Shelter of Our Night || Sebastian Sallow

The Villain of the Story

On a rainy November day, Sebastian limped back to the castle.

Quidditch practice had been particularly brutal that evening. He wasn't on the team, no – as a titchy second year, no one would take him that seriously yet, but when he turned up to the try-outs, boasting about how he could bring Slytherin fame and glory, one of the seventh year Beaters, a girl called Mariela Frost, opted to test his mettle.

She proceeded to kick his arse.

Yet somehow she managed to peek behind the veneer of arrogance and see his potential, and now she was training him to take over her spot after she left at the end of that year. She didn't pull punches. She didn't let up. He enjoyed every moment but always left covered in more bruises than the last time. Today his leg was sore – a particularly bad turn on his broom made him graze his thigh across one of the observation stands, peeling apart the skin, and now he was on his way to the hospital wing to get it checked out. The pain was so immense he had to take regular breaks on the benches in the front courtyard hall.

"Hello, Sebastian!"

If he was considered titchy, Gibby was even titchier. She skipped to a stop at his side, taking in the sight of his muddy Quidditch robes.

"Practicing again?"

"Yeah," he said, wincing. "Frost sent me back early. My leg got hit pretty badly."

"Oh!" She noticed it belatedly, and crouched to get a better look. "Gosh, it's really bleeding, isn't it? How'd you manage that?"

"I was being careless."

"I see, and what's new?"

He scowled. "Just because I'm limping doesn't mean I can't shove you, Gibby."

She grinned. "Lucky for you," she said, rummaging in her bag, "I was just in my extra Potions classes learning to brew" – she yanked out the bottle dramatically – "this!"

"... A Wiggenweld."

"Why do you think I'm in extra Potions classes?" she said sheepishly. "Drink it. I have some gauze, too."

He feared drinking her brews, but it was surprisingly light when it slid down his throat, her touch gentle when she bandaged the leg.

"You know I could get this done at the hospital wing."

"It didn't look like you were going to make it to the hospital wing."

She was probably right, and despite himself he smiled. "Thanks for this."

She beamed.

"You're welcome."

─── .☆。• *₊°。 ✮°。───

Sebastian waits for Ominis' return long-past five.

Worry eats him up, and he has to fight to keep the mood light as Gibby prepares the guest room for him to rest – what is really the garret of the house, the bed tucked beneath the window overlooking the street. He accepts a bath gratefully and uses sharp tools to shave, the Muggle way. He doesn't get rid of the whole beard though – it makes him look more his age than he feels.

By seven o'clock, Ominis still has not returned. He paces in the living room. He should be grateful his ankle bewitchment hasn't eaten his entire leg or something, but he can't help but feel frustrated.

"What's taking him so long?"

Gibby comes into the room. "Sit, Sebastian. I can applies some dittany salve on the worst blisters."