#Sk8erBoi!Sebastian

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious? Part two.

He Was A Punk, She Did Ballet...

I do not know why I've included so many bloody Shakespearean references into this crackfic about a sk8er boi wizard, but since I'm writing this by the seat of my pants with absolutely no plan or outline, I'ma let my subconscious cook. Also, I'm hesitant to call this a "crack fic” any more. Let's call it tender crack. A crack fic with feelings.

Content: MEET CUTE MODERN AU. 🛹 Mentions of “magical drug use” (the recreational smoking of mallowsweet*), mentions of alcoholism, swearing.

*not my original idea. I've read this idea in a few fics before and think it's genius so credit to whoever wrote it before me!

Word count: 3.2k~

👉 PART ONE HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, previously known as Steeply & Sons, was a garish, pastel-pink nightmare that took prominence in the village square like an overdone sponge cake at a corporate buffet.

The preferred meeting place for first dates, romantic rendezvous and anyone looking to indulge in tiny, outrageously overpriced cakes, Sebastian had been inside only once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the ordeal again: lace doilies, frosted cupcakes and sickeningly sweet tea was not his idea of a good time.

‘In a village brimming with interesting places,’ he grumbled, keeping in step with the little redhead beside him, ‘he invites you to Puddifoot's?’

Having naturally charmed Mr Brown into giving her a special discount on every book in the shop ("...a munificent diminution for the fair danseuse!”), a request to return any time day or night (“Antemeridiem, noonstead, or crepusculum!”), and an invitation to join the village book club (“...whereupon we postulate and divagate into scintillating literary excursuses!”), they'd left Tomes and Scrolls only after Sebastian, growing irritated by not having her full attention, had ushered her out the door and into the bustling street beyond.

Was he jealous of his middle-aged, married landlord simply for speaking to her?

… Yes.

‘What's wrong with Puddifoot's?’ she asked, sparing him no glance as she weaved through the main street.

Across the village square, the tea shop's frosted icing-sugar windows winked merrily at them under the midday sun.

Sebastian pulled a face.

‘Their cakes are small!’

‘Their cakes are small?’

‘Offensively so! And as far as first dates go, it's the most predictable, uninspired place he could have chosen! Puddifoot's, really?’ he scoffed. ‘Ominis might as well have admitted he hated you and been done with it.’

She stifled a laugh behind her hand. ‘Those are some wild aspersions,’ she said delicately. ‘Where do you prefer to take your dates in Hogsmeade, then, if you're such an expert?’

He bit his tongue before he could blurt out the words ‘Shrieking Shack’ — not that he ever took dates there; mostly he went there to smoke mallowsweet by himself and wallow in self-pity. Even so, it'd still be a better choice than squeezing into a lumpy, overstuffed loveseat while fairies dumped confetti over his head and people he wished never to see snogging snogged with unbridled relish and vigour.

‘I would take you somewhere fun,’ he scowled. ‘Like —’

‘Like a wedding altar?’

Sebastian flushed. ‘No —!’

‘Oh, oh! L'hôpital?’ She turned to him with a surprisingly impish grin for someone so renownedly elegant.

Something funny wiggled in Sebastian's chest.

‘Trust me, you don't want to date Ominis — he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse!’

‘I thought he was your best friend?’

‘He is! That's how I know he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse! Look —’

Running a hand through his tangled hair, he pulled her aside to a shady spot beneath an old, gnarled oak and tried not to loom over her: at almost twenty-one years old, Sebastian had started growing early in life and hadn't yet stopped.

Fuck, why was he so bloody gigantic.

‘You won't like him,’ he said, hunching awkwardly. ‘He won't make you laugh, or take you anywhere fun, or —’

‘Propose marriage while bleeding from the head?’

A nearby merchant — a humpbacked witch with one eye and somehow too many teeth — let out an amused cackle, but Sebastian was too distracted by the strange little wiggle in his chest to tell her to sod the fuck off.

Brilliant. As if a head wound wasn't bad enough, now he was having heart palpitations as well? Had he overdone it with the Shakespearean theatrics and inadvertently brought upon his own tragic, untimely death? Was he to die at her feet as Romeo for Juliet — only via self-inflicted concussion over a quick-acting poison?

Fuck it — if today was the day that he died, he'd at least try for a first (or last?) date. As a wise man once sang: Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?

‘Don't go on a date with Ominis,’ he said, swooping his stupid hair out of his face. ‘Go on a date with me.'

She blinked at him. ‘What, now?’

Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over.

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm… Because I already have a date?’ She shrugged past him, but he only lumbered after her like the big, brainless troll he was.

‘Wait —!’ He held up his palms. ‘Look, I know you get some blood-soaked guy coming up to you on the street, you don't know me — but I know me, and I promise I'm —’

‘A dirty, rotten, sneaky little rat!’

Sebastian whipped around.

‘Ominis!’ he squeaked.

In all his years of dragging his best friend into detentions, secret underground lairs, and Muggle mosh pits against his will, the sight of Ominis’ sightless eyes boring into his with all the fury of his Slytherin lineage never failed to strike fear into Sebastian's heart.

It also, simultaneously, never failed to amuse him.

He didn't hesitate. With an absurdly high-pitched giggle and not a single logical thought in his addled brain, he grabbed Aurélie by the hand and took off running.

Board in one hand, girl in the other, he pelted through the village, twisting and turning through back alleys and narrow openings, scaring children and the elderly alike as he barrelled past them, cackling hysterically.

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, facing off with Peeves after being caught on another midnight jaunt through the Restricted Section; challenging an unsuspecting victim to an unsanctioned duel simply because he was bored; running from the prefects when he was inevitably caught nosegrinding down the Grand Staircase at two in the morning.

He hadn't felt this alive in years!

Beside him, the ballerina kept pace easily, pivoting round corners and leaping over obstacles with all the grace and finesse befitting her profession. As they dashed across someone's backyard, whipping through rows of freshly hung laundry, Sebastian caught the edge of a smile on her face before a pair of granny knickers slapped him across the cheek.

The wiggly thing in his chest giggled and kicked its feet aaaaall the way to the outskirts of the village, where a low stone wall at the end of an alleyway ended their daring escape. Beyond it, rugged and heather-brushed, lay freedom.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

‘Over?’ he suggested with a hopeful waggle of his brows.

‘Well, I can hardly go back now,’ she returned with a wry shrug.

Grinning, Sebastian piffed his board over the wall and then turned to offer his little companion a helping hand. But to his surprise, she was already up, balancing atop the precariously narrow wall in a position he vaguely recognised as something ballet-shaped.

He gawked for a moment, unashamedly admiring the entire length of her legs, from ankles to knees, from knees to thighs, from thighs to butt.

‘Careful,’ he warned, scrambling up after her. A steep decline on the other side of the wall made him nervous. His hands hovered close, ready to catch her should she lose her balance, but she only peeked at him sideways with a smug expression, footsure and composed.

Cute.

‘This is the fifth position,’ she explained, framing her arms above her head. ‘It is the pinnacle of ballet's basic stances.’

‘The fifth position, huh?’ he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. ‘Skipping ahead a few bases, I see.’

She ignored him.

‘It may look simple,’ she sniffed, turning her face to the sun, ‘but it takes years of training to reach complete security.’

‘Okay, show off,’ he snorted, climbing gracelessly down the other side of the wall. ‘Nothing about twisting your feet backwards like that looks simple to me.’

Safe now from the wrath of angry best friends and verbose shopkeepers, they picked their way carefully down to the banks of a shallow stream. A copse of willows drew them into a clearing, a dappled green reprieve from the midday sun. Sebastian couldn't remember ever coming across a spot as beautiful as this — but perhaps the company made it so.

In the middle of the clearing, she turned and caught him gawking.

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘I want to take a look at your head.’

Sebastian gulped. ‘My — my head?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh la la, the bump on your forehead!’

‘Oh.’ He'd almost forgotten. ‘My head’s fine,’ he lied, but she looked at him so sternly that he shut up and bent his stupid head for her inspection.

Please don't look at me with those eyes, please don't hint that you're capable of lies.

Gently, she pressed her fingers to the bump above his eyebrow.

‘Does this hurt?’

‘No,’ he winced, his voice rough. And then, ‘...Maybe a bit.’

‘Thought so.’

Her fingers left his face but returned a moment later holding a little jar of funny-smelling ointment.

Sebastian held still.

‘Hold still,’ she said.

Sebastian held more still.

With a touch that gave him full-body tingles, she pushed his hair back and dabbed a little ointment over the cut.

‘That stinks…’ was the best thing he could think to say.

‘It's Essence of Dittany,’ she explained. ‘I use it on my feet after a long day of dancing.’

He pulled a face. ‘You're putting foot cream on my face?’

‘It's Essence of Dittany!’

‘Yeah, for your feet!’

‘Oh, mon dieu.' She rolled her eyes. 'How old are you?’

Sebastian cracked a grin. ‘I'm surprised I didn't tell you that already.’

‘If you did,’ she began, tucking the jar back into her pocket, ‘I wouldn't forget it the way someone forgot my name two times. — Now…’ Without warning, she reached up and cupped his face between her soft little hands.

Sebastian's knees almost gave out.

‘Look at me,’ she said, and he looked, and looked, and looked, and thought he might not look away ever again.

‘Are you dizzy?’ she enquired, her face so close he could feel her breath.

Yes.

‘No.’

‘Dazed?’

Very.

‘No.’

‘Faint?’

Only when you touch me.

‘I'm fine,’ he murmured, but the tremor in his voice said otherwise, and his racing heart racing said otherwise, and the way his gaze kept dropping to her lips definitely definitely said otherwise.

I dread the thought of our very first kiss, a target that I'm probably gonna miss.

‘Okay,’ she said after a good long frown at his face. ‘But if you feel like you're going to fall…’

Sebastian almost told her he already had.

Thankfully, a sudden rustling in the greenery diverted him from embarrassing himself further, and from out of the treeline came another unexpected redhead (this one considerably less pleasing to look at than the one whose hands had just been on his face.)

‘Weasley?’

Garreth Weasley gave a start. ‘Sallow? What are you doing here?’

A fellow Hogwarts graduate and self-proclaimed “potion prodigy”, Garreth supplemented his apprenticeship wages at Pippin's Potions by selling his own “special blend” of mallowsweet on the side (unbeknownst to Pippin, of course, who, like most of the older generation of Hogsmeadians, vehemently decried the “grave misuse” of an otherwise unremarkable magical herb.)

Sebastian suppressed a groan: his mallowsweet dealer was the last person he wanted to see right now — especially when said dealer had an annoying habit of trying to steal his girlfriends.

Unsurprisingly, Garreth's eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty girl before him.

‘Hey, Aurélie!' said he. 'Nice to see you again.’

‘Again?’ Sebastian's mouth fell open. ‘You know Garreth bloody Weasely as well?’

‘Oui. We met just yesterday at your potion shop… Uhh, Peepins?’

‘Pippin's,’ Garreth corrected, his expression so jovial that Sebastian wanted to punch it right off his stupid freckled face. ‘I helped her pick out the best Valerian sprigs for her —’

‘— For my fudge!’ she cut in. ‘Oui, fudge. I'm making some. Fudge, that is. For — erm... Eating… Because it's, um… Nice? I think.’

Sebastian eyed her suspiciously. Why was she so nervous about fudge?

‘Right,’ he said, turning back to Garreth. ‘Anyway, did you want something, Weasley? Because we're in the middle of a date right now, if you can't tell.’

‘A date?’ spluttered the girl he most definitely was not on a date with.

‘A date?’ echoed Garreth, who looked slightly put out by the news. ‘Why aren't you at Puddifoot's, then?’

‘Oh, for fucks—’ Sebastian threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘There are other places besides Puddifoot's to go on dates, you know!’ he exclaimed. ‘All that mallowsweet's annihilated your imagination!’

Garreth's expression brightened. ‘Oh, speaking of —’ he said, procuring a small brown package from his pocket. ‘Got a new strain I'm looking to test out. Figured you'd be the perfect candidate.’

He tossed the package at Sebastian's chest: all three of them watched as it bounced off and hit the ground. Nobody moved to pick it up.

‘I don't know what you're on about,’ Sebastian lied, his eyes flicking nervously over the literal ballerina next to him; the epitome of elegance and refinement, he was certain she'd never smoked a bloody ham let alone indulged in the questionable (mis)use of mallowsweet.

Utterly fucking clueless, Garreth scooped up the package and held it out to him. ‘To be honest, I swore never to sell to you again after last time.’

‘Last —?’

‘Remember? You called me a “soulless fire crotch” and accused me of ripping you off —’

‘I never —!’

‘— but Leander reckons he's “giving it up” again, so now you're the only buyer I've got left who'll test out the experimental stuff.’

Unable to avoid it any longer, Sebastian snatched the package out of Garreth's hands and did his best to look thoroughly mystified. ‘Mallowsweet, you say? For potions, right?’

He sounded ridiculous even to himself.

‘Potions?’ Garreth looked puzzled. ‘No, you're supposed to smo—’

‘Smoulder it over a low flame before brewing, yep, I know, got it! Well, thanks Garreth, always a pleasure seeing you!’

‘But — you —’

‘Goodbye Garreth!’ He gave him a rough shove in the direction from whence he came.

‘Alright, alright, I'm going! Bloody hell. You fall off your wheel board or something?’

‘Skateboard,’ Sebastian said through his teeth. ‘It's a skateboard, Garreth. I know it's got wheels and it's very confusing for you, but —’

‘Oh!’ At this, Garreth turned. ‘Your uncle's up at the village, by the way.’

Brilliant. Uncle Solomon had a way of showing up drunk whenever things were going well for Sebastian; if he was at The Hog's Head already, he was probably halfway drunk by now. By nightfall, he'd be banging on Sebastian's door demanding to know where Anne was.

Sebastian didn't bloody know where his sister was. Nobody did.

‘How long's he been there?’

Garreth shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he was still upright last I saw…’

It was times like these that Sebastian was glad his twin sister had disappeared. Years of trying to hold together a splintered family had taken its toll on her; after all, looking after a drunken uncle and a brother obsessed with the Dark Arts wasn't exactly conducive to healing.

The hastily scribbled note she'd left had read: I can't die in Feldcroft. Please look after our uncle.

By the time Sebastian had found it, she was long gone.

He hadn't heard from her since.

No sooner had Garreth's flaming red hair disappeared into the brush than the baggie of experimental mallowsweet was yoinked unceremoniously out of Sebastian's hands.

‘Oi!’

‘Ooooh, you have a mallowsweet dealer?’ Aurélie danced out of his reach, giggling. ‘Can I try some?’

‘Wh — no, he's not a dealer!’ he spluttered, tailing her across the clearing. ‘And no, you can not “try some”!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s for potion-making!’

Grinning mischievously, she took a little whiff of the package then pulled a face and immediately thrust it back at him.

‘Eurgh, what are you brewing? Dungbombs?’

‘No — Wiggenwald.’

‘You're a terrible liar.’

‘Actually,’ he said, tucking the bundle into his hoodie pocket, ‘I'm a Slytherin. And if you must know, mallowsweet helps me sleep.’

‘So you do smoke it!’

‘Yes, mother, I smoke it.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can't you just use potions for that?’

‘Oh, you mean like a Sleeping Draught?’ He quirked a brow. ‘Or is it the Draught of Peace you’re brewing up with your precious “Garreth Weasley approved” Valerian roots?’

‘I told you, it's for fudge!’ she snapped.

‘You're a terrible liar,’ he smirked. ‘You don’t use the sprigs of the Valerian plant in fudge unless you intend to knock yourself unconscious for several days. — Or are you hoping to use it on someone else?’ he added, thinking of Ominis.

‘Oh, and you're an expert on fudge now, are you?’

‘I passed N.E.W.T level potions,’ he said smugly. ‘So unless you’re brewing a Fire-Breathing Potion — which, as an aside, I don’t think you need — then you're lying about the fudge.’

‘I don't see why it's any of your business!’ With a dramatic huff, she stomped across the clearing and threw herself a fallen log by the creek's edge.

‘It's not,’ he chuckled, sitting beside her. ‘It's just not very fair for you to accuse me of lying when you're telling little fibs of your own, is it?’

Secretly amused, Sebastian waited out the stubborn silence that followed and tried to act like he wasn't acutely aware of her arm pressing against his. There was a strange sense of familiarity about her presence, as if in some other lifetime they'd sat together just like this, side by side beneath the trees.

Eventually, she spoke again.

'If you must know,’ she began, her voice tight, ‘I've been under some... stress lately. And now I can't sleep without, well…'

'Without knocking yourself out with a Sleeping Draught?' he offered helpfully. ‘I know what that's like.’

'Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to use “substances". Not that my Muggle instructors would ever recognise the effects of a Sleeping Draught, but still…' She heaved a heavy sigh. 'It's just… I've been dancing almost my entire life. My goals, my plans, my future — everything about me revolves around ballet.’

‘And now?’ he prompted.

‘Something happened…’ she said slowly. ‘Something that made me realise that I don't know who I am outside of the thing I've been trained for my whole life. — That's why I'm here, actually.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘To find yourself?’

‘Oh — no, because I accidentally blew up the dance studio with my magic.’

Sebastian choked.

'I'm the only ballerina with magic, you see,’ she explained, patting him gingerly on the back. ‘The Ministry had to obliterate everyone who witnessed my, erm… mishap, and I was ordered to take the summer off for "stress relief" lest I violate the Statute of Secrecy by exploding on stage or something. So…’ She waved her hand flippantly. ‘Here I am.'

Sebastian began to laugh.

‘You blew up your dance studio?’

‘I didn't mean to!’ she wailed. ‘It was awful! I broke all the mirrors! — It's not funnyyy, stop laughing!’

But he couldn't. Too far gone for composure, he hid his face in his hands and laughed til his cheeks hurt.

‘You know…’ he said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘I could teach you a far more effective way of relieving stress.’

Her scandalised look almost set him off laughing again.

‘I'm talking about skateboarding,’ he snickered. ‘Why? What were you thinking of?’

[jc]

Das Beste aus Twitter, August-Edition

Auch im heißesten Monat vollbringt Twitter wieder wahre Tweetwunder!

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Ich bin beeindruckt von Twitter. Alle hier wissen ganz genau, welche Aufgaben die BaFin hat.

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Babyschwimmen. Nur für Kinder unter sechs Monaten. Warteliste bis März 2021. Falls ihr euch fragt, wann man anmelden sollte: Bei Geburt oder 9 Monate früher.

— Sebastian Eckert (@SebastianEckert) August 11, 2020

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Nichte, 16 Jahre alt. Nach 2 Tagen die erste Kommunikation. "Ich habe 1000 Follower auf Insta." (Wir haben einen Anfang. Juhu!) "Ich hab 26 Tausend auf Twitter." "Das ist nur was für alte Leute. Die Hälfte ist wahrscheinlich schon tot." Obwohl sie recht hat HALTET MICH ZURÜCK

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All die netten Menschen, die ich niemals kennenlernen werde.

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„Wenn der Wind der Veränderung weht, suchen manche im Hafen Schutz, während andere die Segel setzen!“ von meiner Freundin Katharina – Grundschullehrerin und 1 Jahr im Segel-Sabbatikal zzt in Bergen/Norwegen

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Karnevalsverbot 2021 Rheinischer Sezessionskrieg 2022-2024

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Ich muss mit der Tochter mal über passende Ablageplätze für ihre recht lebensecht aussehende Spielzeug-Vogelspinne reden. Eingewickelt in den Abwaschlappen auf der Küchenspüle ist jedenfalls KEIN passender Platz.

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ein rätsel meines alltags: wieso haben fast alle babyhosen hosentaschen und meine kleider haben keine?

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Hey Leute, lasst uns mal die AfD nächstes Jahr wieder aus dem Bundestag schmeißen!

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Bevor es google gab war es so: Man wollte etwas wissen und dann hat man irgendwann gedacht, ach egal.

— David Kebekus (@MisterDavidK) August 28, 2020

Die Herzdame: „Wie heißt noch diese Pflanze hier, die ich bloß nicht ausreißen soll?“ Ich: „Das kann ich von hier aus nicht erkennen.“ Die Herzdame reißt die Pflanze aus und wirft sie mir zu. Die Sonne scheint, es weht ein leichter Wind, es ist ein schöner Tag. Die Ehe hält.

— Max.Buddenbohm (@Buddenbohm) August 30, 2020

Das ganze Schulsystem in DE&AT ist also darauf ausgelegt, dass intelligente Frauen ab Mittags zuhause auf ihre Kinder warten und mit ihnen stundenlang Hausaufgaben machen damit sie gute Noten schreiben & studieren können um eines Tages wiederum auf ihre Kinder Mittags zu warten.

— Joanalistin (@Joanalistin) August 29, 2020

Traue keinem Account mit mehr als zwei Hashtags pro Tweet.

— LaPierrot (@IchBinJazz) August 31, 2020

̶i̶̶c̶̶h̶̶ ̶̶d̶̶a̶̶t̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶m̶̶o̶̶m̶̶e̶̶n̶̶t̶̶a̶̶n̶̶ ̶̶s̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶e̶̶i̶̶n̶̶e̶̶n̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶y̶̶p̶̶e̶̶n̶ ich hab bis vor kurzem so einen Typen gedated der hat mir gerade gesagt dass er keine Lebkuchen oder Spekulatius mag

— Pixie Apfelbaum (@pixieapfelbaum) August 31, 2020

Meine Mutter ist übrigens echt sauer, dass die Uhr an ihrem Herd nach 46 Jahren kaputt ist. Das ist nicht mehr mein Deutschland! Danke Merkel!😡 pic.twitter.com/vMPp7MU2ir

— Han Twerker (@mitWorte) August 31, 2020

* * *

Du möchtest keinen Beitrag mehr verpassen? Du kannst dich per E-Mail benachrichtigen lassen, einfach hier klicken!

(Original unter: https://1ppm.de/2020/09/das-beste-aus-twitter-august-2020/)

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious?

Sk8erboi!Sebastian meets Ballerina!Aurélie, part one.

(Or: my slow descent into madness via a sk8er boi x notebook crackfic au.)

Inspired by the girlies in the writing server, thanks for the sk8er boi brain rot. I don't know why I'm writing this and I have absolutely NO IDEA where it's heading.

Content: MODERN AU. 🛹 It's 2002 and Sk8er Boi is rockin' up MTV. 🛹 Sebastian is an idiot (affectionate). 🛹 Sebastian thinks he's good at skateboarding but is secretly a nerd. 🛹 Basically Canon!Sebastian with a skateboard. 🛹 Yes I squeezed in a reference to my favourite Notebook scene. 🛹 Yes there will be more Notebook references. 🛹 Part two when? Who knows. 🤙🤙🤙

Warnings: SFW. Non graphic mentions of blood/head wound.

Word count: 2.6k

👉 PART TWO HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Wizarding folk, among which Sebastian was usually proud to include himself, had a distinct fondness for cobblestones. Great for aesthetics, sure: nothing screamed eccentric magical village quite like alarmingly uneven roads — but what worked for aesthetics was absolutely shite for skateboarding.

That's right. Skateboarding.

Luckily, Sebastian was a wizard — and quite a gifted one at that — and though his professors from his Hogwarts days would likely argue that inventing a hovering charm specifically to ride a Muggle skateboard over otherwise un-skateable terrain was a waste of his talents, he was inclined to disagree — especially now, as he hurtled down the main street of Hogsmeade, dodging carts, villagers and stray cats at speeds that rivalled the newest model of the Firebolt.

No, far from a waste of time, this was undoubtedly the most impressive use of his magical prowess since he'd successfully cast the Torture Curse on the first go.

That is until a Thestral-drawn carriage pulled out right in front of him.

‘Fuck —!’

For all the time and effort he'd put into developing his hovering charm, he'd neglected to install an emergency braking system.

Swerving hard to avoid collision, he heel-flipped upwards, accidentally performed his signature mid-air 360 Great-Merlin Kickflip over the top of the carriage, then rail-flipped off a lamppost before launching skyward again.

Choosing to ignore the fact that he'd just performed the best tricks of his life while careening uncontrollably through the air, Sebastian let out a great ‘Yeeeeew!’ of triumph — but the sheer force of his excitement threw him sharply off balance. Wobbling precariously atop the board, arms flapping like an overfed Diricaw trying to outrun a diet plan, he tried to regain control —

But it was no use.

He hit the ground, whacked his head on something hard — a bloody cobblestone, probably — and rolled neatly across the way before the great double doors of the Three Broomsticks finally ended his epic wipeout.

Groaning miserably, he rolled onto his back to find two blurry faces peering down at him with mirrored expressions of shock.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked in perfect unison.

Blinking rapidly, Sebastian's entire world flipped on its axis (er, again) as the face of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen came into stunning, albeit upside-down relief: backlit by the summer sun, a halo of auburn hair framed a pair of eyes so piercingly blue that he was sure they saw into his soul.

Fuck, he was dead, wasn't he? He was dead and this vision of beauty above him was an angel come to take him away to — ah, fuck fuck fuck! Death by malfunctioning magical skateboard was not how he'd planned to go out!

He scrambled gracelessly to his feet.

‘Shit,’ he replied, flicking his swishy hair out of his eyes. ‘I mean — fuck. Hello — shit, you're pretty.’

Taken aback, the girl's orphic eyes widened in alarm.

‘Did you — are you hurt?’

Sebastian swayed on the spot. ‘Who, me?’ He tried to chuckle, but nonchalance was difficult with a head wound. ‘Yeah, I'm fiiiine — completely, totally fine… Never been better, actually. Feel amazing. Best ride of my life.’

Her gaze lingered on his forehead. ‘You're bleeding…’

‘Am I?’ He definitely was — he could feel it. ‘S'alright, happens all the —’

A very disorienting moment later, Sebastian found himself in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with a cold rag pressed to his head and a very irate barkeeper clicking her tongue in disapproval.

‘Skateboarding!’ Sirona tutted. ‘Right through the middle of Hogsmeade! What were you thinking?’

But Sebastian wasn't thinking. At least, not about anything but startling blue eyes.

‘Wasn't,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Where girl?’

He stood up; Sirona shoved him back down.

‘Sebastian, you've got a bloody great gaping wound on your head!’ she scolded, holding him down by the shoulders. ‘I've called for the Healer —’

‘Fuck the Healer.’ He stood up again, swiping his bloody forehead with the back of his hand. Just a scratch. He'd be fine.

‘Oh for the love of —’ Catching him by the sleeve before he could stumble for the exit, Sirona levelled him a look she usually reserved for unruly patrons who’d indulged in too much firewhisky. ‘The girl who brought you here — while you were semi-conscious and incoherent, might I add — is eating lunch in the corner booth. But behave yourself, will you?’ she called after him as he wrenched out of her grip. ‘She's French!’

Sebastian liked Sirona — really, he did; she was the only villager who let him practise his kickflips out the back of the Three Broomies without calling the authorities — but right now he'd push her off a cliff if she got in the way of him and the girl.

Still unsteady on his feet, he barrelled into the tavern proper, where the lunch hour was in full swing and the smell of ale and shepherd's pie made his head spin. He made for the corner booth, flattening his hair with his hands and praying to Merlin above that he didn't look as fucked up as he felt — but his heart dropped when he found the booth occupied not by a dainty little redhead girl but by a group of menacing-looking warlocks tucking into a pig's head for lunch.

Shit.

He spun around. Maybe it was the concussion speaking, but he had the most awful, gut-wrenching feeling that if he never saw her again, terrible things would happen.

He had to see her again.

Scanning the crowd with increasing desperation, he was just about to accost Sirona for more details when he caught a flash of long, red hair slipping through the exit. He dashed across the room, chasing that swishy hair the way a bull charges after a Matador.

‘Hey!’ he called out, skidding through the doorway and into the sunlit street beyond. ‘Hey, wait!’

Frantic, he pushed through a group of disgruntled old ladies, jumped over a very startled cat and almost lost his footing again as he hurtled down the road, this time driven not by magically charmed skateboard but sheer desperation.

‘Hi,’ he panted when he finally caught up to her.

The girl cast him a sideways glance.

‘Oh, look,’ she said with a melodic French accent, ‘it's my new husband.’

Sebastian stumbled over another cobblestone.

‘I — what?’

‘You must've hit your head quite hard indeed if you don't remember professing marriage to a complete stranger.’

He stopped dead in his tracks. Was she joking?

‘I didn't,’ he said, aghast.

‘You did,’ she returned, flashing a wry grin over her shoulder as she walked on.

He hurried after her. ‘Fuck, I'm — I'm sorry, I hit my head really hard.’

‘Oh, so you're revoking your marriage proposal?’

‘No —! I mean, yes, but — I don't even know your name.’

‘Hmm.’ She stopped to peer interestedly at the window display of Tomes and Scrolls. ‘Makes our engagement a bit awkward, no?’

Sebastian could only gape wordlessly as she drifted gracefully into the bookstore.

‘Hang on.’ He dumped his board at the door and lumbered in after her. ‘You said yes?’

The girl pressed her lips together in suppressed amusement. ‘I said I'd think about it. – Bonjour!’ she added, greeting Mr Brown so sweetly that the shopkeeper's usually surly countenance brightened like he'd swallowed his sun. Sebastian wondered if he, too, looked equally as ridiculous as he followed her down the nearest aisle…

Likely he did.

He didn't really care.

‘You'd think about it?’ he whispered, lowering his voice as a show of respect to the books crammed into the overstuffed shelves on either side of them.

Though he'd be hesitant to admit it aloud to anyone (lest the truth ruin the bad boy persona he'd been carefully cultivating for many years), Sebastian was at his happiest when surrounded by books. No longer having access to the Hogwarts library since he’d graduated a year prior, he'd taken to visiting Tomes and Scrolls so often that Mr Brown, a fervent bibliophile and an avid sesquipedalian, had given him a part-time job and leased him the shoebox flat on the second floor, ‘...since you refuse to cease importuning me with your quotidian ritual of perambulating about my pulchritudinous premises!’

Crammed with books but bereft of furniture, the tiny, two-roomed flat was dingey, draughty and, judging by the thick layer of dust that’d greeted him on his arrival, hadn't had a living soul cross its threshold since 1892 — but it sure beat living with Solomon in Feldcroft: the only thing his uncle hated more than Sebastian's boards was Sebastian himself, and though piles of books didn't offer much in the way of conversation on those long nights alone in his flat, at least they'd never called him a good-for-nothing waste of space nor gotten so black-out drunk they’d passed out in the middle of the living room for several days. 

No, when it came to companionship, Sebastian generally preferred the fictional sort.

Today, though, squeezed between the narrow aisles with a girl whose radiance rendered him dumber than a flobberworm, Sebastian wouldn't have noticed if the books became sentient, grew papery legs and performed a perfectly choreographed flash dance in the village square. Deep in the reverential hush of the bookstore, they could have been the only two people in the world.

‘Well, you seemed so terribly earnest about us getting married…’ mused the girl, trailing delicate fingers over book spines and blurbs. ‘And I didn't want to hurt your feelings when you were injured. And then the barkeeper came —’

‘— Sirona.’

‘Oui. And you asked her to prepare us a wedding suite.’

Sebastian stared at her. ‘I can't tell if you’re joking or if you’re just…’

‘French?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Mm,’ she said simply, and it was only when she looked him over did he become horrifying aware of his state of dishevelment: his grey hoodie was caked in dirt, there was a new tear in his jeans that he hadn't artfully produced on purpose, and when he glanced at his reflection in a nearby glass cabinet, he was shocked by how much blood was smeared across his forehead.

This was not Sebastian's first head wound. It was, however, his most mortifying.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, this angelic girl, with her silk blouse and balletic gait, wasn’t running from him, threatening to hex him, or even regarding him with the slightest bit of ridicule. In fact, unless the knock to his brain had skewed his ability to accurately interpret social cues, she rather seemed to be enjoying his company.

Or at the very least, she found him amusing.

He could work with amusing.

When she disappeared down the next aisle, he steeled his nerves, cast a (mostly useless) cleaning charm over his scraggly appearance, and followed after her again — only this time, with the strategic use of his signature swagger in full swing, the effect of which usually left hoards of girls swooning in his wake.

He tousled his hair.

‘Anyway,’ he began, confident, suave, assured, ‘I'm Sebas —’

‘— Sebastian Sallow,’ she said, not looking up from the book she was perusing. ‘I know, you told me earlier. You also told me your age, your middle name, which house you were in at Hogwarts, your favourite colour, and,’ — she flashed a dubious glance at the cut on his forehead, — ‘that you're “hands down the best skater in all the Highlands.”’

Sebastian's swagger visibly deflated.

‘Is that all I told you?’ he gulped. Given his recent history, blabbering on about marriage was not the worst thing he could’ve told her.

Not by any stretch.

‘Mhm.’ She slipped the book under her arm and glided deeper into the shop. ‘Aside from the marriage proposal.’

‘Right,’ he swallowed. ‘Aside from that. So, uh.’ He stepped around her before she could flit off again. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’

She smiled up at him, and he wondered if her plump, strawberry lips tasted as sweet as they looked.

Fuck.

‘I already did,’ she said coyly, lightly stepping around him again. ‘But you evidently did not commit it to memory.’

Whatever remained of his short-lived confidence packed up its bags and slinked out of the bookstore with its tail between its legs, leaving him fully exposed as the poser he truly was.

‘You didn't,’ he moaned, chasing after the scent of her floral hair like a bee starved of pollen.

‘I did.’

‘No.’

‘Twice, actually.’

‘Twice?’

‘Mhm,’ she said, picking up another book. ‘Not a great start to our whirlwind romance, is it?’

Sebastian looked at her sideways.

‘I still can't tell if you're joking,’ he lamented, feeling a burgeoning sense of anxiety tighten his chest. ‘What if I guess?’

She set the book down and turned to him.

‘Listen, Sebastian,’ she began, pronouncing his name the French way, ‘you seem very sweet, but —’

‘I am!’ he blurted. ‘I am sweet! Very sweet, in fact! Unless —’ A surge of panic stole through him. — ‘Unless you don't like sweet? In that case, I'm not sweet, I'm horrible. A nightmare. I'm literally the worst, I'm —’

‘You're dumb,’ she interrupted with a giggle.

Sebastian softened like fucking butter.

‘I can be that,’ he said with so much earnestness he wondered what the fucking hell was wrong with him. ‘I can be dumb, if that's what you want. Just tell me what you want, and I'll be it.’’

‘What I want,’ she said, regarding him with equal parts exasperation and pity, ‘is for you to get your head looked at.’

'You sound like my uncle,' he snorted. 'I mean, uh, I will!... If you come with me?'

‘Do you need me to hold your hand?’ she said archly.

‘Yes!’

‘Mm…’ She pretended to think. ‘Non.’

‘But — wait! What if — What if I have a concussion and I die without ever knowing your name? Wouldn't that be tragic?’ He pressed his hands to his chest and went on dramatically, ‘As I lay dying, holding the vision of your face in my mind's eye like a guiding light, my only regret will be that I never knew the name of beauty.’

Clearly unmoved, she levelled him a look so dry it would've parched a weaker man than he. But Sebastian Sallow was no coward! — Especially not with books at his disposal and the smell of parchment in his lungs. Inspired into a literary fervour, he swept his arms wide.

‘Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips,’ — his voice dropped to a whisper, — ‘O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss…’

‘Oh, mon dieu.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It's Aurélie. — Aurélie Collins.’

Sebastian's mouth dropped.

‘Aurélie Collins the ballerina?’

‘Oui.’

She turned. He followed.

‘The famous one?’

‘Oui.’

‘But you're the youngest ballerina in the Paris ballet or — whatever. Right?’

‘Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris,’ she corrected, holding herself a little straighter. ‘I didn't pick you as a ballet fan.’

‘I'm — well, I'm not,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘But my best mate is. Fancy prick, Ominis is, but all the Gaunt's are.’

She stopped so abruptly that he bumped into her.

‘Ominis Gaunt is your best friend?’

Considering they hadn't spoken in over a year, “best friend” seemed a bit of a stretch, but for all intents and purposes, Ominis was really the only friend Sebastian had. Or used to have: after that one time Sebastian had used the torture curse on him, their friendship had become a little… strained.

‘Why?’ He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said loftily. ‘In fact, he and I have a date planned in ten minutes from now.’

Don't worry, there's not a single universe in which Sebastian and Aurélie don't fall stupidly in love. I just needed a foolproof way to make Sebebe jealous in part 2, and what better than to have his girl (quote unquote) go on a date with his estranged best friend who he tortured for a spell book that one time lol.

[morelikeravenbore]

Brilliant. As if a head wound wasn't bad enough, now he was having heart palpitations as well? Had he overdone it with the Shakespearean theatrics and inadvertently brought upon his own tragic, untimely death? Was he to die at her feet as Romeo for Juliet — only via self-inflicted concussion over a quick-acting poison?

Fuck it — if today was the day that he died, he'd at least try for a first date. As a wise man once sang: Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?

‘Don't go on a date with Ominis,’ he said, swooping his stupid hair out of his face. ‘Go on a date with me.’

— Can I Make It Any More Obvious, part 2 (coming soon.)

[morelikeravenbore]

Sk8er Boi AU wasn't on my bingo card this morning but here we are.

Crackfic WIP below.

Wizarding folk, among which Sebastian was usually proud to include himself, had a distinct fondness for cobblestones. Great for aesthetics, sure: nothing screamed eccentric magical village quite like alarmingly uneven stone roads, but what worked for aesthetics was absolutely shite for skateboarding. 

That's right, skateboarding. 

Luckily, Sebastian was a wizard — and quite a gifted one at that — and though his professors from his Hogwarts days would likely argue that inventing a hovering charm to ride a Muggle skateboard over otherwise un-skateable terrain was a waste of his talents, he was inclined to disagree. Especially now, as he hurtled down the main street of Hogsmeade, dodging carts, villagers and stray cats at speeds that rivalled the newest model of the Firebolt.

No, far from a waste of time, this was undoubtedly the most impressive use of his magical prowess since he'd successfully cast the Killing Curse on the first go. 

— Can I Make It Any More Obvious? coming soon.

[morelikeravenbore]

Help!

[morelikeravenbore]

Trick of treat!! 🙃🫶

Ahh hello little cactus! 🥹🌵 Let's see what I have in my bag of treats this time... Ah yes, a little sk8erboi!Sebastian WIP for you 🤭

Sebastian scrambled gracelessly to his feet. 

‘Shit,’ he said, flicking his swishy hair out of his eyes. ‘I mean — fuck. Hello — shit, you're pretty.’

Taken aback, the girl's bright blue eyes widened in alarm. 

‘Did you — are you hurt?’ 

Sebastian swayed on the spot. ‘Who, me?’ He tried to chuckle, but nonchalance was difficult to achieve with a head wound. ‘Nah, I'm fiiiine — completely, totally fine… Never been better, actually. Feel amazing. Best ride of my life.’

The girl's gaze slowly raked up to his forehead. ‘You're bleeding…’

‘Am I?’ He definitely was — he could feel it. ‘S'alright, happens all the —’

A very disorienting moment later, Sebastian found himself in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with a cold rag pressed to his head and a very irate barkeeper clicking her tongue in disapproval. 

‘Skateboarding!’ Sirona tutted. ‘Right through the middle of Hogsmeade! What were you thinking?’

[morelikeravenbore]

Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, previously known as Steeply & Sons, was a garish, pastel-pink nightmare that took prominence in the village square like an overdone sponge cake at a corporate buffet. 

The preferred meeting place for first dates, romantic rendezvous and anyone looking to indulge in tiny, outrageously overpriced cakes, Sebastian had been inside only once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the ordeal ever again: lace doilies, frosted cupcakes and sickeningly sweet tea was not his idea of a good time.

— Can I Make It Any More Obvious? Part 2 WIP.

[morelikeravenbore]

coming back from my (5 day? Lol?) tumblr break with the long awaited sk8erboi!Sebastian crack fic.

stay tuned.

[morelikeravenbore]

✨ Hogwarts Legacy fluffy masterlist.

In the interest of ✨aesthetics✨, I'm compiling all my 🍭 fluffy oneshots, drabbles and HL au's together to link back to my masterlist.

Content warnings (if any) will be listed to the best of my awareness on each post. All stories crossposted to wattpad & AO3.

✨ Can I Make It Any More Obvious? ONGOING. | Modern AU | sk8erboi!Sebastian x ballerina!Aurélie

Wizarding folk, among which Sebastian was usually proud to include himself, had a distinct fondness for cobblestones. Great for aesthetics, sure: nothing screamed eccentric magical village quite like alarmingly uneven roads — but what worked for aesthetics was absolutely shite for skateboarding.

That's right. Skateboarding.

✨ Here Comes The Sun | 1.4k words

Sebastian Sallow had landed himself in a predicament so dire that despite applying every ounce of his impressive mental facilities to finding a solution, only two viable options were clear to him: he could fake an illness and flee back to Scotland, or he could throw himself off the cliff he was presently stood atop and drown in the Mediterranean Sea below.

✨ Noctilucent | [mature themes and sexual references, reader discretion advised!]

Aurélie allowed herself a little indulgent peek of the wide-eyed, sleep-deprived maniac she was straddling: toned stomach and Quidditch-defined shoulders; golden-warm skin bathed in blue light from the jar of bluebell flames she kept by the bed; a novae of new freckles enhanced by the summer sun — he was noctilucent beneath her, like something borne of a dream, surely too unreal to belong to her.

✨Croissants & Comfort | 1.1k words | husband!Sebastian/domestic!Sebaura

Sebastian Sallow absolutely, resolutely, with every fibre of his being and inch of his damaged soul, hates cats.

While others, perhaps those more trusting than he, might coo over bright eyes and bushy tails, fluffy paws and little pink noses, Sebastian sees only the sharp claws and pointy teeth of a predator. So when one of them shows up on his doorstep meowing for his soul (or for food, who can tell when it comes to cats?), he closes the door in its little demon face and pretends he never saw it.

✨ Don't Tell Ominis | 1.9k words

Accidentally conjuring a dragon with Ancient Magic wasn't exactly what most would consider a stroke of luck, but as the secret entrance to the Undercroft slammed shut behind her, Aurélie thought herself very lucky on several accounts: first, that the dragon had been small, as far as dragons go; second, that Sebastian hadn't been there to witness her embarrassing blunder (because, as enthusiastic as he was about her practising her magic, she felt certain even he would draw the line at conjuring fire-breathing demon-lizards in a school); and third, that she'd managed to escape said demon-lizard without so much as a singed hair (hers, not the dragons.)

✨Cicatrix | 1.3k words

Much to the chagrin of his peers, excelling in his studies was, to put it mildly, downright bloody easy, and though his natural proclivity towards excellence often put him on the receiving end of bitter remarks and jealous taunts, Sebastian took pride in the fact that despite everything that had been taken from him, his intelligence remained unfaltering. That is, until he fell in love.

✨ Toast & Tribulation | 1.4k words | A crackfic AU in which Aurélie is a Slytherin and she & Ominis rule Hogwarts Mean Girls style.

When Ominis Gaunt had first introduced himself outside the Undercroft by threatening to have her expelled, Aurélie swore right then and there to hate him for the rest of her life. And for most of her debut year at Hogwarts, she did just that — vehemently.

Mini prompts and short drabbles:

✨ Aurélie hates quests.

�� "Thebastian Thallow".

✨ Sebastian is jealous.

✨ Sebastian is jealous again.

✨ Sebastian has lost his bloody mind.

[ps-cactus]

I'm obsessed with 'tender crack' now 🤌✨

I laughed so hard and smiled with the stupidest just like Seb smile, thanks 😆

Can I Make It Any More Obvious? Part two.

He Was A Punk, She Did Ballet...

I do not know why I've included so many bloody Shakespearean references into this crackfic about a sk8er boi wizard, but since I'm writing this by the seat of my pants with absolutely no plan or outline, I'ma let my subconscious cook. Also, I'm hesitant to call this a "crack fic” any more. Let's call it tender crack. A crack fic with feelings.

Content: MEET CUTE MODERN AU. 🛹 Mentions of “magical drug use” (the recreational smoking of mallowsweet*), mentions of alcoholism, swearing.

*not my original idea. I've read this idea in a few fics before and think it's genius so credit to whoever wrote it before me!

Word count: 3.2k~

👉 PART ONE HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, previously known as Steeply & Sons, was a garish, pastel-pink nightmare that took prominence in the village square like an overdone sponge cake at a corporate buffet.

The preferred meeting place for first dates, romantic rendezvous and anyone looking to indulge in tiny, outrageously overpriced cakes, Sebastian had been inside only once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the ordeal again: lace doilies, frosted cupcakes and sickeningly sweet tea was not his idea of a good time.

‘In a village brimming with interesting places,’ he grumbled, keeping in step with the little redhead beside him, ‘he invites you to Puddifoot's?’

Having naturally charmed Mr Brown into giving her a special discount on every book in the shop ("...a munificent diminution for the fair danseuse!”), a request to return any time day or night (“Antemeridiem, noonstead, or crepusculum!”), and an invitation to join the village book club (“...whereupon we postulate and divagate into scintillating literary excursuses!”), they'd left Tomes and Scrolls only after Sebastian, growing irritated by not having her full attention, had ushered her out the door and into the bustling street beyond.

Was he jealous of his middle-aged, married landlord simply for speaking to her?

… Yes.

‘What's wrong with Puddifoot's?’ she asked, sparing him no glance as she weaved through the main street.

Across the village square, the tea shop's frosted icing-sugar windows winked merrily at them under the midday sun.

Sebastian pulled a face.

‘Their cakes are small!’

‘Their cakes are small?’

‘Offensively so! And as far as first dates go, it's the most predictable, uninspired place he could have chosen! Puddifoot's, really?’ he scoffed. ‘Ominis might as well have admitted he hated you and been done with it.’

She stifled a laugh behind her hand. ‘Those are some wild aspersions,’ she said delicately. ‘Where do you prefer to take your dates in Hogsmeade, then, if you're such an expert?’

He bit his tongue before he could blurt out the words ‘Shrieking Shack’ — not that he ever took dates there; mostly he went there to smoke mallowsweet by himself and wallow in self-pity. Even so, it'd still be a better choice than squeezing into a lumpy, overstuffed loveseat while fairies dumped confetti over his head and people he wished never to see snogging snogged with unbridled relish and vigour.

‘I would take you somewhere fun,’ he scowled. ‘Like —’

‘Like a wedding altar?’

Sebastian flushed. ‘No —!’

‘Oh, oh! L'hôpital?’ She turned to him with a surprisingly impish grin for someone so renownedly elegant.

Something funny wiggled in Sebastian's chest.

‘Trust me, you don't want to date Ominis — he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse!’

‘I thought he was your best friend?’

‘He is! That's how I know he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse! Look —’

Running a hand through his tangled hair, he pulled her aside to a shady spot beneath an old, gnarled oak and tried not to loom over her: at almost twenty-one years old, Sebastian had started growing early in life and hadn't yet stopped.

Fuck, why was he so bloody gigantic.

‘You won't like him,’ he said, hunching awkwardly. ‘He won't make you laugh, or take you anywhere fun, or —’

‘Propose marriage while bleeding from the head?’

A nearby merchant — a humpbacked witch with one eye and somehow too many teeth — let out an amused cackle, but Sebastian was too distracted by the strange little wiggle in his chest to tell her to sod the fuck off.

Brilliant. As if a head wound wasn't bad enough, now he was having heart palpitations as well? Had he overdone it with the Shakespearean theatrics and inadvertently brought upon his own tragic, untimely death? Was he to die at her feet as Romeo for Juliet — only via self-inflicted concussion over a quick-acting poison?

Fuck it — if today was the day that he died, he'd at least try for a first (or last?) date. As a wise man once sang: Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?

‘Don't go on a date with Ominis,’ he said, swooping his stupid hair out of his face. ‘Go on a date with me.'

She blinked at him. ‘What, now?’

Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over.

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm… Because I already have a date?’ She shrugged past him, but he only lumbered after her like the big, brainless troll he was.

‘Wait —!’ He held up his palms. ‘Look, I know you get some blood-soaked guy coming up to you on the street, you don't know me — but I know me, and I promise I'm —’

‘A dirty, rotten, sneaky little rat!’

Sebastian whipped around.

‘Ominis!’ he squeaked.

In all his years of dragging his best friend into detentions, secret underground lairs, and Muggle mosh pits against his will, the sight of Ominis’ sightless eyes boring into his with all the fury of his Slytherin lineage never failed to strike fear into Sebastian's heart.

It also, simultaneously, never failed to amuse him.

He didn't hesitate. With an absurdly high-pitched giggle and not a single logical thought in his addled brain, he grabbed Aurélie by the hand and took off running.

Board in one hand, girl in the other, he pelted through the village, twisting and turning through back alleys and narrow openings, scaring children and the elderly alike as he barrelled past them, cackling hysterically.

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, facing off with Peeves after being caught on another midnight jaunt through the Restricted Section; challenging an unsuspecting victim to an unsanctioned duel simply because he was bored; running from the prefects when he was inevitably caught nosegrinding down the Grand Staircase at two in the morning.

He hadn't felt this alive in years!

Beside him, the ballerina kept pace easily, pivoting round corners and leaping over obstacles with all the grace and finesse befitting her profession. As they dashed across someone's backyard, whipping through rows of freshly hung laundry, Sebastian caught the edge of a smile on her face before a pair of granny knickers slapped him across the cheek.

The wiggly thing in his chest giggled and kicked its feet aaaaall the way to the outskirts of the village, where a low stone wall at the end of an alleyway ended their daring escape. Beyond it, rugged and heather-brushed, lay freedom.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

‘Over?’ he suggested with a hopeful waggle of his brows.

‘Well, I can hardly go back now,’ she returned with a wry shrug.

Grinning, Sebastian piffed his board over the wall and then turned to offer his little companion a helping hand. But to his surprise, she was already up, balancing atop the precariously narrow wall in a position he vaguely recognised as something ballet-shaped.

He gawked for a moment, unashamedly admiring the entire length of her legs, from ankles to knees, from knees to thighs, from thighs to butt.

‘Careful,’ he warned, scrambling up after her. A steep decline on the other side of the wall made him nervous. His hands hovered close, ready to catch her should she lose her balance, but she only peeked at him sideways with a smug expression, footsure and composed.

Cute.

‘This is the fifth position,’ she explained, framing her arms above her head. ‘It is the pinnacle of ballet's basic stances.’

‘The fifth position, huh?’ he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. ‘Skipping ahead a few bases, I see.’

She ignored him.

‘It may look simple,’ she sniffed, turning her face to the sun, ‘but it takes years of training to reach complete security.’

‘Okay, show off,’ he snorted, climbing gracelessly down the other side of the wall. ‘Nothing about twisting your feet backwards like that looks simple to me.’

Safe now from the wrath of angry best friends and verbose shopkeepers, they picked their way carefully down to the banks of a shallow stream. A copse of willows drew them into a clearing, a dappled green reprieve from the midday sun. Sebastian couldn't remember ever coming across a spot as beautiful as this — but perhaps the company made it so.

In the middle of the clearing, she turned and caught him gawking.

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘I want to take a look at your head.’

Sebastian gulped. ‘My — my head?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh la la, the bump on your forehead!’

‘Oh.’ He'd almost forgotten. ‘My head’s fine,’ he lied, but she looked at him so sternly that he shut up and bent his stupid head for her inspection.

Please don't look at me with those eyes, please don't hint that you're capable of lies.

Gently, she pressed her fingers to the bump above his eyebrow.

‘Does this hurt?’

‘No,’ he winced, his voice rough. And then, ‘...Maybe a bit.’

‘Thought so.’

Her fingers left his face but returned a moment later holding a little jar of funny-smelling ointment.

Sebastian held still.

‘Hold still,’ she said.

Sebastian held more still.

With a touch that gave him full-body tingles, she pushed his hair back and dabbed a little ointment over the cut.

‘That stinks…’ was the best thing he could think to say.

‘It's Essence of Dittany,’ she explained. ‘I use it on my feet after a long day of dancing.’

He pulled a face. ‘You're putting foot cream on my face?’

‘It's Essence of Dittany!’

‘Yeah, for your feet!’

‘Oh, mon dieu.' She rolled her eyes. 'How old are you?’

Sebastian cracked a grin. ‘I'm surprised I didn't tell you that already.’

‘If you did,’ she began, tucking the jar back into her pocket, ‘I wouldn't forget it the way someone forgot my name two times. — Now…’ Without warning, she reached up and cupped his face between her soft little hands.

Sebastian's knees almost gave out.

‘Look at me,’ she said, and he looked, and looked, and looked, and thought he might not look away ever again.

‘Are you dizzy?’ she enquired, her face so close he could feel her breath.

Yes.

‘No.’

‘Dazed?’

Very.

‘No.’

‘Faint?’

Only when you touch me.

‘I'm fine,’ he murmured, but the tremor in his voice said otherwise, and his racing heart racing said otherwise, and the way his gaze kept dropping to her lips definitely definitely said otherwise.

I dread the thought of our very first kiss, a target that I'm probably gonna miss.

‘Okay,’ she said after a good long frown at his face. ‘But if you feel like you're going to fall…’

Sebastian almost told her he already had.

Thankfully, a sudden rustling in the greenery diverted him from embarrassing himself further, and from out of the treeline came another unexpected redhead (this one considerably less pleasing to look at than the one whose hands had just been on his face.)

‘Weasley?’

Garreth Weasley gave a start. ‘Sallow? What are you doing here?’

A fellow Hogwarts graduate and self-proclaimed “potion prodigy”, Garreth supplemented his apprenticeship wages at Pippin's Potions by selling his own “special blend” of mallowsweet on the side (unbeknownst to Pippin, of course, who, like most of the older generation of Hogsmeadians, vehemently decried the “grave misuse” of an otherwise unremarkable magical herb.)

Sebastian suppressed a groan: his mallowsweet dealer was the last person he wanted to see right now — especially when said dealer had an annoying habit of trying to steal his girlfriends.

Unsurprisingly, Garreth's eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty girl before him.

‘Hey, Aurélie!' said he. 'Nice to see you again.’

‘Again?’ Sebastian's mouth fell open. ‘You know Garreth bloody Weasely as well?’

‘Oui. We met just yesterday at your potion shop… Uhh, Peepins?’

‘Pippin's,’ Garreth corrected, his expression so jovial that Sebastian wanted to punch it right off his stupid freckled face. ‘I helped her pick out the best Valerian sprigs for her —’

‘— For my fudge!’ she cut in. ‘Oui, fudge. I'm making some. Fudge, that is. For — erm... Eating… Because it's, um… Nice? I think.’

Sebastian eyed her suspiciously. Why was she so nervous about fudge?

‘Right,’ he said, turning back to Garreth. ‘Anyway, did you want something, Weasley? Because we're in the middle of a date right now, if you can't tell.’

‘A date?’ spluttered the girl he most definitely was not on a date with.

‘A date?’ echoed Garreth, who looked slightly put out by the news. ‘Why aren't you at Puddifoot's, then?’

‘Oh, for fucks—’ Sebastian threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘There are other places besides Puddifoot's to go on dates, you know!’ he exclaimed. ‘All that mallowsweet's annihilated your imagination!’

Garreth's expression brightened. ‘Oh, speaking of —’ he said, procuring a small brown package from his pocket. ‘Got a new strain I'm looking to test out. Figured you'd be the perfect candidate.’

He tossed the package at Sebastian's chest: all three of them watched as it bounced off and hit the ground. Nobody moved to pick it up.

‘I don't know what you're on about,’ Sebastian lied, his eyes flicking nervously over the literal ballerina next to him; the epitome of elegance and refinement, he was certain she'd never smoked a bloody ham let alone indulged in the questionable (mis)use of mallowsweet.

Utterly fucking clueless, Garreth scooped up the package and held it out to him. ‘To be honest, I swore never to sell to you again after last time.’

‘Last —?’

‘Remember? You called me a “soulless fire crotch” and accused me of ripping you off —’

‘I never —!’

‘— but Leander reckons he's “giving it up” again, so now you're the only buyer I've got left who'll test out the experimental stuff.’

Unable to avoid it any longer, Sebastian snatched the package out of Garreth's hands and did his best to look thoroughly mystified. ‘Mallowsweet, you say? For potions, right?’

He sounded ridiculous even to himself.

‘Potions?’ Garreth looked puzzled. ‘No, you're supposed to smo—’

‘Smoulder it over a low flame before brewing, yep, I know, got it! Well, thanks Garreth, always a pleasure seeing you!’

‘But — you —’

‘Goodbye Garreth!’ He gave him a rough shove in the direction from whence he came.

‘Alright, alright, I'm going! Bloody hell. You fall off your wheel board or something?’

‘Skateboard,’ Sebastian said through his teeth. ‘It's a skateboard, Garreth. I know it's got wheels and it's very confusing for you, but —’

‘Oh!’ At this, Garreth turned. ‘Your uncle's up at the village, by the way.’

Brilliant. Uncle Solomon had a way of showing up drunk whenever things were going well for Sebastian; if he was at The Hog's Head already, he was probably halfway drunk by now. By nightfall, he'd be banging on Sebastian's door demanding to know where Anne was.

Sebastian didn't bloody know where his sister was. Nobody did.

‘How long's he been there?’

Garreth shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he was still upright last I saw…’

It was times like these that Sebastian was glad his twin sister had disappeared. Years of trying to hold together a splintered family had taken its toll on her; after all, looking after a drunken uncle and a brother obsessed with the Dark Arts wasn't exactly conducive to healing.

The hastily scribbled note she'd left had read: I can't die in Feldcroft. Please look after our uncle.

By the time Sebastian had found it, she was long gone.

He hadn't heard from her since.

No sooner had Garreth's flaming red hair disappeared into the brush than the baggie of experimental mallowsweet was yoinked unceremoniously out of Sebastian's hands.

‘Oi!’

‘Ooooh, you have a mallowsweet dealer?’ Aurélie danced out of his reach, giggling. ‘Can I try some?’

‘Wh — no, he's not a dealer!’ he spluttered, tailing her across the clearing. ‘And no, you can not “try some”!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s for potion-making!’

Grinning mischievously, she took a little whiff of the package then pulled a face and immediately thrust it back at him.

‘Eurgh, what are you brewing? Dungbombs?’

‘No — Wiggenwald.’

‘You're a terrible liar.’

‘Actually,’ he said, tucking the bundle into his hoodie pocket, ‘I'm a Slytherin. And if you must know, mallowsweet helps me sleep.’

‘So you do smoke it!’

‘Yes, mother, I smoke it.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can't you just use potions for that?’

‘Oh, you mean like a Sleeping Draught?’ He quirked a brow. ‘Or is it the Draught of Peace you’re brewing up with your precious “Garreth Weasley approved” Valerian roots?’

‘I told you, it's for fudge!’ she snapped.

‘You're a terrible liar,’ he smirked. ‘You don’t use the sprigs of the Valerian plant in fudge unless you intend to knock yourself unconscious for several days. — Or are you hoping to use it on someone else?’ he added, thinking of Ominis.

‘Oh, and you're an expert on fudge now, are you?’

‘I passed N.E.W.T level potions,’ he said smugly. ‘So unless you’re brewing a Fire-Breathing Potion — which, as an aside, I don’t think you need — then you're lying about the fudge.’

‘I don't see why it's any of your business!’ With a dramatic huff, she stomped across the clearing and threw herself a fallen log by the creek's edge.

‘It's not,’ he chuckled, sitting beside her. ‘It's just not very fair for you to accuse me of lying when you're telling little fibs of your own, is it?’

Secretly amused, Sebastian waited out the stubborn silence that followed and tried to act like he wasn't acutely aware of her arm pressing against his. There was a strange sense of familiarity about her presence, as if in some other lifetime they'd sat together just like this, side by side beneath the trees.

Eventually, she spoke again.

'If you must know,’ she began, her voice tight, ‘I've been under some... stress lately. And now I can't sleep without, well…'

'Without knocking yourself out with a Sleeping Draught?' he offered helpfully. ‘I know what that's like.’

'Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to use “substances". Not that my Muggle instructors would ever recognise the effects of a Sleeping Draught, but still…' She heaved a heavy sigh. 'It's just… I've been dancing almost my entire life. My goals, my plans, my future — everything about me revolves around ballet.’

‘And now?’ he prompted.

‘Something happened…’ she said slowly. ‘Something that made me realise that I don't know who I am outside of the thing I've been trained for my whole life. — That's why I'm here, actually.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘To find yourself?’

‘Oh — no, because I accidentally blew up the dance studio with my magic.’

Sebastian choked.

'I'm the only ballerina with magic, you see,’ she explained, patting him gingerly on the back. ‘The Ministry had to obliterate everyone who witnessed my, erm… mishap, and I was ordered to take the summer off for "stress relief" lest I violate the Statute of Secrecy by exploding on stage or something. So…’ She waved her hand flippantly. ‘Here I am.'

Sebastian began to laugh.

‘You blew up your dance studio?’

‘I didn't mean to!’ she wailed. ‘It was awful! I broke all the mirrors! — It's not funnyyy, stop laughing!’

But he couldn't. Too far gone for composure, he hid his face in his hands and laughed til his cheeks hurt.

‘You know…’ he said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘I could teach you a far more effective way of relieving stress.’

Her scandalised look almost set him off laughing again.

‘I'm talking about skateboarding,’ he snickered. ‘Why? What were you thinking of?’

[ps-cactus]

AAAAAAAAAA

OMG DID I JUST WIN A LOTTERY??? sk8erboi!Sebastian is hilarious 😆😆 I NEED MORE

BEST RIDE MY ASS 😂

Trick of treat!! 🙃🫶

Ahh hello little cactus! 🥹🌵 Let's see what I have in my bag of treats this time... Ah yes, a little sk8erboi!Sebastian WIP for you 🤭

Sebastian scrambled gracelessly to his feet. 

‘Shit,’ he said, flicking his swishy hair out of his eyes. ‘I mean — fuck. Hello — shit, you're pretty.’

Taken aback, the girl's bright blue eyes widened in alarm. 

‘Did you — are you hurt?’ 

Sebastian swayed on the spot. ‘Who, me?’ He tried to chuckle, but nonchalance was difficult to achieve with a head wound. ‘Nah, I'm fiiiine — completely, totally fine… Never been better, actually. Feel amazing. Best ride of my life.’

The girl's gaze slowly raked up to his forehead. ‘You're bleeding…’

‘Am I?’ He definitely was — he could feel it. ‘S'alright, happens all the —’

A very disorienting moment later, Sebastian found himself in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with a cold rag pressed to his head and a very irate barkeeper clicking her tongue in disapproval. 

‘Skateboarding!’ Sirona tutted. ‘Right through the middle of Hogsmeade! What were you thinking?’