Shelter of Our Night || Sebastian Sallow

New, Uncharted Territory

A/N: Hello everyone! Quick note to say, all flashback scenes will be preceded with double scene breaks (two rows of scene breaks) and are always written in past tense. Enjoy! <3

─── .☆。• *₊°。 ✮°。───

Doesn't matter whether snow or shine, Azkaban is always cold.

Sebastian Sallow knows this now more than anyone.

He's so familiar with his cell that a very tiny part of him, barely bigger than a speck of dust, will miss the walls he's come to call home. In the chaos of his life, this place, this high-ceiling prison of stone offered him a semblance of privacy and safety. At least, when he was thrown in here, he wasn't forced to interact with the other inmates. At least he wasn't at the mercy of Dementors.

The place is still dog shit, though, and he barely looks back when his assigned Auror, Enigmaticus Ruthven, cuffs him on the wrists and ankles, and leads him out of the cell.

"Oi, Sallow!" one of the prisoners calls out. "I'll see you next week, yeah?"

Sebastian laughs in his direction. "Fuck right off, Grunder! Have fun rotting!"

He doesn't quite have the courage to say it to the Dementors that float above his head. As other prisoners jeer and hiss, Ruthven thrusts him forwards – as if Sebastian needs any more encouragement to get out of this damn place. He passes through the inner courtyard, where they let the prisoners roam, and goes down a staircase until he is led into the innermost chamber before the foyer. Strange to think that Azkaban has a reception room.

Two other Aurors, Hornigold and Yaxley, meet him there. Ruthven nods in their direction.

"Wait there."

"Because I can really do anything else with my arms and legs chained?"

Ruthven sneers as Hornigold comes forwards and roughly yanks up his trouser leg.

"Merlin—" He squirms as the man puts his wand to his skin, and the contact burns. "If you were going to do that, you could've at least bought me dinner first."

"Keep still so my associate can bewitch your ankle." Ruthven's eyes narrow. "Four years hasn't humbled you whatsoever, has it?"

Sebastian scoffs. Ruthven has been doing this job for twenty years, which is probably why he's so pale, gaunt and churlish, like he's never seen sunlight or love, and though he'd been Sebastian's personal guard for the entire sentence, their relationship never developed past 'arsehole I have to put up with'. Riling him was a lot of fun and kept Sebastian entertained through the madness, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't like to be rid of the bloke like a muddy burr on his shoe.

After all, Azkaban did humble him. It gave him distance and clarity from the events that put him there, and though he already entered his cell remorseful he somehow found more within him from when he left.

Still, there's no way in hell this blighter needs to know.

"Careful, Ruthven. Might start to miss me."

Ruthven grunts. "Just because you're out, Sallow, doesn't mean you're free."

His ankle smarts suddenly, and he recoils. The bewitchment weaves into the very fabric of his skin like an Unbreakable Vow; it must be some sort of enchantment to monitor his use of magic. When the pain stops and the man steps back, Sebastian glances down to the tapestry of runic symbols that sear about three inches long.