Ten years after I began at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow is back. And he's Professor Sallow now. He disappeared after the fall of Ranrok and Rookwood, after I lost Professor Fig, and after Ominis and I couldn't keep him from losing himself. But I never...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Thiago, Sebastian and I spend the next few hours wandering around the room of requirement, and throughout all of it, Sebastian takes any stolen opportunity to not let me forget what we were up to before Thiago interrupted us.
Thiago's devoted interest in the seven vivariums, aviaries, and terrariums that cropped up over the years means he insists on traversing each and every corner. He points out all the beasts and plants he can identify (which is all of them), and whenever he temporarily disappears around ledges or boulders, Sebastian closes the space between us to bestow soft kisses. When Thiago's eyes are distracted by the various enclosures and structures that he either compliments or (fairly) critiques, Sebastian's hands coyly wander around me squeezing whatever they can.
Even as delightfully distracting as Sebastian is, I still find myself energized by Thiago's enthusiasm, which never wanes. He coos to the unicorns, bows to the hippogriffs (being particularly amused by baby Dustbunny), and he doesn't bat an eye at the graphorns. In the aviary, a bright pink fwooper I call Rick Astley takes an affectionate liking to Thiago and perches on his shoulder, making a semi-permanent residence there for the duration of our exploration.
Over the hours I learn that while Sebastian certainly seems to find my body enticing, I don't hold a candle to each and every bookcase we pass. He can't resist inspecting them. From the hallways to the sitting areas to the shelves within various smaller rooms that popped up over the years for potions-making and charms practice, he climbs the tallest ladders and scours every perimeter of every shelf. It's lovely to remember watching him squirrel away for hours in the library, nose in a book. I adore seeing him in his element.
Thiago (easily) convinces him to test the seat cushions of each reading nook and large, comfy chair we pass, his directive being, "Sebastian!! Bounce with me!" It sends me into a fit of giggles every time he exclaims it. They create a rating system to judge each of the reading nooks for comfort, privacy, and Sebastian's litmus test of 'overall reading viability.' I don't tire of seeing his face perk up with interest when he discovers something new, or the way he squeezes my hand and mutters alluring things in my ear about the various spicy things he'd like to do with me in the darkest nooks.
Finally, Thiago insists on following a large, columnar aquarium that stands tall along one of the sides of the main atrium, and arches out of sight. Leading us up and around the atrium's perimeter to the second-story point where the huge column of the Black Lake's water and marine life curves off and behind a wall, I notice something new in the room. Where there used to be two doors along the hallway, there is now a large alcove that has three doors.
I'm surprised! It's not that the room has never changed – it's just been a while. But I learned long ago to trust it since the room always has an uncanny ability to know what's needed.
"Well this is interesting," I say, explaining the situation. Of the classic, baroque-style wooden door to the right I say, "this one is Ominis' living quarters," I feel Sebastian's hand tense in mine a little and I feel butterflies in my stomach to think about Ominis coming back to his space, just as I did to mine a few weeks go.
