his voice low and urgent. “It requires both an intent to die whilst being presented with an opportunity to survive, yes?”
“Yes,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Like when Solomon took the Killing Curse.”
“Exactly. Choosing to die to save someone, even though you didn’t have to… Placing a protection over them.” Sebastian repeated, his mind racing. “What I’m trying to figure out is… Who could have stepped in to save her?”
“What do you mean, Sallow?” she asked, her tone cautious.
“Who stepped in to protect her from Rookwood?” he pressed, his voice cracking slightly.
She paused, visibly searching for an answer. “I don’t know how that would work, Sebastian,” she admitted carefully. “Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but no one has ever died from a Cruciatus curse.”
Sebastian’s brow knitted in confusion. “But then why would…”
His words trailed off as an idea struck him like lightning, his breath catching in his chest.
“What is it?” She asked, her tone sharp as her eyes flickered with concern.
“You’re saying,” he whispered, “there’s no record of a person dying from a Cruciatus curse?”
“None,” she affirmed. “As far as magical research goes, prolonged exposure to it causes irreversible damage, but it’s never been fatal in itself.”
“What about an unborn child?” he asked abruptly, his voice trembling.
Flintwick blinked, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. But then her eyes widened as realization dawned.
“There are no records at all,” she admitted slowly. “Rookwood’s the first known offender to even target one.”
Sebastian pushed back from the table, his face pale. “Oh, Merlin… The plot thickens,” he muttered, a surge of emotions swirling within him.
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer, his hands already fumbling for his coin pouch. He slammed several galleons on the table and downed the last of his butterbeer. “Come on,” he said firmly, his voice edged with urgency.
“Where are we going?” She asked as she followed suit, her own butterbeer forgotten.
“Back to Aranshire,” Sebastian said grimly, heading for the door. “If I’m right… There’s something I've completely overlooked…”
As the door to the Sallow cottage swung open, Stormrider appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his temples and groaning. “That was a quick trip,” he muttered, leaning heavily against the bannister.
“We’ve had a revelation, apparently...” Flintwick said, her tone brisk as she followed Sebastian inside. 'About what's happened to his wife."
Stormrider frowned, taking in Sebastian’s restless pacing. “Talk to me, Sallow,” he said, his voice rough but curious.
Sebastian didn’t stop moving, his steps quick and agitated. “The Cruciatus curse causes physical damage,” he began, gesturing as he spoke. “It’s devastating, but it’s something a grown human can endure… Barely… But it’s still pain, not fatal damage.” He stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face them, his chest heaving.
“An unborn child, though…” he murmured, the words hanging heavy in the air. “Their body is still growing, developing... They can’t endure that sort of damage.”
Flintwick’s breath caught, realization flickering across her face.
“And yet,” Sebastian continued, his voice catching, “the child did survive.” He paused, his mind racing, his emotions swirling visibly on his face. “Because she—” His voice broke, unable to continue.
Flintwick frowned empathetically, stepping forward. “She’s the one who sacrificed herself.”
“She chose to die,” Sebastian said, the words spilling out as the devastation overtook him. “To save the baby. That’s the sacrificial protection.”
“But she’s not dead, Sebastian…” Flintwick said, her brows furrowed in confusion as she glared at him with determination.
“Because…” Sebastian faltered, shaking his head as though the words were too painful to say aloud.
“Because the child can’t survive outside of her,” Stormrider interjected, his voice quieter but heavy with understanding. “It’s a paradox.”
The room fell into a stunned silence. The fire crackled faintly in the hearth, casting flickering light across their faces.
Sebastian’s knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled into a chair. “She’s alive, but she’s trapped… By the magic she invoked to protect the baby,” he whispered, his hands trembling.
Flintwick folded her arms, her expression grave. “You’re saying… The protection didn’t just shield the child… It bound them together. Her life force is sustaining the baby’s.”
Stormrider nodded slowly, sinking onto the stairs as if the weight of the realization had drained him. “Until it can survive outside of her. But because she can't properly nurture the child…”
“They'll both die,” Sebastian finished, his voice barely audible. "It's killing them both slowly."
Stormrider stood, his frown deepening as he processed the implications. “We need to get into the Department of Mysteries and figure out how to fix this,” he said firmly, his gaze locking with Sebastian’s. “Now. Jobs be damned, lycanthropy be damned… We’re getting them both back to you, Sallow.”
“Are you insane?!” Flintwick exclaimed, stepping in front of them as they moved toward the door. “You’d risk breaking into one of the most secure areas in the Ministry to figure out how to meddle with incredibly complex magic?!”
“It’s not about sanity,” Sebastian retorted, his voice calm but resolute as he reached for his coat. He threw it over his shoulders, his movements sharp and purposeful. “It’s about love.”
The conviction in his voice hung heavily in the room, silencing any further protests.
Flintwick’s eyes widened, the dawning realization clear in her expression.
“Go,” she finally nodded. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
Sebastian paused briefly, turning to her. “Get to St. Mungo’s,” he instructed. “Seek out the blind Healer named Ominis.”
“Ominis?” She queried, her brow furrowing. “As in—”
“Yes,” Sebastian interrupted, his voice clipped but urgent. “That Ominis. Tell him everything we’ve uncovered. Tell him to do whatever is necessary to buy us as much time as we can get.”
With that, he turned and followed Stormrider out the door, the two men disappearing into the early evening as Flintwick stood frozen, the weight of the discovery pressing heavily on her shoulders, before she, too, disappeared in a soft crack.