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...
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The cozy atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks amplifies the comfort that swells in my heart from spending time in my sister's presence. The smell of biscuits and butterbear, the sounds of laughter and singing and the clicking of glasses – it's so quintessentially British. So different from where I've been for so long. So familiar. So 'home.'
"Oh, Sebastian..." Anne sighs with a timid smile after a lull in our conversation. "I only hope you can forgive me."
The absurdity.
It's about the seventh time she's said something to that effect. And I shake my head, rolling my eyes as we stand to leave the Three Broomsticks. It's only been a couple of hours, but her energy seems to come and go in quick bursts that break my heart. She's officially reached her limit.
In turn, I express – for approximately the seventh time – the same sentiment. "And I only hope you can forgive me."
"No, no – there's so much I didn't know. That I didn't understand," she protests.
After helping her up from her chair I pull her into a hug, wrapping my arms around her like the protective wings of a bird, as I have always done, as if to attempt to shield her and us in our little nest from the maelstrom of fates and destinies that never seem to stop their barrage from all sides.
It is surreal to feel this way, again. I will never tire of the feeling of holding my sister in my arms.
Godric's heart, I missed this.
"I thought I was angry with you," she whispers sweetly into my chest. "But I was angry with everything. With Mum and Dad. With the circumstances. Solomon. The curse. And I took it all out on you. And now?" She trails off. Part of me wants to ask her to finish the thought. But a larger part of me has a dreadful sense that I can't bear to hear about how she feels it's too late.
Another quiet moment passes and she pulls away from me and turns back to the table to scoop up the gift I gave her – the matching door plate that had once adorned my mother's office. 'Helena M. Sallow, Professor of Ancient Studies.' She traces the letters with her fingers, just as I did with my father's, and she smiles. After thanking me again – and I, once again, give April all the credit – she stoops down to pick up my leather satchel that she had placed next to her seat when we arrived.
"Don't forget this, dear brother," she says kindly, returning my satchel and folio of letters and memories to me. "It's just as I said," she reiterates with happiness and a bittersweet overtone. "I truly felt swept away. I'd love to see more of your travels. I'm afraid I'll never get the chance, myself." She smiles sheepishly. "If only I could have experienced it in real time with you. I'm so sorry."
"Anne, please. We can't change what's done. The past is a shadow. The future is an illusion. The only reality, the only existence we have is in the present moment," I assure her as she links her arm in mine. "I'm forever grateful that my present moment, and future moments, can be here with you," I add as we turn to make our way out of the pub and my mind spins with the plans we've made tonight, not only to spend more time like this, but to see her at Hogwarts more regularly as she wishes to take advantage of the library. Bending down to kiss her on top of her head, I'm still jarred by our height difference. She's not grown much since we were teenagers and I have – quite a lot. The twenty to thirty centimeters difference in our height is still a bit odd to me.
