#Black vipers MC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blueraineshadows · 4 months ago

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Chapter 16

Sebastian Sallow🔺️F!MC🔺️Leander Prewett

Chapter master list and Ao3

13.5k words. Tags: NSFW / angst / murder / brothel environment / promiscuous behaviour / Gaunt family trauma / alcohol / potion drugs / PTSD

Chapter 16: Thread the Needle

The fine mist of rain clung to her hair and skin, soaking the dark fabric of her robe and leaving a lingering chill in her bones. Hogsmeade loomed out of the gloom below them, the soft glow of lights eerie in the ghostly dark as she stepped carefully across rough grass and slick rock. Rosier walked quietly beside her, his hand grasping hers as he led her under a few trees towards the rear of the abandoned cottage that clung to the edge of the drop. Hidden by the Disillusionment charm, MC felt like a ghost herself as she eyed the low flickering gleam of a candle in one window.

It felt strange to allow this man, this Ashwinder, to guide her steps. For all she knew, he could be leading her into one of Rookwood’s traps. While she didn’t trust him, she could only hope that he had some kind of decency behind that pretty face of his as they edged towards a cluster of storage crates under a tree. The ground was carpeted with its fallen leaves, soggy and smelling of early rot as they crouched down behind the largest of the crates. Ahead, two shadowy figures stood near the rough stone steps that led up to the cottage, guarding their captive.

“Now what?” She whispered, leaning towards where she thought Rosier’s head to be, his scent filling her nose. He moved, head turning towards her and his nose brushed her damp cheek, his breath warm against her chilled skin.

“Oh, sorry, lovely,” he breathed. “If you wanted to get closer, you only had to say.”

Screwing her face up, she slapped out a hand at him, making contact. “Stop being such a cad,” she scolded under her breath, receiving a smothered chuckle in response. “Stick to the plan. How do I get to Anne?”

“Okay, okay. Two guards out front, and likely two more higher up on the hill behind us,” he whispered, keeping a slightly better distance from her ear this time. “It’s also possible Anne isn’t alone inside the house. Luella will have cast her charms. A silencer, and her favourite is one that will allow people to enter, but not exit unless she permits it, trapping them inside until she returns. And she will return. If you cross the threshold, a triggering charm will alert her.”

He couldn’t see her, but MC gave him a wide eyed look. “Merlin’s beard. She likes her charm work,” she muttered, giving the rundown house another good look over. “I get the impression that Luella Rookwood is a woman who loves control.”

“She hates anyone getting one over on her,” Rosier whispered. “People are easily fooled by her smile and alluring eyes, but behind that is a viper with the cunning of a fox. Don’t ever underestimate her.”

“She said something similar when I first met her in the Black Rose,” MC said, remembering how nervous and timid she had felt being out in public that night. She hardened her resolve, her mind ticking quickly as she scoped out the area. “I told her that perhaps she shouldn’t underestimate me. I know I’m small, but I am a true Slytherin to my bones. Like her father said, everyone has their weaknesses. I reckon you must know her reasonably well. Apart from using Sebastian as bait, what else could I do to piss her off?”

“Are you trying to get us killed here?” He gasped.

MC shrugged. “I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty, Rosier,” she whispered. “Anything you can tell me will give me an advantage. I’m going to get in that house and speak to Anne. If you want, you can loiter out here and keep an eye open. Luella isn’t going to kill me. Rookwood is my armour against that, but she might not hesitate in taking you down.”

“Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered, shifting slightly. “You know, I always used to rib Seb for his pickiness with women. He would turn down offers of delectable company, ignore the whores that are always available in our regular haunts, and I was surprised when he finally succumbed to Luella’s charms. I could never understand it, but I think I’m beginning to. He has a type.”

“A type?” She frowned, turning to him.

“Crazy, beautiful women, with the emphasis on the crazy,” he replied.

As much as it galled her to be reminded that Luella had shared Sebastian’s bed, MC wished they could see each other as she smirked. “You have no idea the levels of crazy I am capable of. So, what’s it going to be? Are you coming with me, or playing look out?”

He sighed. “If this ends up going bad, which I’m fairly sure it will, then someone needs to warn Sebastian. I’ll wait out here.”

She reached out and grasped his sleeve, holding it tight in her grip. His balance went off kilter slightly, and he bumped against her, so forceful was her tug. “If you double cross me, I’ll hunt you down and end you myself. You wouldn't be the first Ashwinder I put into an early grave.”

She could hear his breathing, feel the tension in her neck and arms as she kept hold of him. It had been a long time since she had taken on Ashwinders, but there was a building force of anger in her belly. Sick of being pushed around and told what to do by others, she felt the urge to stand her own ground.

“It's true what some of the old timers say about you, then,” he said, his whisper soft against her temple. “A wisp of a girl who stalked the Forbidden Forest and brought death to their wilderness camps. They called you Bean Nighe, after the banshee omen of death up here in the Highlands. Some of them even left offerings of clothing hidden around the wilds to try and ward you off.”

Her heart tapped quickly behind her ribs as she listened, remembering the odd array of clothing she had come across on her travels through the forest. “Are you being serious? Why clothing?”

“The Bean Nighe is said to loiter near streams and wash the clothing of those doomed to die. They thought that by giving you laundry to wash, you wouldn’t be tempted to slit their throats in their sleep. Bean Nighe means washer woman in the old tongue.”

It could almost be laughable, but she remained still and quiet, absorbing his words as those days began to filter back into memory. She had stalked the forest, alone or with Sebastian, and she had certainly brought down a few poachers and Ashwinders in her time. The old myths of the Highland people were not to be scoffed at. She had come across many in her time here in Scotland, and it seemed there was plenty still to learn.

“I can’t believe they gave me a nickname,” she whispered. “I’m not sure if I should be honoured, or miffed. I doubt I’m cut out to be a laundry woman.”

“But you do smite down scoundrels in death,” he whispered, a trace of humour underlying his words.

“I didn’t take you for a man of learning, Rosier. I’m impressed,” she whispered.

“Hey, I graduated Hogwarts like a good boy, and I read,” he muttered. “A habit your dear Sebastian encourages in me.”

“And, there was me thinking you only knew how to drink, pilfer, and fuck your way through life,” she sighed.

“On those you may consider me an expert,” he chuckled softly.

MC let his sleeve go, begrudgingly finding herself warming to him. “Well, maybe I won’t threaten to scrub your shirt just yet, but don’t think I won’t if you hex me in the back,” she warned him.

“What’s your plan?” He asked.

“You take care of the Ashwinders on the hill, and I will clean up the ones by the steps,” she said, eying the silhouettes in the misty rain. “Then I will have my little chat with Anne.”

“If you walk in there, you won’t be coming back out,” he reminded her.

“I can handle myself,” she said, and crept out from behind the crates.

For all her talk on being able to handle herself, and the dark history she shared with the Ashwinders, a strange sense of doom hung about MC as she silently approached the two figures at the head of the steps. It would be all too easy to take them both out, leave them cold on the ground, no longer a problem, but the memory of those black lines marked into Sebastian’s forearm haunted her. His guilt on display for the rest of his days, the darkness she had seen in his eyes when he spoke of it leaving ice to harden on the back of her neck.

What of her own guilt?

Grappling with the darkness that lingered in her own soul, she used magic taught to her by a mentor she so dearly missed. When faced with the dangers of goblin camps, Fig had taught her Petrificus Totalus as a means to freeze her enemies so she could safely navigate through the camps. As the Ashwinders fell rigid to the ground, she hoped there would be no regrets in being lenient this time. Dragging their deadweights into the shadows took a great deal more effort, and she was puffing when she finally turned her attention back towards the house.

A dead, gnarled tree loomed over the faded building, the thatch in need of replacement and the wood appeared chipped and weathered. The stable style door was closed, a lantern casting a weak glow over the rain slick stoop. Wand in hand, MC stepped up, dropping her Disillusionment spell, and used the latch for the top half of the door, pushing it tentatively open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond. That seemed easy enough, her heart pounding in her ribs as she listened out for a trigger, or hurrying footsteps, but none came.

The room inside appeared grim, sparsely furnished with broken items, dust and grime coating the walls and floor. The fireplace was cold and bare, the only light seemingly coming from a small candlestick on a shelf near a window. In the corner, huddled and shivering under a dirty blanket, was Anne.

She lifted her head at the swing of the door, her eyes forming slits of dislike as she spied MC on the other side of it. The irony of the situation had MC tilting her head. This bitch had sent her to a prison far worse than this one, and now MC stood on the edge of freedom, looking in on Anne and wondering if it would be worth her effort to free her. The only cause to move her would be Sebastian, and she wasn’t sure that would be enough. It all depended on how this little meeting turned out.

Sebastian

When he had awoken alone in the huge bed, he wondered if he had dreamt his time in the bathroom with MC, the haziness of sleep still clinging to him. He could remember the steamy water of the bath, the bone deep tingle of pain combined with the sensual pleasure of her touch. There had been satisfaction, but a gnawing craving for more curled like flame in his loins. Rolling over under the twisted sheets, he winced at the vague, lingering ache in all of his bones, the effects of his torture still clinging to him. Dusk gave the bedroom a strange glow, a curious sense of foreboding creeping up his neck as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He had slept most of the day, and he had done so alone it seemed. Rubbing a hand absently along his marked forearm, he rose and prepared to dress.

Noctua’s house was dark and quiet, his feet leading him towards the formal lounge where the soft flicker of flames in the fireplace drew him in. The old wood of the furniture was dark, but the soft furnishings lifted the feel of the room, the artwork pleasing. In a wingback chair near the fire, Ominis sat with a glass of whiskey in hand, his wand balanced on his lap. His head tilted in Sebastian’s direction when he entered, his fingers smoothing along the crease in his trousers.

“You have awoken at last,” he said, graceful fingers gesturing. “Come, sit. We need to talk.”

“Where is MC?” Sebastian asked, glancing around as he stepped forward. He missed her with an ache, the need to have her close made him itch.

“She isn’t here,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but laced with an edge that Sebastian knew all too well. He moved towards the opposite chair and sat. “She asked me to wait with you whilst she made enquiries concerning Anne.”

“I told her to not leave without me,” Sebastian pouted, his hand making a fist.

“Don’t worry, she is more than capable of raising mayhem on her own without you there to encourage her. All I care about is getting Anne home again,” Ominis said, his mouth twisted sourly. He turned his whiskey glass against his thigh and sighed. “I only hope her stubbornness doesn’t cause more harm than has already transpired.”

“Anne isn’t exactly pliant,” Sebastian agreed. “She isn’t usually a fool, though.”

“Whatever it is that vexes her with regards to MC seems to blind her against all else,” Ominis said wearily. “I have tried to talk to her about it, but she becomes rather prickly and claims I wouldn’t understand, and that she has her reasons. Whatever those reasons are, she won’t open up to me about it.”

The sadness on his face aged him, the shadows from the crackling fire seeming to deepen the exhaustion that hung heavy under his eyes. Ominis carried his own demons, secrets he had shared with the Sallow twins in their childhood, but as they had grown, Ominis withdrew and held his own counsel. Sebastian knew he had tarnished his old friend’s trust with his actions, but he, too, had his reasons, just as Anne claimed she had reasons for whatever truths she held close to her heart.

“Whatever it is that Anne knows, I’m certain that my parents are involved somehow,” Sebastian said, staring into the flames but not appreciating any warmth they sent into the chilled room. “I’ve been trying to get her to allow me access to their papers, but she refuses. The only reason I can conclude for her refusal, is that she is hiding something. Something that involves MC somehow. I mean, there has to be some explanation as to why Solomon is mentioned in MC's orphan papers, especially as it seems the orphan part is in fact a lie.”

Ominis rubbed graceful fingers against his lips, his brows drawn. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said, slowly. He sighed again and took a sip of whiskey, licking his lips. “That's why we need to talk. I haven’t been totally forthcoming in regards to family matters when it comes to MC.”

He hesitated, shaking his head as he bowed it to his chest. Sebastian leaned forward in his chair. “In what way?”

“You know my family, Sebastian. They feel no shame when it comes to their actions, and I fear I must bear the burden of carrying their shame, even now after distancing myself from them. Their deeds seem to creep up and hang over me no matter how hard I try to escape it, and now MC is caught up in this web of poison. I haven’t found the words to tell her yet, and so I shamefully hope that you may aid me in this.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his palms sweaty as he rubbed them on his thighs. The Gaunt family clung to their pure blood status with pain and death, their closets stuffed full of secrets that would keep the most hardened man awake at night. Growing up and witnessing the trauma that Ominis had to live through had taught Sebastian lessons in resolve and compassion that he would have perhaps never considered if he had never befriended the quiet, lonely boy who sobbed into his pillow every night of their first year.

His mother had always instilled the value of human kindness into the twins, a trait that had tortured Sebastian with shame ever since he had walked the darker path in life. He knew she would be horrified with his actions, and he begged for her forgiveness when the grief came to visit on long, lonely nights. He struggled to remember the boy she had known, too much time and darkness had passed since she had left him, and he must stand in the misery of his own making now. Her lessons, however, still lay embedded in his mind, and it was this that had him leaving his chair and kneeling on the rug at Ominis’ feet.

He took the other man’s hand, unashamed to do so, even after all the years since they had grown into men. As boys, he would creep into the bed of his weeping dorm mate and hold him until his shivering would stop. Now, beside the dancing fire in the quiet of his dead aunt’s house, Sebastian offered a comforting hand to his old friend, and it was taken with a squeeze of cold fingers.

“There is no shame in asking for help, Omi. Especially from me, you should know that,” Sebastian assured him. “I know I’m a thorn in your side sometimes, but I’m always your friend. What is it you need to tell MC?”

“It’s about her father,” Ominis said, darkness shadowing his face, his sightless eyes shifting from side to side as he sought the words. “William Brierley. He was a Muggle, and came from a non-magical family. My grandfather was incensed when he discovered that Aunt Elizabeth had taken up with him, and sought retribution in the only way Gaunts know how to deal with things like that.”

“They killed him,” Sebastian said flatly, his shoulders drooping as he shook his head in disgust.

“Not just him,” Ominis said, his voice laden with despair. “They wiped out his entire bloodline for daring to taint ours. For William’s so-called insult of putting a babe in Aunt Elizabeth’s belly, the Brierley family were all murdered in cold blood. And what’s worse, they wanted to destroy the baby, too. It was a filthy half blood, a taint on the Gaunt name, but Elizabeth defied them, and Noctua helped her.”

“They…they tried to kill MC?” Sebastian choked, his face paling under his freckles. “How in Merlin’s name did she survive?”

“I’m not entirely sure on all the finer details, but it appears that Noctua sought help from something she referred to as The Circle. I’m not sure who, or what, that means. The first I knew of any of this was when I came here to find information on MC’s behalf,” he said sadly, reaching for a leather journal on the end table beside the chair. He held it up, his regret carving the lines around his mouth into harsh shadows. “I took this journal into my possession whilst I grappled with the horror of my family’s capabilities. I always believed Aunt Elizabeth’s child to be dead, but I had no idea that my own family could have been responsible. No wonder she fled. I am ashamed to present my findings to MC. What kind of welcome to my family is it when I have to tell her what they did?”

“This is not your fault, Ominis,” Sebastian insisted, keeping a firm hold on his hand whilst grappling with this new information. “MC knows a little about what you have endured at the hands of your family, their actions are nothing new to her, and you know that she would likely discover the truth somehow, with or without your help. I do not see her blaming you in any way for the actions of those who came before you. She cares about you, Ominis. I know she does.”

“That’s as may be, Sebastian, but it does not take away any of the shame it gives me to bear the Gaunt name,” he said, a hint of that sad boy gleamed in the depths of his pale eyes. “The name may open some doors for me, but it also casts a long shadow over me. I do wonder if I should have forsaken my birth name and taken up yours when I married your sister.”

“It matters not that you didn’t,” Sebastian said firmly. “You are my family, along with Anne, and MC. The four of us are bound in ways that nobody else can take away from us. The girls may both be stubborn, but we can handle them.”

A scoff of dry humour escaped Ominis’ lips. “Speak for yourself,” he said. “You are just as stubborn and foolish. I feel like the only sane one around here sometimes, and that’s a doubtful thing to boast over. I fear the demons that stalk my head.”

“We all have our demons, Ominis. The trick is to not let them win. Do not doubt your place in our lives. We would be lost without you,” Sebastian said affectionately. “Don’t worry about MC, either. It will work out in the end, you’ll see.”

“Hello, Anne,” MC said, remaining at the door, peering into the dim room but not making any attempt to step inside.

Anne huddled tighter under the dirty blanket, leaning against the wall. Her pallor was deathly pale, dark circles ringing her eyes. “Where is Sebastian?”

“He was too weak to come. Ominis is with him.”

Anne winced. “Is he…is he okay?”

It would be all too easy to torment her and ignore the glint of concern on her face, but MC wanted her to talk. “He could be better, but you know him. He still insisted on trying to come here with me to find you. I left him sleeping. He needs the rest. As do you, by the looks of it.”

Anne scowled and turned her head away. “I’m just fine.”

“Like two bloody peas in a pod, both ridiculously stubborn,” MC muttered, digging into a pocket to retrieve a Wiggenweld. She placed it on top of the closed lower part of the door. “Here, this will help.”

“Why would I want any help from you?” Her voice was strained, bitter, but she eyed the little bottle on the ledge. “You’re the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

MC sighed, her brow furrowing as frustration began to blister under her skin. “What did I ever do to make you hate me, Anne? You’re so bitter, so twisted and intent on hating me that you don’t seem to care how it hurts your own brother in the process. You act like I really did kill your uncle, when we both know I did no such thing.”

“I’m trying to protect my brother!” She hissed, leaning forward and placing her hand to support herself against the filthy floorboards. She was so thin and frail, her skin stretched tight over the bones of her face like some pathetic creature. Only her eyes blazed with fire and spirit. “You are a poison in our lives, and I won’t stop until we can be rid of you and your destructive magic.”

The frustration mounted and MC grit her teeth. Sebastian was fixated on saving Anne, and Anne was fixated on saving Sebastian, and yet they seemed more destined to destroy each other rather than actually fix anything. It didn’t stop Anne’s words touching a nerve, though. The Sallows had problems before MC arrived in their lives, but had she come along and really made a negative impact? The niggling doubt began to creep down the back of her neck, that ever present fear that her darkness could infect others. She could feel the sleeping fury of her magic shifting restlessly in her blood, and the growing bitter resentment towards it made her fists clench at her sides.

“Did Solomon ever talk about me to you?” MC dropped the question, the words heavy in the damp air. Anne stiffened, her mouth a tight line. “He knew who I was before I even arrived at Hogwarts, he knew I was related to Ominis, too.”

“Shut up,” Anne snapped, her fingers like claws on the blanket. Her face screwed up in a spasm of pain and she curled in upon herself, biting back a groan. Her arm movement was jerky as she rubbed her hand against her stomach. Not only did she have her curse, but her limbs must ache from the torture. MC knew the feeling well enough.

With an exasperated sigh, she levitated the potion bottle and sent it in towards Anne, dropping it before her. “Would you just take the potion? It will help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Anne insisted through gritted teeth.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, swallow down that fucking pride of yours and just take the potion,” MC snapped. “I didn’t come all the way here just to return to Ominis and tell him what a stubborn bitch you are. He already knows that.”

Anne grabbed up the potion bottle and hurled it against the wall with a pained cry. It smashed, the healing liquid running tracks through the dirt on the walls as it pooled on the floor. MC watched, a flicker of rage igniting in her stomach. A small part of her mind fancied that she might understand, remembering the bitter feeling that had owned her inside Azkaban, and how she had tried to shove Leander away when he tried to help. But, she had suffered years in darkness compared to this. Anne just seemed to be filled with hate.

“Suit yourself,” MC said coldly, glaring at Sebastian’s twin as she whimpered under her blanket. “Stay here and rot for all I care. I will just tell Ominis I couldn’t find you. I’m sure the Ashwinders will have their fun with you. Goodbye Anne.”

She turned from the door, leaving the top open so that the cold wind could blow the fine mist of rain into the house. She’d gone two strides before Anne’s pitiful wail sounded from within.

“Wait!”

MC paused and sighed, tilting her face up to the rain. She blinked, her lashes thick with moisture. She wished she could see the stars. She wished she could turn off all her emotions for a while, they were such heavy things to drag around with her all the time. Turning back to the door, she debated ignoring Anne. She could just walk away, act like it wasn’t really her problem to deal with. But, then she thought about Sebastian’s eyes, the soft part of her heart clenching as she imagined him having to deal with the loss of another person. Never having a true family of her own, MC shivered at the thought of how it must feel to lose someone that valuable after knowing them for so long.

Would either Ominis or Sebastian ever forgive her if she left Anne here and she died? Would she forgive herself despite the hatred this woman threw at her?

As she stood there debating her choices, a hunched figure appeared against the lonely light of the candle in the room, a thin, pale hand grasped the lower half of the door. MC shuddered as she imagined the cold iron of Azkaban cell doors, the horrific scream that had torn from her own throat when Leander had left her that day, alone in her cell with no hope to cling to.

Digging a hand into her pocket, she took out another Wiggenweld, cold fingers smoothing over the bottle before she walked back and placed it on the door ledge before Anne. “I am not your enemy, Anne,” she said softly. “Despite everything you have done to me. I am not your enemy.”

Anne was trembling so hard she could barely pick up the bottle, but her chin held a stubborn tilt, and her eyes gleamed with unmoving will. Slowly, she drank the potion, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she placed the bottle back on the ledge. She eyed MC, her face seeming to shift into hard resignation.

“My mother was an extraordinarily clever witch,” Anne said, adjusting the shawl around her frail shoulders. “Sebby worshipped the ground she walked upon. Something died in him when she was taken from us. He has never been the same, no matter how hard I tried to bring that light back for him, I could never be what she was to him.”

MC swallowed, remaining quiet and still as Anne spoke. It made her heart clench to hear her speak of Sebastian in that way, imagining a small boy bereft and grieving.

“I didn’t understand back then. We were just kids,” Anne continued, her dark eyes glazing with tears. “They said it was the lamps that killed them both. Our parents died in our basement, slumped in their chairs at their desks. Everything was laid out as though they were both taking a quick nap, and would wake soon to carry on with whatever they were working on. I can still hear Sebastian screaming as he tried to wake mother up, but of course, she would never wake up again, never turn that warm smile on us. We were alone.”

Anne swiped a tear from her cheek, her eyes hardening as she looked at MC. “Now I know it wasn’t the lamps. My parents were meticulous people, they wouldn’t have fitted those fancy gas lamps without doing their research first. They would have known the risks, and wouldn’t have been caught out like that,” she said bitterly. “No, it wasn’t the lamps that killed them, and when I was old enough to ask questions, Uncle Solomon finally told me the truth. Our parents were silenced. Their research had taken darker turns, and they were sticking their noses into something much bigger, and more dangerous, that led to their deaths. Uncle Solomon kept insisting it was Ministry business, and that I shouldn’t meddle, but I wasn’t going to just forget about it now, was I? So I did some digging of my own.”

A coldness seeped into MC’s bones that had nothing to do with the rain soaked robe she wore, or the damp strands of her hair that clung to her forehead and neck.

“I began to read my parent’s research in secret,” Anne continued. “Research that led me to the old ruins at the edge of Feldcroft. It was there that I found the portrait of an ancient witch, a witch that was mentioned many times in my mother’s writings. When I finally managed to get her talking to me, and she discovered what year I was living in, all she wanted to talk about was a young girl who would be coming to Hogwarts with a special gift. At first, I didn’t know what she meant, and just when I was getting her to finally talk about more interesting things, Rookwood and his goblin friends destroyed the place.”

She paused, her hands clenched tightly on the wood of the door, her breaths shallow and ragged. “That’s why I ran up there that night,” she said, her eyes desperate. “I ran up there to save the portrait, because if it was destroyed, then I wouldn’t be able to speak with her any more. Rookwood caught me trying to haul it away. Not only did he curse me, but he scorched the painting, utterly destroying it. Of course, the bitter irony in his pettiness is that he ruined the perfect link to ancient magic knowledge that he craved.”

Nausea swirled in MC’s stomach as she listened, wide eyed, to Anne’s tale. She shook her head, almost numb with shock. “You spoke with Isadora?”

Anne huffed with dry amusement. “I bet that makes you sick, doesn’t it? To know I got to speak with her, when all along, all she ever wanted was to speak with you. Did you know she left a trail for you to follow? She said you would be the only one to see it, that your gift of magic would lead you to where you needed to be. It would take you right to her portrait so that she could guide you. Must have been an awful shame to get there and find it ruined. I suppose that’s one thing I could thank Rookwood for if nothing else.”

MC shook with her contained fury. “But, why would keeping this knowledge from me bring you any satisfaction? I don’t understand. You can’t even see ancient magic. What difference does it make to you?”

“What difference does it make?” Anne sneered, huffing in disbelief. “Do you not realise what you are? Surely, you must have learned enough about Isadora to discover how dangerous she was? How are you any different? I mean, ever since you’ve arrived you have caused nothing but trouble. People die around you, people destroy everything around them just to get to you, and my own brother covets you so desperately that he is slowly destroying whatever light was left inside of him after mother died just to keep you in his life. I won’t let you do that to him! I can’t! You stole my parents from me, I won’t let you take him, too!”

“You blame me for your parent’s deaths?” MC choked, taking a step back from the door, her mind whirling.

“They were researching ancient magic, and they dug too deeply,” Anne said, her face a pale mask of hate. “They were silenced. All because of your magic. Everything bad that has happened in our lives centres around ancient magic, and you are stuffed full of it, still bringing death and pain to our lives no matter how hard I try to get rid of you. You wanted to know why I hate you so much, well now you know.”

“Who silenced them?” MC asked, her lips almost numb with shock as she stared at Anne through the hazy mist of rain.

Anne shrugged. “No idea, but Isadora kept mentioning Keepers. She didn't seem to like them very much. Does that mean anything to you?”

MC felt the blood drain from her face, she even stumbled a little, her head spinning with shock. The Sallows had been researching ancient magic, and had a wealth of information in their files. They were killed for it. Anne had known all this time, hoarding this information and stewing on her hate. To think she had spoken with Isadora. MC had longed for that, staring at the empty triptych for many hours wishing she could have had five minutes with her, just to speak to someone else who would understand how it felt to have this power burning in your blood.

The paths of fate were twisted far tighter than she could have imagined. She swiped rain water from her face, blinking rapidly as she tried to process all this new information. “And Solomon knew all this? Is that why he tried to kill me?”

Anne laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “When Sebastian used the relic, Solomon told me to lure you up there into those tombs. It was meant to be an accident, terribly unfortunate, a new student losing control of magic she had not learned to wield correctly. He would have been doing his duty as an Auror, taking you in as a high risk liability. We would get Sebastian out and away from you, and he would get over you in time. The only thing we didn’t account for was how far gone Sebastian was over you. We didn’t expect him to turn on one of his own. Nobody was supposed to die that day, MC, but Sebastian made his choice. He chose you and your magic over his own blood.”

“His own blood, who would beat him and ridicule him, treat him like he was nothing,” MC exclaimed, staggered at Anne’s confession. “Did you not know the abuse your brother suffered at Solomon’s hands? Or did you cover your ears and pretend it wasn’t happening? As long as Anne was alright, fuck everyone else! And you claim to love your brother and say you want to protect him from me? I would never hurt him like that, never!”

“You will destroy him in the end, though, won’t you?” She said, her voice eerily calm. “Isadora told me about her father, and what she did for him. Destroyed him with her kindness, sucked out his emotions, all the things that made him human, and left him a shell of himself. Then, she started doing it to students, and these Keepers killed her in the end. To hear her talk about it, she saw herself as some kind of hero, but I think she might have been a tad crazy. Is that what the future holds for you, MC? You’re already a killer, stalking around with Ashwinders, an ex-convict that nobody will ever trust. The magic will corrupt you in the end, too, and I hope you’re begging for death by the end.”

Anne’s words raked over deep rooted fears, turned over stones of memories that MC didn’t want to look at. She shuddered, her magic bristling under her skin.

“Your brother loves you. All this time he has been destroying himself to try and cure you. That has nothing to do with me,” MC said, shaking her head. She gripped her wand, fighting back the blistering urge to hex the pathetic creature on the other side of the door. “He would give up his own soul for you, and yet you are nothing but a cold hearted, bitter and twisted shrew. You don't deserve any of the sacrifices he makes for you. If anyone is going to make you lose Sebastian, it is yourself.”

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” Anne said, her eyes narrowing. “Never underestimate the love between twins.”

MC took another step back from the house, dangerously close to the drop off behind her. The breeze whipped her robe around her legs, and the rain was relentless as it misted against her face. She didn't even notice any of it, so lost in her cold shock that even Rosier was beside her before she realised it.

Jolting as he grabbed her elbow, she stilled as he bent to whisper in her ear, his movement the merest flicker in the spray of rain under his Disillusionment spell. “What are you doing? Are you getting her out, or what?”

MC gave a slight shake to her head, her eyes fixed on Anne in the doorway. “I…no. Let her rot.”

Anne frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

MC's boot slid back as though to take another step, and she would have tumbled off the edge of slick rock to the cemetery below if not for Rosier’s grip on her elbow. “Woah, easy. What are you doing?” He hissed. “We need to leave. Are we taking her with us, or not?”

MC took one last look at Anne and shivered. “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered. “There is no helping her.”

“Where do you want to go?” He asked.

“You say you're an expert on getting drunk, and I need a bloody strong drink,” she said, shrugging, unsure if she really cared where she went. She felt numb, empty, as though something had snapped inside of her. “Surprise me.”

Rosier pulled her closer into his warmth, and this time she didn't shrink back or slap him away from her. It felt oddly freeing to let him take the lead, her head spinning from all of this mess, unable to think straight. She leant into him as the rain soaked gloom of Hogsmeade disappeared from view in a swirl of black.

Sebastian

Turning the page of Noctua’s journal, he rubbed his face with a hand and shook his head, closing the leather bound book with a soft slap. Written by Noctua’s own hand, the sad truth about MC’s origins were right there on the parchment. He had memorised the village where William Brierley’s family had come from, fixing it firmly in his mind so that he could investigate further. Their bodies had to be buried near where they lived and died, and he had a mind to take MC there.

Sitting by the light of a lamp, he looked up as Ominis crossed the room, his wand aloft and blinking red. In his other hand he carried a file. He hesitated before holding it out to Sebastian.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am about showing you this, but in all honesty, I think you ought to see it. Maybe you can make some sense of it,” Ominis said, biting his lip. Sebastian took the file, asking what it was. Ominis continued. “The papers within belong to Anne. As for what it all means, I am at a loss. All I can say is that they terrify me.”

Sebastian paused, about to open the file, and stared up at Ominis. “Terrify you?”

“I fear for her,” he whispered. He jabbed his wand in the general direction of Sebastian’s hands clutching the folder. “Take a look and you will see.”

Opening the file, he found a stack of loose parchments. The top sheet was covered in black charcoal, random scribbles resembling dark masses that seemed to make no sense. There were a few more of these, some of them with the words ‘agony’, and ‘pain’ scrawled around the swirling lines. Sebastian stared at the drawings, a lead weight settling in his stomach. He glanced up at Ominis. “Anne did these?”

Ominis nodded, his hand clasped at his chin. “There were loads of them, all stuffed into a drawer in our house, along with parchments of writing that rambled on about how empty she felt, how the only thing that kept her going was the thought of vengeance. I thought she was happy. I thought I made her happy, but…”

Sebastian could hear the fear in his old friend’s voice, and felt it himself like chunks of ice sliding down his spine. He rifled through the parchments in his hands, more drawings of agonised faces, dark shadow figures looming over little stick people holding hands. There were hand written lines about how it felt like her insides were being eaten away, that she vowed to remember all the warnings that Uncle Solomon had whispered to her, that she would never forget how special she was to him even though he was gone.

Sebastian shivered, nausea pushing at his throat as he remembered how Solomon would fawn over Anne, always having a protective arm around her shoulders. The drawings were dark and foreboding, tortured scribblings from a mind lost in revenge and pain. He didn’t even realise he was crying until his tears blotted the parchment, lifting the charcoal to darken them into powdery whirlpools.

“Good gods,” he rasped, looking up at Ominis. “What does this mean?”

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me,” he said weakly. His lips trembled. “I always knew she struggled. She was never the same after the curse touched her. Maybe it has warped her mind, I don’t know. She is so angry all the time, and she is fixated on MC in a way that frightens me, Sebastian. I feel like I am losing the girl I fell in love with, and I don’t know how to get her back.”

Sebastian stared down at the drawings, brow furrowed, his mind shifting through hundreds of memories of reading book upon book about dark curses. It was possible that Anne’s curse had warped her thoughts, much like the repetitive casting of dark magic leaving behind a residue of itself on a person. Sebastian was highly conscious of such a thing, more than aware that his misdeeds could catch up to him one day. He had figured it was worth the risk, but looking at these drawings from the tortured mind of his twin, it terrified him to think that he could lose himself in such a way.

Anne had always been the stronger one of them both, she had been the one who picked them both up after their parent’s deaths, she was his rock. He had been so desperate to cure her and get that sister back, that perhaps he hadn’t been paying attention to the real problem. What if Anne had been slowly losing her mind to the curse as well as suffering with pain? Fear gripped him like grindylow claws.

What if it was already too late?

The edges of her vision appeared fuzzy as though she was looking through a cloud, but it was a warm golden cloud, lit by the glow of the coloured glass lamps that were scattered throughout the bar. There was a feeling of weightlessness about her limbs, as though she could stretch out and float on the very air itself. Her blood was heated through, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glassy as she giggled, a hand pressed to her lips. She stared into a pair of pretty eyes, still giggling, and all the shadows that stalked at her back seemed very far away right now.

“It’s not that funny,” Rosier said, swirling his whiskey in his glass before knocking it back. He put the glass back down on the table with a bang, sending another wave of giggles out of MC’s mouth as two sour faced crones glared their way from a nearby table. Rosier smirked and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh, you’re going to get us thrown out on our arses.”

MC grasped his wrist, almost missing in her effort, and hauled him closer towards her. He grunted in surprise, his fair hair falling into his eyes, and she chuckled again. “This place is a boring, old dump anyway,” she slurred. “Take me somewhere that’s more fun. I need cheering up.”

Rosier brushed his hair back, his eyes so very close to hers, a mischievous glint in those baby blues. “I’m beginning to think you’re a bad influence, little chosen one,” he smirked.

“Are you complaining, pretty boy? I thought you were supposed to be fun,” she whispered to him, one finger pushing up under his chin. He licked his lips.

“I am most definitely not complainin’,” he said, his gaze dipping to her mouth. “Let’s get out of here. I know just the place.”

They stumbled out into the dark street, somewhere in the belly of old London. MC had no idea where she was, and right now she didn’t care. The weight of her problems had been crushing her, pinning her down in a way that made it almost impossible to breathe. Everywhere she turned, she faced reminders of it all, and she needed to escape. The warm arm around her waist holding her up was a good start.

Pressing herself against Rosier, she let him lead her down the pavement. He was singing to himself, or maybe to her, she wasn’t sure. Either way, her smile split her flushed face, and she burst into more giggles as he swept her into a waltz along the path. With him, she didn't need to worry about her guilt, or her fears. With him, there was just the drink and the night, and it was all she felt ready to handle right now.

“Is this fun enough for you?” He asked, nuzzling into her neck. His whiskey soaked breath was hot against her skin and she shivered, her mind spiralling through images of Sebastian, then Leander, flipping back to Sebastian again.

“This is very improper, Mr Rosier,” she giggled, shoving all rational thought aside. She didn’t want to think.

His chuckle was dark, playful, his lips daring to graze against her skin. “Mm, you just wait, sweetheart. Hold that thought.”

She shrieked as he spun her around, laughing freely until she felt a familiar sharp tug behind her navel. They vanished from the street, landing in another that was paved with rain slicked cobbles. They stumbled, slipping on the wet ground and laughing loudly, still wrapped in each other’s arms. MC blinked blearily, squinting up at a painted sign of little white flowers threaded around a needle.

“Where are we?” She mumbled, clutching at the front of Rosier’s coat.

He smiled and caught hold of her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “The Alyssum. Just an exclusive little club I like to attend every now and then,” he said. The soft glow of a red lamp illuminated his pretty face. “It’s the ideal place to thread the needle.��

A furrow appeared on her brow and she blinked a few times, her gaze lifting once more to the painted sign above their heads. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, MC, you are just too fucking cute,” he grinned. He kissed the tip of her nose and walked her towards a dark doorway. “Allow me to introduce you to the fun side of wizarding London, my darling.”

Two huge, cloaked men stepped from the shadows, startling MC and making her utter a small cry of surprise. Rosier held on to her, smiling amiably at the doormen. “Good evening, fine sirs,” he said, offering them a little bow that had MC giggling again.

“Back again so soon, Mr Rosier?” One of them smirked, stepping aside to allow them access. “And with a little friend in tow. Don’t upset our sweet Leina, now.”

“Who is Leina?” MC asked, peering up into the shadowed hood of the doorman.

“The sweetest flower in the garden,” Rosier said, pushing open the door and leading MC inside.

The tinkling of a piano reached her ears, and the low sultry singing of a woman. The air was thick with the scent of incense and cigarettes, the lighting low and sensual as they walked a dark hallway towards a large bar area. MC gaped as she stared around the space. From the outside, this place had looked nothing more than a service building, perhaps a warehouse. Inside, it was like a palace.

Chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, drapes of white and red fabric cascading in gorgeous twists added a softness to the exposed brick and dark wood. Brass fixtures gleamed in the lamp light, patrons huddled into exclusive booths with deep red leather seating, and everywhere you looked were pots, huge and small, all containing lush greenery. The bar curved along one side, glittering with bottles and glasses in all colours and shapes, waiters and waitresses in silk waistcoats carrying trays of drinks and delectable snacks sauntered here and there.

Perhaps most jaw dropping of all was the raised dais in the centre of the room, circular and arranged with slender brass poles where half naked men and women draped themselves languidly in erotic movements that made MC’s mouth go dry, her cheeks and neck heating as her eyes devoured the soft curves and elicit planes of their bodies.

“Merlin’s balls,” she breathed, her gaze flying everywhere, trying to absorb everything through the haze of gin she had consumed.

They were walking towards an empty booth, each little alcove of seating arranged around the raised dais to afford a perfect view of the dancers. MC kept glancing over her shoulder, half expecting someone to grab her and tell her she shouldn’t be here, but nobody came, nobody stopped her as Rosier swiped a fluted glass from a tray and pressed it into her hand. Keeping the theme of the evening alive, MC took a sip of the amber liquid, the warm sweetness exploding on her tongue.

“Mmm, what’s this?” She asked, swiping a finger along her lower lip.

“Liquid desire,” Rosier murmured into her ear. “Drink up, my lovely. Trust me, it will feel good.”

MC took another sip, the drink warming her from the inside out, a tingling fire spreading along her limbs and making her lips curve upwards into a lazy smile. He was right. It did feel good. Two girls in satin corsets and stockings wandered past, twirling their curled hair and giving Rosier a little wave.

“Hello, Leo,” the red head giggled, turning her shoulder provocatively.

“Ladies,” he winked.

MC glanced between them, lifting her eyebrows at Rosier. “First name terms?”

His smile was blazing. “I told you, this is one of my favourite haunts,” he said, gesturing towards the vacant booth. “Shall we?”

The booth was deceptively intimate and low lit, the table polished to a high shine with a basket of potion bottles in the centre of it. MC scooted herself along the leather seat, placing down her drink and reaching for the basket as Rosier slid in beside her, his arm draping around her shoulders. She held up one of the little bottles, squinting at the label.

“Amortentia?” She said, frowning. She glanced at Rosier. “Isn’t that a love potion?”

He nodded, his fingertips trailing up the side of her neck, making her throat work double time as that languid warmth from the drink lingered in her blood. His smile was pure sin. Addictive.

“I don’t think people come here to fall in love,” she slurred doubtfully, looking out at the carnal display on offer.

He leaned closer, turning her face back to his. He seemed hungry for her attention, keeping her focused on him. “People come here to escape. They can be whoever they want, do whatever they please, and it stays within these walls,” he said softly, his touch dragging down the column of her throat, his eyes dark. “You want to experience something new? You can do that here. Maybe you want to be in love for an hour or two, or maybe you want to just forget and lose yourself in the arms of a warm body for the night. Here, you can spend the night in fascination, and time will bend to your desires.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she whispered, the music teasing at her ears, the shadows welcoming her into their embrace in the darkness of the booth. She stared at Rosier, and through the alcohol haze, she could see how easy it would be to fall into his arms. Gorgeous, dangerous, and silver tongued. He was the ultimate charmer, and he knew it. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, admiring the full curve of his lower lip, slightly parted and damp from the drink of liquid desire he had swallowed.

He stroked her cheek, slow and gentle. “You have got to stop looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely. “I made a promise, and it’s fucking killing me trying not to break it.”

“What kind of promise?” She asked, leaning forward and not even realising it. Her hand pressed against his thigh to steady herself, and he hissed in a breath.

“Shit,” he breathed, biting his lip as he looked down between them. “If I lay one finger on you, Seb will kill me so slowly I will be begging for Death to come and save me.”

He wanted her. Alcohol made her bold, perhaps even reckless. She figured Rosier’s weakness was women, easily distracted by a pretty face and a seductive smile. If you pushed all the right buttons, you could have him right where you wanted him. Curious about her theory, MC took his hand that lingered near her cheek and dragged his fingers towards her mouth. His eyes darkened as her lips slid along his index finger, her tongue teasing against the tip of it. “Oops,” she giggled, lowering his hand. “Does that count? Naughty, Rosier. Or should I call you Leo?”

He groaned, adjusting his trousers in his lap with a pained expression. “You can call me a bloody dead man,” he said, shaking his head. His finger traced her lower lip, his gaze hungry. He tilted his head, leaning as though to kiss her, but then paused, his eyes hypnotic and so very close.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he murmured. “A true siren sent to tempt me.”

The amusement faded from her face, a stab of reality slicing through the glowing haze that flooded her body. “You really want to keep your promise, don’t you? You and Sebastian are that close?”

“I don’t pretend to know everything about him, but I know that he is one of the rare good ones,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he brushed her hair back from her forehead. “He says little, but what he does say carries weight if you’re paying attention. He has told me only a few bits and pieces about you, but from the way he speaks about you, the look in his eyes when he thinks nobody is paying attention... I think he would tear the world apart with bleeding hands for you, and while I do adore a beautiful woman, and you are a rare and delectable young lady, MC. I’m not going to lure you into bed. I promised I would only look, not touch. So, drink up your liquid desire, and bless me with that intoxicating laugh of yours a little more, darling. I intend to take my fill with eyes only, and damn Sebastian for being a lucky son of a bitch in seeing you first.”

“An Ashwinder with a conscience,” she said, staring into his eyes. “Do I dare to believe it?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he smiled. “I’ve got a fearsome reputation to uphold.”

“Hmm, me too,” she said, returning his smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“And I can trust you, can I?” He asked, his finger sliding down into the hollow of her throat with a touch as gentle as feathers.

“I don’t even trust myself,” she admitted softly.

Damn him for getting under her skin and making her like him. He was just too charming for his own good, reminding her a little of the Sebastian she had known as a girl before things had turned dark. It was barely a few inches to lean forward and press her mouth to his in a soft kiss, the briefest of touches, just a little taste of sin, and yet the effects of the heady drink made her whole mouth tingle at the simple act. Lifting her face just enough to meet his eyes again, she could see the way his pupils had dilated, and feel his hot breath on her cheeks.

“Call that a freebie,” she whispered. “And a thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping your promise to Seb,” she said, shifting back from him and reaching for her drink. She held up the glass, and he lifted his, touching the glass to hers with a clear ringing sound. “And for making me forget the utter shit show of my life for a while.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, nodding. He raised his glass higher. “To absent friends and getting shit faced.”

She lifted her glass, laughter bursting from her lips. “To getting shit faced.”

She tipped the glass back, downing the rest of the liquid desire, closing her eyes and allowing the warmth to swallow her up. Just for a while, she wanted to forget. She wanted to drift, allowing her muscles to relax as the music played, and a warm hand drifted down to wrap fingers around hers. When she opened her eyes, a gorgeous woman in green silk was leaning over their table, her gaze dark and seductive. A scar decorated the side of her face, but it only added to her mysterious allure.

“Well, if it isn’t the most gorgeous flower in the garden,” Rosier grinned, holding out his hand to the newcomer. “Leina, I want you to meet a special friend of mine…”

Leander

Propped up against the pillows of his own bed, Leander sifted through the case files spread out on his blankets before him, picking up the one that held the wanted profiles of notable Ashwinders. He pulled out the one of Luella Rookwood, a photograph of her taken when she had been a student at the Beauxbatons Academy staring up at him. Pretty and innocent looking as a student, he couldn’t help but shiver as he remembered the cold maiden who had struck him and Ivy down in the tunnels inside the cliffs at Dover.

He rubbed an absent hand against his mended ribs as though he could still feel the agony of every breath. He was all healed now, declared physically fit enough to return to his duties, but his mother had insisted on fussing over him once he had been discharged from St Mungo’s hospital. She had cooked him a meal, sorted through his laundry that had turned up a chemise belonging to MC, the offending piece of clothing being held up between his mother’s pincered fingers with a questioning glance. His furious blush had told his mother all she needed to know, and she had folded the chemise neatly with a smirk.

He had dreaded any questions that would come, but his mother had refrained, saving him the awkward challenge of having to lie. Under no circumstances could he tell her about MC. She would forever remain his secret, a love he had found and lost under the shadows of her existence, a warm memory he would cherish for the rest of his life. A life he needed to get back to.

The news of Anne Gaunt being taken by the Ashwinders had sent the Auror Office into a fresh frenzy as they dispatched a team to try and track down the whereabouts of any new campsites. Harrington had been on to Leander as soon as he had been given the all clear by his Healer. MC was sure to know something, and Leander needed to get it out of her. A furious Ominis had stormed into the Auror Office demanding action, pulling rank as a member of the Wizengamot. Leander couldn’t help but feel a modicum of relief at being absent for that spectacle.

As he made some more notes in his little book, his eyes growing sleepy as he began to tidy the files ready to return to the office tomorrow, his gaze fell upon the file that sat separate on his nightstand. The file that Andrew Larson kept filling with his findings in the archives. A file that would remain another secret to be kept from his colleagues. Sighing, he got up from the warmth of his bed and tucked his work files neatly away in a satchel before returning to bed, picking up the secret file as he settled back against his pillows.

Gods, he missed her.

He opened the file, the top piece of parchment revealing the birth record that proved MC to be born of the Gaunt bloodline. He thought about the woman who had come to his hospital room posing as a nurse, just so she could get close to him. Her cool hands had touched his arm, her eyes assessing him as he pieced together the truth. Elizabeth Gaunt was alive and well, and he had asked to see MC as soon as possible, wanting to tell her what had happened. She had replied, but there had been no word since.

Anxiety tightened his chest as he reached for the secret communication parchment he kept close at all times. Touching his wand to it, the earlier message she had sent requesting information about the Circle of Avalon appeared in her looping script. With Anne still missing, and no word from MC, he wondered if he would get any sleep at all despite the tiredness pinching at his eyes.

Her message faded from the page, but as he was about to refold the parchment, words began to appear once more. The script was definitely MC’s, but it was scrawled roughly, sloping and messy. “Things got too dark. I tried to escape. Bad idea. The world is spinning. Am drunk as a skunk…”

The spelling was atrocious, the words spaced unevenly, suggesting that she was indeed, very drunk. He sat up, the tightness in his chest growing worse as he reached for his quill, dripping ink onto the bedsheet in his haste.

“Where are you?”

His words soaked into the paper and he waited, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. He stared but no reply came. Agitated, and certain that she must be alone to be messaging him like this, he threw back the covers and began to change into his clothes. He did his shirt up incorrectly because he kept his eyes on the parchment, huffing in annoyance as he had to undo it and start again. Pulling a warm, knitted jumper over his head, he pushed his hand hurriedly through his hair and snatched up the parchment as a reply came through.

“The Alyssum. I think. A club. Half naked people.”

Leander stared at her reply, stunned for a moment. The Alyssum was an exclusive nightclub, expensive and scandalous. What in Merlin’s name was she doing there? Folding the parchment and stuffing it into his pocket, he grabbed his wand and blew out the lamp. Grabbing his robe from the coat hook, he swung it around himself before Apparating out with a sharp crack.

Arriving on the cobbled street outside The Alyssum, Leander glanced up at the painted sign under the glow of the red lamp. He had been here once as a customer attending a stag party for one of the lads in the office, and twice on official business as an Auror. The ladies and gentlemen of the night that offered their pleasures here were referred to as flowers to be plucked from the garden and enjoyed, promiscuous blooms with soft petals, but if you weren’t careful, you might find a thorn or two hidden beneath the surface.

Approaching the robed men on the door, he pulled out his Auror badge, holding it up to them. “I’m not here for trouble, I’m just looking for someone. A woman, long black hair, blue eyes, likely dressed in black. Early 20s.”

“You just described most of the female clientele that frequent this place,” one sighed, his gaze flicking over Leander’s Auror badge. “What do you want her for?”

“Just want to make sure she gets home safe,” he said, putting his badge away.

The other one shifted, the red glow illuminating his smirk. “Oh dear, playing away is she?”

Both men chuckled and Leander hardened his gaze, drawing out some coins from his pocket. “A few minutes to check inside. If she isn’t there, fine. If she is, I’ll take her with me when I leave. It will almost be as though we were never here.”

He held up the gold coins to them both, their eyes gleaming with interest before they exchanged a glance, nodding. They took the coins and stepped aside.

“Mr Rosier arrived with a dark haired young lady this evening,” one of them said.

The other nodded in agreement. “So he did. Dressed all in black, too, so she was.”

Leander gave them a cold look, his mouth twisting at how easily men could start talking at the glimmer of some gold. He stepped past them both, ignoring their chuckles as he pushed open the door and headed down the corridor with long strides. So, MC had come here with Rosier. No mention of Sebastian, and he wondered where slippery Sallow was.

The club was much as he remembered it, the bold and the beautiful touting their offerings to willing patrons, gatherings sequestered in corners and booths, the sensual tinkle of the piano filling his ears as he scanned the crowd. He politely declined the advances of a curvaceous blonde, her painted lips falling into a pout as he wandered away along the curve of booths, peering into the secluded havens in search of MC.

No sign of her in any of them, the bar also turning up disappointment as he made his way towards the rear, where you could pay for private sessions with the ladies and gentleman of the garden. As he was about to approach one of the guards on duty here, he caught sight of Rosier in an intimate embrace with a young woman. Her hair was cropped to her chin, a thin scar marking the side of her face, but she was beautiful all the same. Dressed in clinging green silk, the plunging neckline offering a generous glimpse of smooth skin, Leander averted his gaze and concentrated on Rosier.

The Ashwinder was flushed, his eyes glazed and his fair hair tousled. His hands roamed possessively over the young woman’s hips, and she smiled provocatively in return. He seemed rather taken by his prize, but not so much entranced that he didn’t notice Leander’s stern gaze fixed upon him. Rosier stilled, his blue eyes hardening as he straightened his spine.

“Just a moment, Leina, my sweet,” he said, brushing a finger under her chin. He released Leina, and moved to take a stance before Leander. He was deep in his cups, swaying slightly, but Leander knew better than to underestimate an Ashwinder when confronted.

“Can I help you, Auror?” Rosier hissed.

“That depends,” Leander said, hand hovering near his wand. “Where’s your sidekick? Is Sallow here, too?”

Rosier’s eyes narrowed. “Well, shit. You’re the Auror he was at school with, the one who took the ancient magic witch out of Azkaban. Prewett, right?”

Leander stood his ground, keeping his mouth shut. He couldn’t risk blowing MC’s cover, but his concern over her whereabouts was making him twitchy with nerves. He glanced around at those gathered nearby. Nobody appeared to be paying them any mind, but things would escalate quickly if this turned into a duel.

“I’m not here on official business this evening. I’m just here to enjoy myself, just like you,” Leander said quietly, aiming for cool calm.

“Why ask about Sebastian?” Rosier asked, tilting his head.

A door to Leander’s left swung open and MC staggered through it, her hair a riot of wild strands escaping from her braid, her blouse open so low from the throat that the top of her lace chemise could be seen. She could barely stand, let alone walk in a straight line, her face pale with bright red spots flushing her cheeks. She paused, swaying precariously as she clung to the door handle, her gaze sweeping from Rosier to Leander with a strangled gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” she slurred, swiping at her hair as it tumbled across her face. “This can’t be good.”

Leander clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out for her, the strain of standing back making him grit his teeth as she pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a laugh. He stared, bewildered, as she giggled, almost folding to the floor as she staggered. She was unbelievably drunk, maybe even high on potions.

Rosier took her arm and she went willingly, bile rising in Leander’s throat as Rosier’s hand swept over her waist, holding MC against him. “That’s right, Auror. She is one of us now,” Rosier said, turning his head to press his mouth to MC’s neck, his eyes fixed on Leander.

The girl, Leina, cupped MC’s cheek, her smile wicked as she stroked a thumb along her flushed cheek. She turned suggestive eyes towards Leander. “Ten galleons if you want to watch us play,” she purred.

“I’d rather an Auror didn’t get to watch me slake my lust, if it’s all the same to you,” Rosier drawled, his arms around both girls.

Leina shrugged, her smile lazy. “Coin is coin, Leo, love.”

MC untangled herself from them, unsteady on her feet. She pressed a hand to her head. “Don’t feel so good,” she muttered.

This time when she stumbled, Leander caught her, steadying her by the elbows as a dark robed guard stepped forward, his expression grim. “No mess in the garden,” he warned flatly.

Leander nodded, holding up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Rosier stepped away from Leina. “Hold up, what does that mean? You’re not taking her.”

“Yes, I am,” Leander said firmly, and began to guide MC away.

Rosier grabbed her other arm, halting them. “I can’t let you do that.”

MC turned to him. “S’okay,” she slurred. “Can handle myself.”

“MC…” Rosier eyed Leander’s grip on her other arm, an edge of panic to his voice. “He’s a gods damned Auror.”

MC gagged, slapping a hand to her mouth. The guard immediately grabbed her by the shoulder. “Right, that’s it. Out! Now!”

Leander nodded and clamped a hand around Rosier’s wrist where he held MC and tugged. “Let her go.”

MC groaned, her face flushing scarlet, then draining to pure white. Rosier swore under his breath, reluctant to let her go

“MC, come on, he will skin me alive if I let you go with an Auror, this one especially,” Rosier pressed. “You can’t let him take you.”

The guard put a huge hand to Rosier’s chest, his face like granite. “No mess in the garden,” he repeated. “She leaves. You want to be thrown out with her?”

MC swayed, gagging again behind her hand. Wrenching her arm from Rosier’s grip, Leander bodily lifted her off her feet. He gave Rosier a hard stare. “A night in the lock up will sober her up,” he said, his voice cold. “Don’t worry, I will kick her out at dawn.”

Rosier bristled, his eyes glancing from him to MC now draped over his shoulder. Leina took Rosier’s arm, urging him away. Rosier appeared torn, and it irritated Leander no end how deeply embedded MC was clearly becoming in this world. With a nod towards the guard, Leander held MC steady and began to march for the door, the other patrons in the bar barely registering that he was hauling a woman out of there slung over his shoulder. MC remained quiet, arms hanging loose, uttering a groan as they hit the cool night air outside.

The two doormen took one look at Leander, eyeing his prey in his arms, before sharing an amused glance. “Plucked the little blossom from the wicked garden, then,” one chuckled.

“Something like that,” Leander muttered. He ignored their shared amusement as he studied the street, checking for watching eyes before he Disapparated for home.

….*….

It was definitely not how he had envisioned his first evening at home playing out after leaving the hospital. His mother had left at dinner time, satisfied to see him tucked up in his bed wearing clean pyjamas. It was now well past the witching hour, and he was trying to manoeuvre a very giggly MC through the main living space of his London flat. He thanked all the gods for the silencing charm cast over his home, because the racket she was creating would have had his neighbours thumping on the walls.

She had stumbled into the table and chairs, knocked over a stack of books next to his reading chair, and tripped over her own feet. Her muttered apologies mingled with uncontrollable giggles, her hand slapped over her mouth in useless attempts to stop them.

He placed a cup of water down on the table top and urged her to drink it. She did as she was asked, her glazed blue eyes peering up at him over the rim.

“What did you drink tonight?” He asked.

She plonked down the cup, water sloshing over her hand, her mouth tilting into a grin. “Well, it started with gin,” she slurred, holding up a finger to begin counting. She frowned, swaying slightly as she moved to point at a second finger. “Something amber coloured that made me horny as fuck, something desire?”

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Liquid desire,” he sighed.

“That’s it!” She said, her face brightening with triumph.

His gaze lingered over her opened blouse, the tumbled chaos of her hair. Liquid desire was potent, giving one the intense feeling of lust without so much as a touch. Combined with the act itself, it made for a heightened sexual experience, and was commonly used in brothels. “Tell me you didn’t let Rosier…” He trailed off, his stomach clenching.

She stumbled towards him, her hands smoothing up his chest. “Oh, no, no. He kept his promise,” she said, her hands sliding up his neck and into his hair. He swallowed hard as she pressed herself up against him, wondering what promise Rosier had kept. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help the wave of relief that she hadn’t given herself to the Ashwinder. She scraped her fingers across his scalp. “It feels like my blood is on fire, Lee. I ache, I need to do something, please.”

He tensed, his hands moving to capture her wrists. “MC, you are really intoxicated, I just want to make sure you’re alright,” he said carefully.

“I’m fine,” she shrugged, groaning in protest as he brought her hands level with his chest. He gave her a pained look, knowing full well that she was anything but fine. Her eyes focused on him for a moment, her lip trembling as she took a deep breath.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” She announced, tilting her chin. “I’m a super powerful witch incapable of making it through one damned day without fucking up somehow, and anyone who gets close to me either dies, or loses someone they love.”

The words tumbled from her mouth in a slurred mess, her eyes wild as she looked at him. The more she spoke, the faster her eyes darkened into pools of despair. Her hands formed fists and she smacked them against his chest, tears welling up and spilling from her eyes.

“I’m fucking damaged, Lee,” she sobbed, hitting him again, feeble blows that made her rock unsteadily on her feet. “I’m rotten. No good, and I infect everyone I touch. You should stay away from me.”

She stepped away, stumbled, and he caught her immediately. “Easy,” he murmured, steadying her on her feet. He hated seeing her like this, glimpsing the damaged girl he had found on the unforgiving floor of Azkaban.

“No, no, not easy,” she cried, clutching at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s fucking hard. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do. People die around me, Lee. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

He smoothed back her hair and held her against him, her tears soaking into the wool of his jumper. Her whole body shook with her sobs, and he gently lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom and placing her on the bed. She clung to him, not letting him straighten, her breaths ragged. Slowly, he eased his arms free and unbuckled her wand holster, dropping it to the floor. He slid his hands down her legs and tugged free her boots, rolled her gently to the centre of the bed and pulled a blanket to cover her.

“No,” she moaned, catching his arm as he moved back. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, MC,” he promised. “I’ll just be in the next room. You need to sleep it off.”

She moaned, her eyes closing as she nuzzled into the bed sheets, but her hand gripped his sleeve. “Stay,” she mumbled, pulling him closer.

Sighing, he moved to sit beside her on the bed, stroking back her hair. He was meant to be putting a bit of space between them, trying to move on, but it wasn’t that simple. She reeked of smoke and alcohol, her clothes were rumpled, her face blotchy with tears. She fidgeted, soft sobs escaping every now and then, her hand still curled into his sleeve. All that power she possessed and it was all people could see when they looked at her. Underneath all of that, she was just a girl, a very broken and lonely girl. His heart ached for her, but he knew that if he let her own it completely, she would break it. He didn’t know who he was fooling, she already owned it.

Elizabeth Gaunt had looked him right in the eye and said MC would be safe in his hands. As he stared down at her, his freckled hand smoothing down the expanse of her back as she began to calm, he wondered if he could live up to that statement.

His fingers worked gently through her hair, loosening the braid and easing the tangles out of the silken strands until it draped in a glossy wave across the blanket. Her breathing had become more even, her body relaxing. He thought her asleep until her hand fumbled from his arm, slipping over his stomach as she snuggled closer to him.

A sad smile tugged at his mouth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I know that makes me a fool, but I do.”

“You’re not a fool,” she slurred sleepily, and then she was quiet, slipping into the realm of dreams beside him.

She wouldn’t likely remember any of this come morning, and perhaps that was for the best. He had questions, lots of them, but for now he let her rest.

To be continued...

Leina is an OC character created by @slytherin-paramour and used with kind permission

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #leander prewett #leander prewett x mc #blood bound #blueraineshadows

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