"Finley."
She looked up from the tangled mess of yarn in her lap, the needles sticking out like thorns from a wilted rose. Knitting, Sebastian's latest attempt at keeping her occupied, was proving to be as disastrous as the last few hobbies. Cooking had nearly reduced the kitchen to ash. Cross-stitching left her fingers more punctured than the cloth. Misty, the elfin creature who often tutted around the cottage, had taken to yelping every time Finley picked up a needle.
Knitting was no better. She loathed it. Hated it so much that, if she were honest, a noose from the yarn sounded more achievable than a scarf.
"Yes?" she asked, pretending to enjoy the mindless task. Pretending not to fantasize about setting the whole basket on fire.
Sebastian stepped into the room, shrugging off his coat and laying it on the table. These were rare nights—when he arrived early enough to catch her before bed. Usually, she ate alone. Misty always left before sunset, and silence would swallow the cottage whole.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, his voice casual, but laced with something unreadable.
"Misty cooked. Not sure what exactly," she replied, setting down the sorry excuse of a project. "Would you like to eat with me?"
"Of course," he said, without missing a beat. He walked past her, brushing a kiss against the top of her head—soft, familiar.
She flinched.
He didn't notice. "I'll get the plates."
"I'll help—"
He gently pushed her back into the chair. "No. Just sit."
She obeyed, watching him disappear into the kitchen. His humming carried back through the narrow doorway, warm and low. And yet... now that he was gone, the air felt easier to breathe.
Before he took the books away, the cottage had felt safe. Familiar. Something like home. But now? Now every corner echoed with silence, every step a reminder of isolation. The silver eyes from her dreams flickered in her mind again, sharp and unreal. She hadn't told Sebastian—didn't dare. If he didn't believe her, she'd be alone with it. If he did... he might lie.
Her eyes fell on his coat, the one he'd so casually discarded. A part of her hesitated—but another, deeper part urged her forward. There might be answers in there. Or truths.
She reached out, fingers brushing the fabric. It was soft. Warm. Carried the scent of pine, firewood, and something distinctly him. She slid her hand into the pocket—and froze.
Something long. Thin. Solid. It pulsed faintly beneath her touch—warmth blooming under her fingertips. A sensation like recognition, like memory. Like power that had been asleep for too long.
"What are you doing?"
Her breath caught. She yanked her hand back like she'd been scorched, turning to find Sebastian standing in the doorway, two plates in hand.
"I—I was going to put away your coat," she said, too quickly.
His gaze flicked from her to the coat. He set the plates down without a word, stepped forward, and picked up the garment. She didn't miss the way he patted the pocket—subtle, practiced, but unmistakable.
Whatever she'd touched... he knew it was there.
She smiled too brightly, shifting her eyes from the coat to his face. "So, what did Misty make tonight?"
She sat by the window the next afternoon.
As always, Sebastian had vanished like smoke. No good mornings, no shared breakfasts, not even a creak on the floorboards to prove he'd stayed the night. And, in his absence—another empty activity. One she pretended to enjoy, but the mask was getting harder to wear. Another lie in a long, weary string of them.
YOU ARE READING
Miss Slytherin
Fanfiction"That's odd," Finley finally spoke as they arrived at the wall where they found the door last Christmas. "Shouldn't there be a door here?" She asked Draco who only smiled at her. "That's where you're wrong Evans, what we found last Christmas was t...
