How to Make a Villain - [Sebastian Sallow x F!OC]

[eight]

Like everything in the Scottish highlands, Hogsmeade village appeared to have grown right out of the earth itself, all mossy-greens and earthy-browns as if its architects had been garden gnomes and fairies. Rows of precariously leaning shopfronts lined the cobbled streets, their facades reaching toward the sky like twisted tree trunks, crooked and uneven. Aurélie would not have been surprised to learn that Hogsmeade hadn't been built at all, but grown from the soil up.

Where she'd come from, everything had been pink, not green. Her home of Toulouse, whose magnificent terracotta buildings had given it the nickname La Ville Rose, was a far cry from the rugged wilds of Scotland. Though, much like Hogsmeade, Toulouse was a maze of narrow streets, there was nothing organic about the Pink City; everything within it had been meticulously crafted, a living fairytale, a refined work of art that glowed pink and gold whenever the sun set over its stunning facade. A rose quartz city, her mother used to call it.

More starkly still, Beauxbatons had been clean and white, adorned with trimmings of gold and powder blues. Grand and imposing with its seven stories of gleaming alabaster marble, soaring windows and endlessly high ceilings, it had surely been built by angels, not garden gnomes. Taking in her surroundings, Aurélie was certain there were no Baroque carvings or gilded mirrors in the Highlands; no silk curtains or velvet sofas, no marble fireplaces or tapestries woven with unicorn hair, and surely when the sun set over the tiny magical village, there was not a shade of pink to be seen. And yet, for all its ramshackle structures and muddy roads, Hogsmeade was not without its charm; uneven and loud, yes - but alive.

The boy who walked beside her, who was just bending down to scratch a small brown cat behind its ears, was no exception; Sebastian, with his unruly hair and scattering of freckles, his green jumper and brown trousers, seemed as much a part of the landscape as if he, too, had simply sprouted out of the ground. There was nothing refined about the way he swaggered through the village, broad-shouldered and confident, but he wasn't entirely graceless, either. Like Hogsmeade, he had a certain charm that was hard to overlook, brimming with enthusiasm as he pointed out his favourite shops and landmarks. Aurélie's mother, who, much like Beauxbatons, had often been dressed in gold ribbon and blue silk, would've thought Sebastian a little too rough around the edges for the likes of her daughter (which was ironic given that she'd married a man who spent most of his time with his hands in the dirt), but Aurélie found that she didn't really mind it. Outside the confines of the castle walls, away from the attention of sharp-eyed students and worrisome gossip, Sebastian seemed... different. Grounded. Calm.

She studied his profile as they navigated the bustling village together, noting the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he talked, and how his eyes darted constantly as if eager to take in everything all at once. How could someone who'd lost so much - his entire family - be so full of... well - life? Aurélie was barely hanging on by a thread, exhausted by the heavy burden of her grief.

'... And that's Tomes and Scrolls,' Sebastian said, pointing out a double-storey shop that leaned too far to the left not to be held up by magic. 'Don't bother going anywhere else for books, Thomas Brown is the best proprietor of literature in the country. And over there,' - he motioned toward the corner, where another precariously leaning shopfront looked in danger of toppling over, - 'that's Ollivander's - the wand maker, of course, but you knew that. And across the road is Spintwitches. Albie Weekes is immensely knowledgeable on all things Quidditch and Broomsticks should you ever find yourself in need of professional advice. Do you fly?' He paused just long enough for Aurélie to shake her head. 'Ah, shame. Perhaps I can teach you. What's your wand core, by the way? Wait, let me guess. It's unicorn, I bet, I've something of a knack for — whoa, look out!'