Archive of Our Own

“Hi, Sebastian!” A girl from Beauxbatons giggled as he passed her in the corridor on his way to the Great Hall.

A couple more girls — Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, even a few Hogwarts girls — all offered shy waves or sly smiles.

Garreth, walking beside him, let out a low whistle. “Being one of the Triwizard Champions has its perks, huh?”

Sebastian just grinned, smug and pleased. “Yeah.”

Garreth nudged him with an elbow. “So, you decided who you’re taking to the Yule Ball yet? Or still shopping around all your options?”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. They stepped into the Great Hall, alive with the usual morning hum — laughter, the scrape of cutlery, the flurry of owls overhead. He scanned the tables. Slytherins, there: Ominis, Anne, Imelda — all clustered together. But his eyes didn’t linger there.

They found her — laughing about something Amit was showing her at the Ravenclaw table. That easy grin she saved for people who weren’t him. For now.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said under his breath, a crooked smile forming. “I’ve decided.”

Garreth barely got out a, “Who—?” before Sebastian was already striding off.

He stopped right behind her, hands braced on the back of the bench. “MC!”

She jumped, turned, and her lips curved. “Hey, Seb.”

“Can I squeeze in here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He just shouldered his way in, practically sitting on Amit. “Sorry, Amit.”

Amit muttered something under his breath about boundaries but shuffled aside anyway.

She gave Sebastian a suspicious squint. “What do you want?”

Sebastian leaned forward, eyes flicking to her mouth then back up to her eyes. “Go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Her brow shot up. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” He looked genuinely affronted. “You have eyes, don’t you? Look at me.”

She snorted. “You have plenty of options, Sebastian. Girls lined up from here to Durmstrang.”

“Yeah, well—” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly less smooth. “You know I suck at dancing. Champions have to open the floor. If I’m gonna make an arse of myself, I’d rather do it with you. I’m… comfortable with you.”

She tilted her head, unimpressed. “So basically you want me to tutor you so you don’t trip over your own feet in front of half of Europe?”

Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it. Shrugged. “…Yes.”

She rolled her eyes so dramatically he half-expected them to stick. “Fine,” she sighed. “But you owe me.”

He grinned, all teeth and mischief. “Deal.”

Amit just shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“What— seriously, MC? You’re going with Sebastian?” Sam asked, eyebrows practically in her hairline as she sat across from them.

Sebastian shot her an offended look. “Oi. What’s wrong with me? Plenty of people want to go with me.”

Sam ignored him, eyes on MC. “Nothing, but… there are loads of hunks from Durmstrang. You could make an actual romantic connection. Not… whatever tutor connection you’ve got with him.”

MC just shrugged, unfazed. “It’s fine. I can dance with them at the Yule Ball anyway.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, mouth twitching. “No, you can’t.”

She met his stare, deadpan. “There’s no rule that says that, Sebastian.”

“Come on, MC.” He leaned in closer, voice low like he was sharing some state secret. “If you leave me after the opening dance, someone might ask me to dance again.”

“And?” she said flatly.

“And—” He gestured wildly. “They might see how shit I am at dancing. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

She snorted. “That’s exactly why I’m teaching you. You owe me. Really owe me.”

Sam shook her head, grinning behind her hand. “You two are hopeless.”

Sebastian just smirked, shameless. “Hopeless. But she said yes.”

___

The next day, Sebastian and MC agreed to have their private dance practice in the Room of Requirement.

Before they flooed up, Sebastian shoved something into her hand — a slightly squashed chocolate frog box.

“Here. For energy,” he said, flashing that grin she’d learned to be suspicious of.

MC just shook her head, unimpressed. “Bribery won’t make your feet any less hopeless.”

He started to retort, but a squeal cut through the corridor. They both turned in time to see Anne practically bounce as Lucan handed her an enormous bouquet of flowers and a box of Honeydukes chocolates.

“Oh my gosh — YES! I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you!” Anne giggled, hugging the flowers to her chest.

Sebastian stared, jaw slack. “…Lucan?”

MC elbowed him lightly. “Oh, come on. You know Lucan’s had a thing for her for ages.”

Sebastian scowled, watching Lucan practically beam as Anne peppered his cheeks with quick kisses. “Hmph.”

MC nudged him again, amused. “Can’t believe my Yule Ball proposal was you cornering me in front of breakfast at the Great Hall. Real romantic.”

Sebastian glanced at her, offended. “What? You wanted a big flashy one?”

She snorted. “No. Merlin forbid. Let’s go.”

He grabbed her wrist before she could floo. “Oi — you’re not secretly wishing for flowers and chocolate, are you?”

She gave him a look. “You’re already bribing me with chocolate frogs. That’s more than enough.”

Sebastian muttered something about ungrateful Ravenclaws as they disappeared into the green flames.

___


They stepped out of the floo into the Room of Requirement — the walls shifting into warm, polished wood, the gramophone already perched on a table like it had been waiting for them.

MC didn’t waste a second. She looked him up and down, then jabbed a finger at his feet. “Shoes. Off.”

Sebastian raised a brow. “You want me barefoot now? I knew you had a thing for my—”

“Because I value my toes attached, thank you,” she cut in, tossing her cloak aside. “You step on me once, you’re dancing alone.”

He snorted but kicked his shoes off, flicking one at her shin just to be a menace. She ignored him, fussing with the gramophone until an old, slow waltz crackled through the room — sweet, a little haunting. The kind of song that begged you to pull someone close enough to feel every breath.

Sebastian stepped in, the air between them pulling tight. He offered his hand with a lazy grin, fingers curling around hers when she took it. His skin was warm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like he couldn’t help himself.

“Other hand,” she said, voice low. She grabbed his wrist and guided it to her waist. “Here.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked from her mouth back to her eyes, heat simmering there. “You sure? There’s a better spot—”

“Where? My arse?” she shot back, dry but a little breathless.

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “Could be arranged.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t move his hand. “Behave.”

“You always say that,” he murmured, leaning in just close enough that she could feel the smirk on his breath.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Step on me once and you’re dead, Sallow.”

“Fine.” He pulled her just a little closer, until there was no air left between them, just that familiar static that always sparked when it was them.

The first notes drifted out of the gramophone, echoing softly in the warm hush of the Room.

Sebastian gave her that grin — the one that always looked like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

“Alright, champion,” MC muttered, adjusting her grip on his shoulder. “Left foot first.”

“I know that,” he shot back, too fast — dead giveaway that he absolutely did not know that.

She smirked, lifted her brow. “You’re about to break my toes, aren’t you?”

Sebastian tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her half a step closer, just enough that the tips of his fingers brushed the curve of her lower back. “If I do, I’ll carry you for the rest of the year. Consider it my noble sacrifice.”

“You’re all talk,” she murmured, her breath brushing his jaw. “Now move.”

They did — sort of. He stepped too wide at first, nearly knocked her off balance. Her fingers dug into his shoulder, her hiss of a laugh half-muffled against her teeth.

“Fuck— Sorry—” he cursed under his breath, trying to correct. “Stand still— let me—”

“You stand still!” she snapped, half-laughing, half-wincing when his heel brushed her toes. “This is you standing still?”

He stopped moving altogether, chest rising and falling too quick, eyes dropping to her mouth like it was magnetic. “You look good when you’re bossy, you know that?”

“Focus,” she said, voice low, but she didn’t pull back. She could feel his breath on her neck, warm and a little ragged.

He didn’t move his hand either — thumb rubbing slow circles against her side, like he was testing how far he could push. “Just trying to make the most of my free lessons.”

She snorted, nudged his foot with hers. “Left foot first, arsehole.”

“Left,” he echoed, mock-serious, but his grin gave him away. “If you lose a toe tonight, at least you can brag the Triwizard Champion did it.”

“Oh, shut up—” But she was laughing now, and when they stepped together again, the stumble felt less like a mistake and more like a slow excuse to stay too close.

They were almost finding a rhythm — his hand firm on her waist, her fingers curled tight into his shoulder, that old waltz threading around them like a dare. But then — one wrong step, his heel knocked into hers, and gravity did the rest.

“Shit—!”

Sebastian went down first, back hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud. MC crashed right after him, palms braced on his chest, knees either side of his hips. The gramophone needle scratched but didn’t stop — that sweet melody drifting on like nothing happened.

For a second neither of them moved — just breathing, eyes locked. She was straddling him, skirts bunched around her thighs, hair falling forward enough to brush his jaw.

Sebastian’s grin spread slow, teeth flashing. “You’re terrible at this, you know that?”

She let out a breathless laugh, but her hands didn’t leave his chest. “I’m terrible? You tripped me.”

“Technicality,” he shot back, eyes flicking to her lips for a beat too long. His voice dropped a notch. “Comfortable up there?”

She arched a brow, leaning in just enough that her nose nearly brushed his. “You want me to get off?”

He didn’t answer right away — just smirked, hands sliding up to rest at her hips like he owned the right. “Didn’t say that.”

She rolled her eyes but her face stayed right there, inches above his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “That’s it for today.”

“Shame,” he murmured, fingers drumming against her waist, the heat of them seeping through her robes. “You make a good cushion.”

MC shifted, bracing her hands on his chest to push herself up — but Sebastian’s hands tightened at her hips, fingers digging in just enough to make her pause.

“Don’t get up yet,” he said, voice low, a hint of that grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “No. Don’t do your tricks on me.”

“What tricks?” His tone was all innocent, but his thumbs were rubbing slow circles against her waist, like he could wear her down if he just touched her right. “Pretty sure I’m just lying here, minding my own business.”

She snorted, grabbing one of his wrists and peeling his hand off her hip. “Minding your business looks a lot like holding me hostage.”

His free hand slid up her back, palm splayed warm between her shoulder blades. “Just saying — floor’s cold. You’re not.”

Her eyes narrowed further, but he caught the twitch of her mouth before she could flatten it. “Sebastian—”

“What?” He looked smug now, head tipped back against the floor, dark eyes locked on hers like he was daring her to call him out. “I can’t help it if you’re comfortable.”

She huffed, hair brushing his cheek. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are,” he shot back, voice a lazy drawl. “Still on top of me.”

She shoved his shoulder — harder this time — and scrambled up before he could grab her again. “Practice is over, Sallow. Try not to break my feet next time.”

He laughed — low, pleased — propping himself up on his elbows to watch her gather her shoes. “Can’t make any promises.”

___


The next few days turned into a routine — after classes, after dinner, even after curfew once or twice, MC and Sebastian would slip away to the Room of Requirement. Stumbling waltzes, stepped-on toes, half-whispered insults between laughter.

Between all that, there were other eyes too — boys trailing after MC in the corridors, trying their luck with half-baked Yule Ball invitations. She turned them down every time, sometimes with a polite shake of her head, sometimes with a flat no that left them stammering.

And Sebastian — always one step behind her, hands in his pockets, grin sharp whenever he’d catch the tail end of it. Watching. Making sure they knew she was already spoken for — even if they weren’t calling it that.

One evening, they were walking down the fifth-floor corridor, shoes in hand from another late practice. He nudged her shoulder, smirk lingering like he’d been waiting to ask. “You got a dress already?”

MC didn’t look at him, just adjusted her grip on her shoes. “Yes.”

“That’s it?” he scoffed. “You’re not gonna tell me anything?”

She side-eyed him. “Why would I?”

He shrugged, grin widening. “Might want to coordinate. Make sure you match your champion, you know.”

She snorted. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hey — it’s a valid question!” He leaned in a little, voice dropping. “Is it… nice?”

She rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He bumped her shoulder again, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off him. “You’re not gonna give me anything?”

“Not a chance, Sallow.”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin didn’t falter. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Just don’t complain when I outshine you.”

She barked out a laugh, pushing him sideways with her elbow. “In your dreams.”

He just watched her, that same look — half-teasing, half something else — lingering in his eyes. “You’ll see.”

___


Slytherin Common Room — Night of the Yule Ball

Sebastian stood in front of the mirror over the green marble mantle, fussing with the collar of his dress robes for what had to be the twentieth time. He hummed under his breath, half to drown out the pounding in his chest. Tonight — the Yule Ball. The grand, bloody spectacle. The champions would open the floor. And he’d be dragging her into it with him.

Winter outside, frost blooming against the glass, cold enough to bite. Perfect.

Behind him, Ominis let out a put-upon sigh from his armchair by the fire. “I may be blind, but I can tell you look like an idiot.”

Sebastian turned, scowling. “Shut up.”

Ominis sipped his cocoa, unbothered. “Try not to trip over your own ego tonight.”

Sebastian just huffed, grabbing his gloves. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall. Gotta pick up my date.”

He didn’t risk a floo — Merlin forbid soot ruin the carefully pressed folds of his robes — so he jogged up through the dungeons and into the cold castle corridors. His breath clouded in the torchlight as he made his way to Ravenclaw Tower, boots echoing off the stone.

By the time he reached the bronze eagle knocker, students were trickling out one by one in a flurry of blues and silvers, laughter and perfume trailing behind them.

Leander was already leaning against the wall, adjusting his sleeves. He shot Sebastian a nod. “Here for your Ravenclaw, huh?”

Sebastian ignored him, eyes locked on the open door. His heart did a stupid little lurch when he heard Sam’s voice drift out, all dry exasperation.

“Stop fussing. You look pretty. If you ruin your hair again, I’m hexing you.”

And then — there she was.

MC stepped out into the lantern-lit corridor, Sam at her side fussing with the fall of her hair. A hush seemed to catch in Sebastian’s throat, words stuck somewhere between his ribs and his grin.

She wore a silvery dress — not just silver, but layered like moonlight spun over frost. The fabric caught every flicker of torchlight, shimmering when she moved, skimming her hips and falling soft around her ankles. The neckline dipped just enough to make his mouth go dry. Hair pinned back in careful twists, but a few strands fell forward, framing her face — her lips painted the faintest flush of colour.

He couldn’t say a damn thing. Just stood there, staring.

MC raised a brow when she spotted him. “What?”

Sebastian blinked, mouth finally working. “Nothing. You— You look…”

She tilted her head. “Spit it out.”

His grin spread, all teeth, sharp around the edges. “Like I won’t be able to dance worth shit because I’ll be too busy staring at you.”

She rolled her eyes but he caught the tiny flicker of a smile she tried to hide. Sam just elbowed her, hissing a smug, “Told you.”

Sebastian stepped forward, offered his arm — cocky, but his pulse was hammering. “Ready, Ravenclaw?”

MC slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Try not to step on my toes tonight.”

He leaned closer, voice low as they started down the stairs. “No promises.”

___


The entrance to the Great Hall glittered like something out of a fairy tale — frost-charmed garlands draped along the archways, lanterns casting a warm glow against the enchanted snowfall drifting from the ceiling.

Professor Weasley was already there at the doors, fussing with the line of champions and their partners like a general marshalling troops for battle.

Sebastian and MC stepped up just behind the Durmstrang pair — all sharp velvet and heavy cologne — and the Beauxbatons champion, who was already tossing hair and batting lashes like it was a sport.

Sebastian leaned down, voice low in her ear, breath warming the side of her neck. “Ready?”

MC just nodded, eyes flicking ahead to where the doors were about to swing open. She didn’t miss the subtle tremor of his fingers against her arm — a hint that he was nervous, too, though he’d never admit it.

When the doors parted, the roar of applause hit them like a wave — the entire hall awash in candlelight, glittering robes, and the expectant hush that came right before the opening dance.

They stepped forward in line — Durmstrang first, then Beauxbatons, then them — every pair drifting down the main aisle as music began to swell. MC spotted their friends — all waving discreetly from their tables. She lifted her chin a little higher, fighting a grin when she saw Ominis smirk and tilt his head like he could hear how awkward they’d be.

At the edge of the dance floor, Sebastian squeezed her hand, pulling her just close enough so she could feel the tension buzzing off him. The music shifted — a soft, sweeping waltz that made her chest tighten.

He bent his head, voice so quiet only she could hear him over the strings. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

MC’s brows arched but he didn’t let her cut him off. He kept going, words tumbling out like he’d been holding them in his teeth for weeks.

“You’re the most beautiful person in this room. In every room.”

She felt it like a hit behind her ribs — sharp, too much, too honest for him. Her face flushed hot, and she let out a small huff, fighting the ridiculous smile threatening her lips.

“Thanks, Sallow,” she said, trying to sound annoyed and failing. “But you really should focus now — you forget everything we practiced and I’m leaving you out here alone.”

Sebastian’s grin returned — all teeth, all trouble — but softer at the edges. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want my breathtaking date abandoning me in front of half the wizarding world.”

And then the music swelled, and they stepped forward together — into the first spin, the hush giving way to the swirl of silk and candlelight, the hush of every eye locked on them, and him… locked only on her.

The first turn came like a test — his hand firm on her waist, hers braced on his shoulder, their steps threading through the hush of the hall like they might shatter it if they got too bold.

Sebastian’s jaw was tight — she could feel the way he was counting the beat under his breath, the way his thumb pressed at her side every time he needed to remember left foot first.

They spun — too wide at first, his heel nearly brushing her gown — but she caught him with a tug at his shoulder, lips twitching. Focus.

He didn’t let go of her eyes — even when they passed the Durmstrang champion and his partner, all smug precision and perfect posture. There was nothing polished about the way they moved — but there was something alive in it, raw edges scraping against velvet music.

“Left,” she mouthed when he hesitated — he just grinned, exhale warm against her cheek, and found the step again.

Somewhere near the edge of the floor she caught Sam’s wide-eyed grin, Amit’s small, frantic thumbs up. Ominis sat next to Anne, chin tilted, smirk creeping across his mouth like he knew exactly how close they were to disaster.

But they didn’t fall. Didn’t trip. Didn’t let go.

When the final chord swelled, Sebastian spun her out one last time — fingertips brushing the length of her arm — then pulled her back in so sharply she bumped his chest, breath caught between them.

Applause rose around them, polite and bright. She could feel him smiling against her temple, voice low, warm, smug as sin.

“See? Nailed it.”

She leaned back, just enough to glare at him — but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Barely.”

His hand at her waist tightened. “Good enough to keep you with me all night?”

Her laugh was soft, grudging. “For now.”

As the last chord faded, the hush broke — laughter, cheers, applause rolling through the hall like a sigh of relief. One by one, other pairs drifted onto the floor — Beauxbatons gliding all effortless grace, Durmstrang strutting like peacocks in their heavy furs, and Hogwarts students stumbling in with flushed faces and wide grins.

MC felt Sebastian’s hand linger at her waist a beat too long before he finally let her go, smirk still painted across his face like he’d won something bigger than a dance. She swatted his shoulder, but didn’t step too far away.

By the time the floor filled, they slipped back toward their table — finding their friends already collapsed into chairs, breathless from their own awkward spins and narrow escapes from toe-crushing disasters.

They sank into the warm bubble of chatter and laughter — plates clinking, champagne fizzing in flutes, the air humming with leftover adrenaline and the undercurrent of the castle’s old magic.

Halfway through the feast, Headmaster Black stood at the dais — raising a hand for hush. The chatter dipped, though a few half-drunk Durmstrang boys kept laughing until a sharp whistle from one of the professors shut them up.

Black’s glare swept the hall like a blade. “A few reminders,” he drawled, eyes narrowing just enough to make a few boys sink lower in their seats. “No unauthorized excursions beyond the Hall tonight. No duels in the courtyard. And any student caught wandering into broom cupboards…” His gaze flicked toward the tables — right past MC and Sebastian — “…will face detentions until graduation.”

Someone let out a sharp whistle — the ripple of nervous laughter that followed only made Black’s scowl deepen.

Sebastian leaned in close enough that only MC could hear him over the rustle of robes and laughter. “Broom cupboards. Should we test that rule later?”

She didn’t even look at him — just stabbed her fork into her pudding, deadpan. “Try it and you’ll find your arse hexed to the wall.”

His grin just widened. “Worth it.”

Around them, their friends bickered, teased, and traded sips of butterbeer — the warmth of the night settling in like an unspoken promise that the cold outside wouldn’t touch them yet.

___


As the night dragged on, the buzz of the hall grew thicker — laughter echoing off the frosted windows, music slipping between tables, the scent of spiked punch sharper than ever.

Leander half-collapsed onto the bench beside Sam, hair askew, tie crooked. He lifted a finger like he was about to deliver some grand secret. “Someone… someone put something in the punch.”

Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course they did. You drank it, didn’t you?”

“Bet it’s Garreth,” Ominis muttered, voice dry as bone. He didn’t even need to look — sure enough, Garreth was at the punch table, doubled over with Everett, the two of them snickering like devils, cheeks flushed bright.

“Merlin’s sake,” Natty sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead. “Poppy, go get your man.”

Poppy blinked at her, wide-eyed, already half-gone. “What? Yes I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I think she’s gone too,” Amit mumbled, pointing at the empty mug in her hand.

MC glanced around — Anne and Lucan were nowhere to be seen. She opened her mouth to ask and Sam just rolled her eyes. “Anne and Lucan? Gone. Probably in a cupboard. Or ten.”

Sebastian let out a soft bark of a laugh, leaning close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. “This is gonna be a dumpster fire in about five minutes.”

She arched a brow. “So?”

“So — let’s not stick around to drown in Garreth’s potion disaster,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, that wicked grin already cutting through the noise. “Come on.”

“What? Where are we—”

“Just come.” His fingers slipped through hers, warm and sure, tugging her off the chair before she could finish protesting.

Sam’s voice rose over the din, sharp and echoing after them. “Stay away from cupboards, you two!”

Sebastian just threw a shameless wink over his shoulder — and then they were gone, slipping past drunken champions, giggling girls, and the faint, inevitable sound of someone throwing up in a planter.

___


“Where are we going?” MC hissed, half-laughing, half-protesting as Sebastian dragged her by the hand through the moonlit courtyard. The sharp night air bit at her bare shoulders, silver skirts rustling over the flagstones. “Headmaster Black explicitly said no excursions—”

“It’s fine!” Sebastian shot back over his shoulder, grin bright and reckless. “I got permission. And Professor Garlick owes me.”

“Professor Garlick?” She nearly stumbled on a patch of ice, scowling as he tugged her closer. “Why does the Herbology professor owe you—”

She didn’t finish. Because she saw where they were headed — the greenhouses, glowing soft under the cold moon, glass panes misted with frost and flickers of warm candlelight within.

Sebastian slowed when they reached the door, breath fogging in the cold. He looked back at her — eyes brighter than any torch. “Come on.”

He pushed the door open — and her breath caught.

Inside wasn’t the usual mess of magical plants and soil. It was like stepping into a garden out of a dream — rows of ordinary flowers in full bloom despite the winter chill. Roses, hyacinths, lilies, wild blooms in every colour, spilling from beds and climbing trellises overhead. Above it all, long drifts of wisteria dipped low, their pale blossoms brushing her hair when she stepped in. Lacewing flies drifted lazily through the warm air, their wings glittering like tiny stars.

In the middle of it all — a small table draped in white linen, two glasses waiting beside a single bottle of champagne catching the soft candlelight.

MC turned in place, stunned. “Sebastian… what— what is this?”

He didn’t answer at first — just stepped in front of her, catching both her hands in his. His palms were warm, a little clammy. He didn’t look smug now — he looked like he was holding his breath.

“I’ve been planning this since they announced the Tournament,” he said, voice low but sure. “And when they confirmed the Yule Ball was happening — I thought… finally. My chance.”

She blinked up at him, words stuck in her throat.

“For what it’s worth — I wanted to ask you properly,” he went on, a huff of nervous laughter slipping out. “Something big. Not cornering you at breakfast like a complete idiot. But then I heard some boys talking about asking you — so I panicked. Asked you like that. Didn’t want to risk it.”

He squeezed her hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, grounding himself. “So I went all out here instead.”

MC’s mouth opened — but nothing came out. He was really doing this. No grin, no mask.

Sebastian’s eyes held hers, warm and so full she almost wanted to look away. “I wanted to finally tell you — really tell you — that I love you, MC. I do. Truly. Hopelessly.” He laughed, shaky but real. “I want you to be my girlfriend. Gods, I want that more than anything.”

Her chest tightened, breath catching — heat rising to her cheeks despite the soft glow of the greenhouse. She let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head at him like he was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen.

“You,” she whispered, voice breaking on a grin, “are so ridiculous.”

His heart stuttered, eyes searching hers. “Is that a no—?”

She cut him off with a soft shove at his chest — then tugged him back in, close enough to press her forehead against his. “I love you too, Sebastian Sallow,” she breathed, voice warm and trembling. “I will be your girlfriend.”

His grin split so wide it was almost stupid — and then his mouth was on hers, sweet and clumsy and hungry, flowers brushing their shoulders as the greenhouse hummed with soft, secret music only they could hear.

MC’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth claimed hers again — deeper this time, all that sharp tension finally slipping loose between their teeth. He kissed her like he was starving, like he’d been saving this up for years, and maybe he had.

She let out a soft laugh against his lips when he shifted, one hand dropping to her waist, pressing her back into the drift of wisteria blooms overhead.

He finally pulled back, breathing hard, grin crooked, eyes glassy with all that reckless affection. “Fuck— I promised Professor Garlick no funny business.”

She huffed, hands still tangled in his hair, thumb brushing the shell of his ear. “What funny business?”

His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, a groan breaking in his throat. “You— You know exactly what.”

Her arms slipped down, looping around his neck instead. “Hm. No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Gods, you’re—” He shut himself up, burying his face against her shoulder for half a second before straightening. He jerked his head toward the little table, that forgotten bottle of champagne catching the candlelight. “Come on. That bottle’s from one of the house-elves’ good stash. Let’s not waste it.”

She laughed, breathless, cheeks flushed. “Fine. Romantic and practical, huh?”

He grabbed the bottle, popped it open with a sharp twist that startled a few lacewing flies overhead. They drank straight from the flutes — awkwardly bumping glasses, giggling into their hands, the wisteria above swaying in the warm breeze.

And then he set his glass down, turned to her with that grin she’d always wanted to slap and kiss in equal measure. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

She squinted at him, smirking. “Really. Here?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said, without missing a beat. “Don’t worry — I’ll try not to crush your toes this time.”

She snorted, taking his hand anyway, letting him pull her into the warm hush of flowers and soft candlelight. “Try being the key word.”

“Shut up and let me twirl you, Ravenclaw.”

And there, in that secret little garden of borrowed flowers and stolen champagne, they danced — uneven steps, quiet laughter, the whole castle oblivious as winter pressed cold and dark just beyond the glass.

******

It didn’t take long for everyone to find out. Of course it didn’t. By the end of the week, the whole castle knew Sebastian and MC were officially dating — confirmed by the obnoxious way they’d disappear into courtyards after classes, only to be spotted fifteen minutes later tangled up against some stone wall, breathless and smirking.



It wouldn’t have been so bad if Anne and Lucan weren’t already setting the standard — giggling like lovesick fools, sneaking kisses behind every statue in the castle.

So now there were two of them. Two couples. Two separate daily shows.

Sam, Natty, and Poppy had claimed the bench under the big oak near the courtyard — the safe distance. They watched like disgruntled chaperones while Anne and Lucan snuck off behind the hedge and Sebastian practically pinned MC to an archway, fingers in her hair like he didn’t care who was watching.

Poppy popped a Bertie Bott’s bean into her mouth, dead-eyed. “I mean… we have boyfriends. But not like that.”

Sam let out an exaggerated sigh, arms crossed. “They’re in a competition. A battle of sins. I swear they keep score.”

Natty flicked her braid over her shoulder, unimpressed. “I think we need to step up.”

Sam tilted her head, watching MC shove Sebastian off with a laugh — only for him to catch her wrist and pull her right back in. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Poppy frowned, another bean halfway to her mouth. “What does stepping up mean, exactly?”

Natty smirked. “We find our own walls.”

Poppy snorted so hard she nearly choked on her bean. “Merlin help us.”

Across the courtyard, Sebastian caught them staring — only to grin wide and flash a smug thumbs-up before kissing MC again.


Sam groaned, covering her face. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

******

The morning of the Second Task dawned sharp and cold, frost biting at the edges of the Quidditch pitch where the stands were already filling with bundled-up students, parents, and Ministry officials. Inside the pitch, the grass had been transfigured — twisted into a dense, tangled mockup of the Forbidden Forest, mist curling low across the gnarled roots and false moonlight drifting through bewitched branches.

Just outside the pitch, the champions’ tent stood quiet, heavy canvas flaps pulled tight against the cold. Inside, Sebastian was adjusting his gloves for the tenth time, his eyes flicking toward the flap every few seconds — looking for her.

He didn’t have to wait long.

MC slipped in between the tent flaps like she owned the place, cloak dusted with frost, eyes cutting right through him. “Are you ready?”

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, trying for cocky and landing somewhere closer to jittery. “Yeah. I think.”

She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of her soap, her hair, that tiny anchor that made him feel less like his heart might beat out of his chest.

He opened his mouth — to say something stupid, probably — but she shut him up with a kiss. Warm, certain, fingers slipping into his hair to hold him there just a second longer.

When she pulled back, her eyes narrowed, mouth curved in that threat of a smile he loved too much for his own good. “If you die, I will kill you.”

A startled laugh punched out of him — half grin, half breathless fear. “Noted.”

She poked his chest, firm. “Remember what we practiced. Left, dodge, shield first — don’t just throw yourself at it.”

“I know.” He caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles. “You’ll be watching?”

She rolled her eyes. “Try stopping me.”

Outside, the roar of the stands swelled as the cannon signaled five minutes to the Task.

Sebastian let out a breath, shoulders squaring, that cocky grin finally settling into place — but his thumb still brushed over her wrist, grounding him. “Alright, Ravenclaw. Better find a good seat. Gotta look impressive when I win this thing for you.”

She snorted, giving his chest one last push. “Stay alive, Sallow. Or I’ll bring you back just to hex you.”

He watched her go, heart hammering — and for a second, the Task didn’t feel quite so impossible.

___


MC pushed her way back through the crowded stands, breath clouding in the crisp air as she found her usual bench — the one half claimed by their little band of troublemakers. She dropped down beside Ominis with a soft huff, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“Ominis!” she said, nudging his arm. “I haven’t seen you lately.”

His head tipped toward her, lips curling into that dry, exasperated smirk. “I was avoiding you and Sebastian’s sins.”

MC snorted, earning a soft snicker from Sam a few seats down. “Dramatic.”

“Accurate,” Ominis shot back, turning his face back toward the pitch. His wand rested across his knees, fingers tapping the polished wood in an impatient rhythm.

She leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, eyes scanning the Quidditch pitch where the mock Forbidden Forest waited — shifting shadows and the low hiss of wind winding through the twisted trees. It didn’t look inviting. Then again, neither did the real thing.

Merlin, she thought, throat tight. Please let him come back in one piece. They’d faced worse. They’d walked through the real forest together — acromantulas, Trolls, things that hissed and slithered under the brush. He’d be fine. He would be fine.

A hush fell over the stands as Headmaster Black swept to the platform at the edge of the pitch, robes trailing behind him.

“Champions! Ready yourselves!”

Minister Spavin stepped forward, puffed up and beaming, oblivious to the tension coiled in the stands. He droned through the mechanics — the enchanted maze of the forest, the markers hidden deep, the creatures guarding them. Retrieve the prize. Get out alive. Glory and points if you manage both.

MC barely heard him. Her eyes locked on the forest edge where she knew Sebastian was standing — wand ready, heart probably hammering as fast as hers.

With a flick of Spavin’s wand, a sharp crack split the air — and the Second Task began.

The crowd roared as the champions disappeared into the shadows, the forest swallowing them whole.

Beside her, Ominis just sighed, tilting his head. “Your heartbeat’s louder than the cannon.”

MC elbowed him, eyes never leaving the trees. “Shut up, Gaunt.”



Slytherin Common Room — After the Second Task

“To Sallow — and now being tied to the Durmstrang muscle guy! One more task left!”

A cheer erupted through the Common Room, echoing off the green stone walls and flickering emerald flames. It wasn’t just Hogwarts students crammed in tonight — MC spotted a few Beauxbatons girls perched on the arm of one couch, a Durmstrang boy leaning against the fireplace, hair damp from the cold outside. Someone had charmed butterbeer bottles to pop on command.

MC stood near the drinks table, half-listening as Garreth recounted Sebastian’s near-mauling by a skrewt with far too much dramatic flair. She snorted into her cup when she felt Natty slip in beside her.

“Your boyfriend is being hogged,” Natty whispered, tilting her head toward where Sebastian was pressed against the back of the couch, practically surrounded by half the seventh-years.

MC followed her gaze — Sebastian laughing too big, shoulders tense under the weight of so many claps on the back and half-drunken praise.

She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Let him have it. He barely came out alive.”

Natty nudged her side. “He’s still looking at you, though.”

And sure enough, even as Sebastian let a Durmstrang brute ruffle his hair, his eyes flicked over the crowd, found her — and stayed. He mouthed help with a grin that said he didn’t mean it.

As the night wore on, the noise blurred into a low hum of butterbeer and someone playing off-key music on a charmed harp. MC had just snuck another drink when Sebastian appeared at her side, eyes gleaming, hair mussed from too many well-meaning slaps.

“Come with me,” he said, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear him.

She arched a brow. “What now?”

“Trust me.” His grin tugged at something warm under her ribs. She let him drag her through the maze of bodies and  to the dorms.

They pushed into the room he shared with Ominis — thankfully empty for now. MC crossed her arms, half amused. “Sebastian! It’s your party! We’re not going to be sinning in Ominis’ bed—”

“No!” he cut in — then added, grinning, “Well. Maybe later. But not now.”

She swatted his shoulder. “Sallow—”

“Just— wait.” He darted to his trunk, rummaging through the clutter until he pulled something small and metallic from the back of a drawer. He turned, palms open, eyes wide and stupidly proud. “I wanted to give you this.”

MC stepped closer, peering down at the object nestled in his hands. “What is it?”

“A bracelet,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She squinted. “It looks like a metal puzzle box.”

“It is!” He beamed, bouncing on his heels like a child. “It’s the clue container from the First Task! The pyramid thing. Lodgok helped me rework it — made it a bracelet for you.”

Her mouth dropped open, caught between disbelief and laughter. “Sebastian — that thing was huge. And ugly.”

He scoffed, holding it up — the dark metal now forged into a sleek band, engraved with runes, a faint shimmer of magic curling around its edges. “Not anymore. Look — touch here.”

She did, fingertips brushing the rune, and the metal shifted, swirling into a delicate pattern that fit her wrist perfectly.

“For you,” he said, voice dropping low — raw, certain, that grin softening at the edges. “Something to remind you that you’ve been with me through every mess. And that you’re stuck with me through the last one.”

MC let out a shaky laugh, staring at it — then back at him. “You’re an idiot.”

He just leaned in, mouth brushing her temple. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”

MC leaned in, grin sharp as she slipped her arms around Sebastian’s neck, her breath warm against his ear. “I changed my mind.”

He pulled back just enough to see that wicked glint in her eyes. “Oh?”

“We’re definitely sinning tonight.” Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Not on Ominis’ bed, though.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, his mouth finding her jaw, pressing a slow kiss there like he couldn’t help himself. “Pity. He’d have loved that.”

She swatted his shoulder, but her laugh was swallowed when his hands slid down, gripping her thighs in one quick, strong pull. She squeaked, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct as he hoisted her up, her cloak slipping half off her shoulders.

“Sebastian—”

“Don’t you Sebastian me now,” he muttered, voice low and warm against her throat, teeth grazing skin just enough to make her pulse stutter. He crossed the room in a few steps, ignoring the way she squirmed, more breathless laugh than protest.

He dropped her onto his bed — a mess of green satin sheets and rumpled blankets. She bounced once, hair spilling across the pillow, lips parted as she glared at him — but the heat in her eyes betrayed her.

Sebastian braced himself at the foot of the bed, hands already at his collar, unfastening his robes with a cocky grin that made her want to hex him and drag him closer all at once. His eyes roamed over her — the dress hitched high on her thighs, her flushed cheeks, the little smirk she was fighting.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice rough as his shirt hit the floor. “You look good in those sheets.”

She arched a brow, tossing one shoe off, then the other — her dress shifting higher with every move. “I’d look better here naked.”

He laughed — a dark, breathless sound — kicking off his boots, belt undone in one quick flick. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she shot back, grin sharp as she tugged at the hem of her dress. “Don’t just stand there, Champion. Come earn your prize.”

Sebastian’s mouth was on hers before she could fire off another tease — all teeth and heat, his hand sliding up her thigh, rough and sure as he shoved the bunched satin higher. Her laugh melted into a gasp when his fingers hooked under the edge of her dress, knuckles grazing bare skin that had him cursing into her mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes blown wide, pupils dark. “Off.”

MC arched a brow, breathless. “Then do it.”

That grin — feral, hungry — cut across his face as he grabbed the hem, dragging the whole dress up and over her head in one fluid motion. Her hair spilled free, static crackling, the sudden chill of the room brushing her bare skin.

He let the dress drop to the floor behind him, not giving her a chance to catch her breath. His hands traced up her sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her ribs. He drank her in — the swell of her breasts in that scrap of lace, the soft slope of her stomach, the way her thighs flexed when she shifted under his stare.

“Fuck, you’re unreal,” he muttered, leaning in to mouth at her collarbone, teeth scraping sensitive skin until she let out a soft whimper.

“Get on with it, Sallow,” she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed her deeper into the mattress.

“Oh, I am.” He shifted, knee braced between her thighs, his hands moving behind her back — fumbling only once before the clasp of her brassiere gave with a sharp snap. He peeled it off, tossing it aside carelessly, then pulled back enough to look — really look — at what was now his.

MC rolled her eyes at his slack jaw. “See something you like?”

“Something?” He leaned down, nose brushing the swell of her breast before his mouth closed around her nipple — hot, hungry, tongue circling until she hissed and arched up into him. “I could live here.”

Her hands were in his hair again, tugging, threading through the strands until he groaned low in his throat. He shifted, one hand sliding down between them, slipping under the waistband of her knickers — fingers brushing slick heat that made him curse, muffled against her skin.

“You’re ready for me already?” he teased, voice rough, lips dragging along the swell of her breast.

“You’re insufferable,” she panted, back arching when his fingers pressed just right.

“Mm. Not what you’ll be saying in about thirty seconds.”

He hooked his thumbs into the thin lace, dragging her knickers down her thighs — slow, just to watch her squirm. She kicked them off her ankles, glaring at him when he chuckled.

“Impatient?” he asked, fingers skimming up her inner thigh, so close it made her hips twitch.

“Sebastian.”

“Say please.”

She dug her nails into his scalp. “Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea.” He laughed against her stomach, then kissed lower — open mouth, tongue, every inch of her thighs, the soft, swollen place between. He paused just above her cunt, breath hot, eyes flicking up to meet hers — that stupid grin still there, sharp and full of promise.

Then he buried his mouth in her.

She gasped, hips bucking when his tongue slid through her folds — slow at first, savoring her taste, then rougher, more desperate when her hand flew to his hair, shoving him closer. He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her core, his tongue flicking and lapping as if he’d never get enough.

“Fuck—” she choked, one leg thrown over his shoulder now, the angle making his mouth hit just right.

“Good?” he asked, voice muffled, chin wet with her. He didn’t wait for an answer, just sucked at her clit, teeth grazing lightly — enough to make her swear and tug his hair harder.

Her thighs trembled, eyes squeezing shut when that heat coiled sharp and tight. He pulled back, just to slip two fingers inside her, crooking them up as his mouth returned to her clit — relentless now, sucking and circling until her stomach went taut.

“Sebastian— fuck— I’m—” She broke off, voice catching on a high, helpless moan as her release slammed through her, her hips jerking up into his mouth.

He rode her through it, fingers working her open until she shuddered, collapsing back onto the satin sheets, breath ragged.

When she blinked her eyes open, he was already shrugging out of his trousers, belt clattering to the floor, cock flushed and hard in his fist as he stroked himself lazily — eyes locked on her, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“You look good ruined,” he rasped, crawling up her body to press his mouth to hers — making her taste herself on his tongue.

She grabbed his jaw, teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Then fuck me, Sallow.”

He laughed into her mouth — rough, breathless. “Gladly.”

Sebastian didn’t waste a second. He braced himself over her, eyes dark and hungry, breath coming rough as he lined himself up — the blunt head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance. But before she could sass him, he grabbed her thighs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding her open beneath him.

She gasped, hands scrambling at the sheets for balance. “Sebastian—”

“Shut up,” he growled, a crooked grin flickering over his mouth. “You’re gonna feel all of it.”

And then he pushed in — slow at first, just to watch her eyes flutter, her mouth part on a sharp breath when he stretched her open. A rough groan tore out of him when he bottomed out, hips pressed flush to hers, her walls clenching tight around him.

“Fuck— ,” he panted, one hand sliding down to grip her waist, holding her right there while his other palm braced beside her head. He dropped his forehead to hers, nose brushing her cheek. “So fucking tight— feels so good—”

She let out a ragged laugh, hips rolling under him, greedy for more. “Then move, Sallow—”

He didn’t need telling twice. He pulled back and thrust in again, harder this time, hips slapping against her thighs. The angle — legs hooked up so high — had him hitting deep, each thrust punching a soft, breathless moan out of her that went straight to his cock.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice breaking when she clenched tighter. “Taking it so well — you fucking love it, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” she hissed — but her nails dug into his shoulders, dragging him closer, her body bucking to meet every thrust.

“Oh, I don’t think so—” He shifted, hooking her knees tighter over his shoulders, folding her even more until he was practically bent over her, driving in again and again. The slick, obscene sounds of him fucking her filled the tiny dorm, the satin sheets twisted under them.

Every time he slammed in, she gasped — broken, bitten-off curses falling from her lips. He dipped down, caught her mouth in a filthy kiss, swallowing every sound as he fucked her deeper, faster, hips snapping into hers without mercy.

“Fuck— fuck, you feel good,” he groaned against her lips, sweat dripping from his hair onto her collarbone. “Been thinking about this — since this morning—”

Her laugh was shredded at the edges, half a moan. “S’better now — fuck, Sebastian— don’t stop—”

“Not stopping.” His grin was feral now, teeth grazing her jaw. “Not until you come all over my cock, love.”

His hand slipped between them, thumb finding her clit — rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with every thrust. Her hips jerked, thighs trembling where they braced on his shoulders, the angle too much, too deep, too good.

“Sebastian— shit— I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he growled, pounding into her harder, the bed frame creaking under the force. “Come on — come for me. Let me feel you—”

She broke with a sharp cry, whole body tensing and then splintering around him — pulsing, clenching so tight around his cock that he choked on a curse, hips stuttering as he fucked her through it.

“Good girl,” he panted, dropping her legs just enough to pin her hips and slam in one more time, burying himself to the hilt. “Fuck— fuck—”

Heat coiled low in his gut, snapping hard as her nails raked down his back. He came with a low, rough moan, spilling deep inside her, his hips grinding down like he couldn’t bear to pull out yet.

They stayed tangled like that — breathless, sweaty, the room still echoing with the thud of the headboard against the wall. He pressed soft, scattered kisses to her jaw, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth, voice muffled and wrecked.

“Still think we should’ve done this on Ominis’ bed,” he muttered, lips ghosting over her ear.

She barked out a laugh, legs slipping around his waist now. “Shut up, Sallow.”

Sebastian barely had time to catch his breath before she shoved at his chest — not hard, but enough to make him flop back onto the tangled mess of green satin sheets. He huffed a laugh, hair a sweaty, tousled mess against the pillow, chest still heaving.

“Five minutes, love,” he panted, voice cracking on a grin that couldn’t decide if it was cocky or desperate. “Just— five—”

She swung a leg over his hips, straddling him before he could finish the plea, her nails raking down his chest just hard enough to make him hiss.

“I’ll help you,” MC breathed, her grin sharp as she leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw before she trailed kisses down his throat — wet, open-mouthed, biting just enough to feel him jerk under her.

“Fuck—” He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering when she slid lower, lips skimming over the sharp line of his collarbone, the hollow of his ribs. Her fingers wrapped around his cock, still flushed and half-hard, slick with her and the mess they’d made together.

“Gods—” He cut off with a groan when her mouth replaced her hand — warm, wet, her tongue flicking over the head before she took him deeper, one hand braced on his hip when it bucked up under her.

“Shit, MC—” Sebastian’s hands flew to her hair, fingers threading through the strands, trying not to fist too tight even as his thighs trembled under her. She worked him slow, dragging her mouth up and down his length, tongue swirling, lips slick and hungry.

When she pulled back just enough to breathe, she shot him a wicked look from under her lashes. “Need more than five, Champion?”

He barked out a broken laugh, hips bucking into her hand as she stroked him. “You’re a menace— fuck— don’t stop—”

She didn’t. She sucked him back down, hollowing her cheeks, swallowing every broken sound he made until his thighs were shaking, curses pouring from his lips, his fingers clutching her hair like he’d fall apart without it.

When he was throbbing against her tongue, right on the edge, she pulled off with a wet pop — ignoring his groan of protest as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She crawled back up, grabbed his jaw, kissed him filthy — making him taste himself on her tongue, her knees braced tight on either side of his hips.

“Fuck— you’re—” He didn’t get to finish. She reached between them, guiding him back in — sinking down onto him inch by inch, the stretch making them both gasp.

“Look at you,” she taunted, voice low and wrecked as she rolled her hips, taking him deeper. “All talk— but you’re mine now.”

“Yours,” he growled, hands flying to her hips, trying to buck up but she pinned him down, riding him slow, relentless, the drag and grind enough to make his eyes roll back.

She braced her hands on his chest, leaning over him as her pace picked up — sharp, hungry, the wet smack of skin filling the small dorm. His hands slipped up her sides, cupping her tits, thumbs brushing her nipples as she rode him harder.

“Fuck— fuck, MC—” He was babbling now, hips stuttering up to meet every bounce, his mouth open and panting against her collarbone when she leaned in close.

“Come for me again,” she whispered, biting his earlobe just hard enough to make him groan. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”

That did it. He snapped — hips driving up once, twice, buried so deep she gasped when he spilled inside her, his fingers digging bruises into her waist, her name a broken, ruined growl against her throat.

She didn’t stop right away — kept rolling her hips slow, drawing out every last pulse until he collapsed back into the sheets, breathless and fucked-out, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Witch,” he panted, voice raw.

She smirked down at him, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Your witch.”

He tugged her down, mouth catching hers in a messy, spent kiss — and neither of them cared one bit if the whole common room was still celebrating outside.

___


The Third Task had sounded simple enough when they’d first announced it — a three-way duel inside the enchanted dueling ring in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Champions only. No wands dropped, no forfeits, no mercy until two were down.

Sebastian had been confident. Cocky, even — prowling the ring’s edge, wand twirling lazily between his fingers, shooting that smug grin at MC every chance he got. He’d trained for this — curses, hexes, the works. He knew the Durmstrang brute’s tells. He knew Beauxbatons was all flair.

And it went well. Until it didn’t.

Beauxbatons was the first to drop — disarmed clean when Sebastian baited her into a shield break, the crowd roaring as she stumbled back out of bounds. He shot MC a wink from the ring, chest heaving, grin sharp.

Then it was just him and the Durmstrang champion — taller, broader, built like a troll and just as charming. And Sebastian’s grin started to slip when his temper got the best of him — spells flying wild, footing sloppy, every insult thrown back just making him snarl harder.

Up in the stands, MC was on her feet, leaning over the rail — Ominis and Sam flanking her, eyes wide as the hexes slammed into the shields overhead like fireworks.

“Come on, Sallow,” Ominis muttered under his breath. “Keep your head—”

Sebastian roared something foul in broken Latin — the Durmstrang champion laughed, flicked his wand, nearly catching Sebastian off guard with a well-placed knockback jinx that sent him skidding in the dirt.

MC saw the slip. And she lost it.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, voice echoing through the stands, slicing through the roar of the crowd.

“SEBASTIAN! YOU IDIOT! CALM DOWN OR THAT PARTY WILL BE THE LAST TIME!”

Everything paused. Even the enchanted air crackled, stalling mid-hiss.

Students stared — mouths open, half in horror, half in gleeful disbelief. Beauxbatons girls nudged each other, giggling. The Durmstrang champion lowered his wand for a split second, brows raised so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

And Sebastian — wand half-lifted, chest heaving — turned to glare up at her, jaw slack. Did she— did she mean— was she threatening to cut him off?

His mind blanked. The last time. That party. That bed. This crazy, terrifying, wonderful woman.

He stumbled out a laugh — raw, breathless, eyes locked on her like she was the only person there. Then he snapped his head back to the brute, rolled his shoulders, and reset his stance. Temper on a leash now, pulse pounding for entirely different reasons.

From the stands, MC crossed her arms, satisfied. “Better.”

Ominis just sighed, deadpan. “Your threats are truly inspiring.”

The Durmstrang champion cleared his throat, side-eyeing Sebastian like he’d just realized he was fighting a madman with an even madder girlfriend. Sebastian spat out blood, cracked his knuckles around his wand, and flashed the brute a grin that promised all kinds of ruin.

“Sorry about that,” he panted. “Let’s finish this.”



Prefects’ Bathroom — A day after the Third Task

The white marble gleamed under the candlelight, steam curling in thick plumes around the massive pool, water enchanted to stay just the perfect degree of warm. It should’ve been peaceful — it should’ve been a proper bath. It wasn’t.

MC let out a sharp squeal, palms bracing against the slick marble edge as Sebastian drove into her from behind — the gentle lap of the water around her hips now a sloppy mess, splashes echoing off the tiles every time his hips snapped forward.

“Sebastian— fuck— we need to actually bathe!” she half-laughed, half-gasped, her voice bouncing off the high ceiling.

“Yeah?” Sebastian rasped, breath hot against the side of her neck as he bit down — teeth grazing her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “You look so fucking good in the water — what was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

His hands gripped her hips under the water, fingers slipping on her slick skin as he pulled her back onto him, harder, deeper — the slap of his thighs against her arse echoing with every thrust.

MC’s cheek pressed against the marble, hair wet and clinging to her spine. “Sebastian— shit— you’re an— ah— an idiot.”

He laughed — rough, breathless — hips rolling to grind deeper, the angle forcing another low moan from her throat. “I’m an idiot?” he growled, mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down her spine. “You’re the one who threatened me — said that party would be the last time. Not a chance.”

She tried to glare at him over her shoulder, but all she managed was a breathless, wrecked laugh. “So this is— fuck— revenge?”

“Insurance,” he shot back, grin wicked, teeth flashing before he bit her shoulder again — just hard enough to make her hips buck. “Making sure you never even think about cutting me off.”

She tried to push herself up — he pressed her back down, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other slipping around to rub tight circles over her clit. She choked on a gasp, hips jerking as the water sloshed over the marble.

“Sebastian— someone might come in—”

“No one’s coming,” he panted, hips slamming forward, cock driving deep and dragging another broken moan from her lips. “Privilege for the Triwizard Champion, remember? Fuck, you feel so good—”

The words tumbled out in half-groaned curses as he picked up his pace — the slap of wet skin, the soft whimpers echoing off the polished tile, the water rocking around them in messy waves.

“Sebastian— gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled against her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin again, thumb relentless where it circled her clit. “Be good for me, love. Let me feel you.”

She shattered around him, nails clawing at the marble as her walls clenched tight, pulsing hard enough to drag a raw groan from his throat. He fucked her through it, hips bucking once, twice, before he spilled deep inside her — low, rough curses muffled where his teeth marked her shoulder.

The water stilled slowly around them, steam curling over their bodies as they both collapsed forward — breathless, tangled, skin sticky with sweat and water.

Sebastian pressed a sloppy kiss to her spine, grin curling lazy against her damp skin. “Now that’s a bath.”

MC snorted, voice muffled by her arms. “We’re still filthy, you insufferable prick.”

He just laughed, pulling her up so she sat in his lap, still joined, water dripping from her hair. “Good thing we’ve got all night.”

____


Sebastian finally eased out of her, a low groan slipping from his chest as the water rocked lazily around them. Before she could drift away, he hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her back against his chest, their skin sticking where it met, warm and slick under the steam.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, breath still a little ragged. “I wanted to win that tournament so much, love.”

MC tipped her head, catching the quiet edge in his voice. She snorted, trying to nudge him back to his usual smugness. “Yeah? Well, you did. Now you’ve got that eternal glory, that shiny cup, and three thousand galleons!” She swirled her hand in the water, splashing him half-heartedly. “Honestly, risking your lives should cost more.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh against her hair but didn’t let her pull away. “Not that,” he murmured, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “It’s just a bonus.”

She stilled, frowning. “What else, then?”

He hesitated — which was rare enough to make her heart knock against her ribs. She felt him swallow behind her, his nose brushing her damp hair. “I… well— I wanted to have something to show for it. Something that made it feel like I deserved you.”

Her brows pulled together. She twisted in his hold just enough to see his face — the way his eyes flicked away from hers, sheepish, raw in a way that made her chest squeeze tight.

“Sebastian—”

“Don’t—” He tried to grin, but it cracked at the corners. “You’re the Hero of Hogwarts, MC—” He broke off, shaking his head with a soft, helpless laugh. “I just wanted something that made me feel like I could stand next to you. Like I earned it.”

She stared at him — this stupid, insufferable, infuriatingly sweet idiot. And her heart cracked open wide.

“Oh, love,” she whispered, cupping his jaw with wet fingers. “You silly thing.”

His eyes flicked to hers, all that steel gone soft and bare. She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, letting the water hum warm around them.

“You’ve deserved me every moment since the day you first made sure I was fine — every moment you ensure I’m okay after I come back from things I can’t even tell you about. Every time you stayed up with me, fought beside me, made sure I felt your love — that’s what makes you worthy. Not a fucking cup, Sebastian. Not a single title.”

He huffed a laugh, something wet brimming at the corner of his lashes. “Yeah?”

She kissed him — slow, deep, pouring every word she didn’t have the breath to say into the taste of his mouth. When she pulled back, she nipped his lower lip for good measure.

“Yeah,” she breathed, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re mine, Tournament Champion or not. You know that.”

His grin finally cracked through — soft and smug and hopelessly hers. “Good.”


And in the hush of the steamy, enchanted bathroom, he kissed her like there was no one left to prove anything to at all.

******

The celebration for the Triwizard Tournament was nothing short of a spectacle — one final blowout before Durmstrang and Beauxbatons packed up their proud champions and went home. The Great Hall had been transfigured into a swirl of enchanted banners, floating candles, and gold-flecked confetti that drifted down like snow.

Sebastian had been in his element all night — laughing too loud, drink in hand, tugging MC against his side every chance he got like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real. Their friends were everywhere — Ominis sighing at the spectacle, Sam pretending not to tear up, Anne and Lucan wrapped around each other like they’d invented public displays of affection.

What MC didn’t know — what no one knew — was that Sebastian had one more surprise burning a hole in his pocket.

Because when the Headmaster finally dragged him up for the expected Champion’s speech — half the Hall buzzing with butterbeer and half still hungover from the week before — Sebastian cleared his throat, glanced at MC in the crowd, and grinned like he was about to set the castle on fire.

“Alright — I know you lot want this over quick so you can get back to stealing the punch. So I’ll make it short. Thank you — really — for the chaos, the bets, the hexes, the support…” His eyes flicked back to her again, something raw and almost shy simmering under the cocky edge. “And for… well. One more thing.”

He stepped off the dais, ignoring Headmaster Black’s half-choked protest, the room falling into a hush that felt too heavy for a Hogwarts party. He crossed straight to MC — her eyes wide, a drink halfway to her lips. He took her free hand, tugging her forward until she stood under the enchanted snow with him.

“MC.”

She blinked. “Sebastian, what are you—”

But he was already dropping to one knee. And the Great Hall gasped — every mouth, every eye, every cup of spiked pumpkin juice frozen midair.

He pulled the little box from his pocket — flipping it open to reveal the diamond ring glinting under the floating candles. It wasn’t huge, but it was sharp and clear, set in silver, simple and so very him.

“Marry me,” he said, voice strong despite the flush climbing his neck. “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it. Let’s be reckless together forever.”

Silence — sharp and heavy, the Hall holding its breath.

MC stared at the ring, mouth open, eyes darting from the diamond to his stupid, perfect face. And then she laughed — a wet, choked sound — and all but threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“Yes,” she breathed against his ear. “Yes, you idiot. Of course.”

He laughed too — bright and disbelieving — burying his face in her hair as the Hall exploded behind them, half the students cheering, half still too stunned to make a sound.

She pulled back just enough to squint at him, smacking his arm for good measure. “You didn’t use your prize money for this ring, did you?”

Sebastian’s grin went crooked, sheepish. “…Yes.”

“Sebastian.”

“Worth it.”

And when she kissed him — the cheers rolled up to the ceiling and stayed there, echoing through the castle long after the last toast was raised.

Years Later

Greyson Sallow, age fourteen, Slytherin — quill poised over half-finished parchment — stared deadpan at his father. The same father who should be helping him in writing his son’s History of Magic essay about the Triwizard Tournament, not grinning like a lovestruck fool.

“So yeah, son. That’s our love story.” Sebastian said it like it was the grandest tale ever told — leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, grin smug as ever. “Of course I left out the, you know, spicy parts.”

Greyson’s eye twitched. “Dad.”

“What?” Sebastian asked, all fake innocence. “You asked about the Tournament — it’s connected.”

Greyson tossed his quill down with a clatter, nose scrunched up. “I wanted you to tell me about the tasks. The forest. The duel. Not your and Mum’s love story for the hundredth time.”

Sebastian’s grin only widened. “You say that, but one day you’ll want to tell your kids about how you exist because of the most romantic—”

Greyson held up a hand, glaring. “Stop. Please. I know exactly how much you love Mum. It’s evident,” he hissed, jabbing a finger in the air for emphasis, “because I have three siblings, the youngest of whom is six months old — in your thirties, Dad.”

Sebastian snorted, completely unfazed. He leaned over, scooping up the wiggling bundle from the bassinet by his feet — tiny hands, big eyes, and the gummy grin of a baby far too pleased to be awake for all this. “What? It’s wonderful! You’re a proud little snake, Mason’s our brave lion, Jason’s the clever raven — maybe your baby sister here will be a cheery little Puff.”

Greyson pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath about the Ministry needing to regulate parental romance. But his scowl softened — slightly — when Sebastian bounced the baby on his knee, cooing at her, nose brushing her soft hair.

“Aren’t you, huh?” Sebastian murmured, eyes bright with the same stupid devotion he’d had since the day he’d cornered MC at the Ravenclaw table all those years ago. “Going to be our happy little Puff? Or maybe another snake like your big brother—”

The baby gurgled, drooled all over his sleeve, and gave them both a gummy smile like she was in on the joke.

Greyson just sighed, snatching his essay back. “Unbelievable.”

Sebastian beamed at his eldest — then at the baby — then back at Greyson. “What can I say? I’m a man of many accomplishments.”

Greyson deadpanned. “And no shame.”

“Correct.” Sebastian kissed the top of his baby daughter’s head — and winked at his eldest. “Now, shall I tell you about the bath in the Prefects’ Bathroom—”

“DAD!”

“Please give Mum a break, Merlin,” Greyson groaned, tossing his quill down again. “Why are you populating the wizarding world in your mid-thirties?”

Sebastian clutched his heart with his free hand, dramatically scandalized. “Hey! This little creampuff here was persistent, thank you very much. Barrelled right through all our fancy contraceptive potions, didn’t you?” He cooed at the baby girl in his lap, booping her nose until she squealed with that gummy grin.

He smirked at Greyson, eyes twinkling with the worst kind of fatherly pride. “Finally got Daddy a little girl! Someone to wear all the tutus I bought! Your brothers didn’t want to wear them.”

Greyson stared, voice cracking in horror. “WHY WOULD WE WEAR TUTUS?!”

“I don’t know!” Sebastian threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “But if you wanted to, I would’ve supported you. Maybe a snake in a tutu would’ve been adorable—”

Before Greyson could threaten to transfer to Durmstrang for the tenth time that week, the door creaked open and MC stepped in, balancing a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits. She set them down on the small table with a fond but exasperated sigh.

“Stop terrorizing your son,” she scolded, smacking Sebastian’s shoulder on her way past. “And actually help him with his essay, please.”

Sebastian just beamed up at her like she’d hung the stars. “I’m educating him on important family history—”

MC arched a brow. “Mm-hm. Where are your brothers, by the way? Why didn’t they come home with you?”

Greyson crossed his arms, still glaring at his father. “Jason’s cooped up in the library — again — he says the Ravenclaw dorms are too noisy and he needs absolute silence for his Ancient Runes translations.”

Sebastian nodded solemnly, bouncing the baby on his knee. “Our little genius.”

“And Mason,” Greyson went on, rolling his eyes, “didn’t want to miss the Honeydukes release of the new pastry. He said, ‘Family is forever but limited edition sweets are not.’”

MC pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting a laugh. “I swear, he’s your child, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looked smug as ever, kissing his baby daughter’s soft cheek as she babbled happily. “Of course he is. They all are. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw — and this one here—” He lifted the baby’s tiny hand, wiggling her chubby fingers. “She’s gonna be my little Puff.”

Greyson snatched up his quill again, mumbling under his breath. “You’re both impossible.”

MC leaned down, pressed a kiss to the top of Greyson’s head — then one on Sebastian’s hair, just to see him grin — before flopping onto the couch with her tea.

“Get that essay done, darling,” she said to her eldest. “And you—” She pointed her cup at Sebastian. “Keep it…innocent.”



Sebastian winked. “No promises.”

******

Greyson Sallow

Hello. I’m Greyson Sallow. Fourteen. Slytherin. Tired.

I have three siblings. Mason — twelve, loud, a Gryffindor who’s convinced every day is an adventure. Jason — eleven, a Ravenclaw, practically lives in the library, probably knows too much. And Alyson — Baby Aly — six months old, spoiled little creampuff who’s figured out how to get away with everything.

We’re the children of MC Sallow — Unspeakable, Hero of Hogwarts, all that — and Sebastian Sallow, Head Auror, former Triwizard Tournament winner, and the man responsible for at least half my headaches.

I am proud of my family. Really. We’re good people. Brave, smart, reckless — too much, sometimes. But let me tell you something…

There’s a limit. And that limit is having a six-month-old baby sister in your parents’ mid-thirties. That limit is walking in on them still acting like newlyweds every chance they get.

They’re just too in love. Disgustingly, shamelessly, forever in love.

And me? I get a front row seat for every minute of it.

Like yesterday — Mum was in the kitchen, trying to make tea. Dad came home from work and immediately cornered her by the stove, pinning her in with that look he thinks we don’t notice. Next thing I know, my mother’s giggling like she’s sixteen again and my father’s got his hands under her jumper. I had to cough loudly to stop them from reenacting half their dating history on the counter.

Or the time they thought no one was home — they’re whispering in the hallway, except Mum’s whispering turns into half a moan, and Dad’s saying “we can be quick”. Meanwhile, I’m stuck on the stairs, deciding if I should hex myself deaf.

Last month, I caught them slow-dancing in the garden at dusk — barefoot in the grass like a couple of idiots — her head on his shoulder, him murmuring Merlin-knows-what in her ear. Mason and Jason threw bits of parchment at them from the upstairs window. They didn’t even notice.

And don’t even get me started on Baby Aly. Dad spoils her rotten. He calls her his “little Puff” — as if he didn’t just chase me around the house with a broomstick when I hexed my shirt green and silver on my first day. Now he lets Aly chew on his wand and calls it “developmental curiosity.” It’s all fun and games until she tries to set the drapes on fire.

Sometimes — sometimes — I see them curled up on the couch when they think we’re all asleep. Mum in Dad’s lap, his fingers playing with her hair, her telling him secrets in that soft voice she only uses for him. And I think, fine. Maybe they deserve it. Maybe it’s nice. Maybe.

But then they’ll look at each other like they want to repopulate the entire wizarding world in one sitting — and suddenly I remember I’m the oldest. The one who has to live through all of this.

So yeah. I’m Greyson Sallow. Slytherin. Tired. And stuck living with Hogwarts’ greatest love story.

If you need me, I’ll be in my room. With earplugs.



Mason Sallow



Hi! I’m Mason Sallow. Proud Gryffindor. Bravest of the brave — or at least, the bravest in this house when Baby Aly starts wailing at three in the morning.

Greyson says he’s tired of our parents — but honestly? It’s not that bad. They’re just… them. Yeah, they’re disgustingly in love. But they spoil us rotten, too, so he can’t complain.

I actually shouted that at him last week — he was stomping up the stairs muttering about Dad and Mum kissing in the pantry again. “DONT PRETEND DAD DIDN’T BUY YOU THAT FIREBROOM IMMEDIATELY WHEN YOU ASKED, GREYSON!”

I yelled it so loud the portrait of our Great-Aunt almost fell off the wall. Worth it.

Truth is, Dad and Mum are affectionate with all of us — not just with each other. Every time we leave for Hogwarts, we get kisses on the cheek, hair ruffled, hugs that last just a bit too long. Yes. Even at our age. Greyson rolls his eyes and pretends he hates it — but I see him waiting by the door, pretending to tie his laces slow so he doesn’t miss it.

And Baby Aly? She’s just happy to be here. She giggles at everything. Mum says she’s a happy little accident. Dad says she’s his tiny Hufflepuff in training. Apparently he’s been hoarding tutus since Mum first got pregnant — and every time she had a boy, he’d sigh dramatically and stash them away again. Now all those frilly, ridiculous tutus finally have a purpose. I about cried laughing when I heard that story.

Also — don’t tell Greyson I said this — but he acts like he’s so above it all? He’s the one who rounds us up every weekend, makes sure we come home every Sunday for dinner. He’d hex us to our beds if we tried to skip it. He says it’s Mum’s rule. Sure, mate. Sure.

So yeah — our parents might be the worst when they’re whispering sweet nothings in the garden while I’m trying to sneak Honeydukes into my trunk. But they’re ours. And honestly? We’re pretty lucky.



Jason Sallow

Hi. I’m Jason Sallow.

I’m a first-year at Hogwarts — Ravenclaw, obviously. I was looking forward to it for years — mostly for the library. Dad says I was practically born with a book in my hands.

But… I miss home sometimes. More than I thought I would.

Especially late at night, when Mum used to read with me by the fireplace until I fell asleep — or when Dad would sneak me warm milk because he’d catch me studying under the covers. Or when I hear Baby Aly’s wails echoing down the hall and her babbling that makes everyone melt, even Greyson.

I can’t really talk right now, though — Mum and Dad just got back from Diagon Alley and they brought everything. I got a whole crate of new books. Charms, Runes, Magical Creatures — even that limited edition on ancient wand lore. Mason’s already stolen half the Honeydukes stash. Greyson, who acts like he’s so above it all, is now knee-deep in all their shopping bags, pretending he doesn’t love it.

They’re ridiculous. Completely impossible. But they’re ours. And I love them.

Now, excuse me — I have four new books to start and only one night to stay up reading them all.

Alyson Sallow

Babaahbrrrrrr…

MC snorted, trying — and failing — not to laugh as she leaned over the crib. There was Baby Aly, chubby fists waving in the air, cheeks flushed pink, gurgling her unstoppable baby babble like she was telling the world her best secret.

“Come on, you little creampuff,” MC cooed, scooping her up and pressing a soft kiss to her hair. Aly squealed, drooled all over her mum’s shoulder, completely delighted to be awake at this unreasonable hour.

“Daddy’s got a surprise for you — a little bear outfit. And guess what?” She bounced Aly gently, voice warm and conspiratorial. “We bought your brothers one too. So you all can match.”

Somewhere down the hall, a muffled thud echoed, followed by the sound of a teenage soul dying a dramatic death.

“NO, DAD!” Greyson’s voice carried, all adolescent horror. “I DO NOT want to do a photoshoot wearing that bear outfit!”

MC just snorted harder, burying her grin in Aly’s soft hair. “Sorry, Greyson!” she called, amusement thick in her voice. “Daddy’s idea.”

Aly squealed again, tiny fists grabbing at MC’s necklace, big eyes blinking like she understood every word.

Sebastian’s voice drifted down the hall next — all fake innocence and way too much glee. “Come on, son! It’ll be adorable! Family memories! Imagine the album—”

Greyson’s groan of betrayal rattled the picture frames on the wall. Mason’s cackling echoed from the kitchen, and Jason’s muttered, “I’m only doing it if I get to hold the baby,” floated in from the library.

MC just shook her head, hugging her baby closer, heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“Chaos,” she murmured to Aly, pressing another kiss to her soft, warm cheek. “Pure, ridiculous chaos.”

Aly just gurgled her unstoppable babble, perfectly content to be their happy little bear — whether her big brother liked it or not.