#solomon hogwarts legacy

[orqheuss]

Free and young and we can feel none of it

(Platonic!Ominis Gaunt and the Sallow's HURT/COMFORT)

Solomon Sallow POV

Summary:

Stability he could do. Stability was something Solomon was comfortable with. He could be the support beam to Ominis’ crumbling walls. And when they woke, his niece and nephew could help pick up the pieces and put them back in their correct places. They could do this. Together. *** The game dialogue hints at the fact that Ominis left his family home before the events of the main story. This is how I feel it would go. Title from the song "Sedated" by Hozier.

Word count: 3.7k

Tags: referenced child abuse, neglectful family, bruising/violence

AN: Little different from what I usually do. Hope you like it! This one's for my Solomon lovers.

The small town of Feldcroft was not one that people traveled to often, if they knew about it at all. It was not a popular destination for tourists to the area, and very few took notice of the communities there. Some would even say that the people of the town fit into the same cookie-cutter shape of everything else. That is, of course, if they didn’t pay attention to the finer details. Feldcroft, quaint, lively, but quiet all the same, stood against the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside. Each unique cottage breathed life into the fields— within, their walls were resolutely upright, bricks meeting neatly with the roughly tumbled cement below, and doors were sensibly shut against the calling winter chill beyond their sanded wood finish. Yes, it was a simple town, and the people there liked it that way, thank you very much. 

It was not a particularly special night in the tiny village when it was startled awake by a rapid knocking on the Sallow cottage door. The moon was high in the sky by this time, only the soft sound of handmade bone-chimes and settling snow singing in harmony could be heard outside of the incessant pounding— it would be a long time before the sun even considered breaching over the horizon. Solomon Sallow was the first to rise, a light sleeper by trade and with a plethora of enemies to match that could be at his door this very moment. With his wand tucked securely in the sleeve of his night clothes, he quietly made his way towards the home entrance, pondering what he would find on the other side of the wooden barrier. His work as an Auror made him fear the worst in almost all occasions, and this situation was unfortunately not a new one in his years and travels. The common folk of the wizarding world would be surprised by how many dark witches and wizards would knock first before storming into a building, hoping to catch the homeowner off guard and lower their walls for a friend. Whom else would be knocking with such vigor than someone with ill intent? Not a friend of the family— not at this time of night. 

As silent as he could possibly move he crept closer to the door, his steps timid as he tried to avoid the squeaky boards under foot that he never got around to fixing, lest he wake his niece and nephew sleeping in the adjoining room. They were still so young, just barely into their third year of Hogwarts. If something terrible was beyond the foundation of their house, he needed them safe, not on the front lines with him, no matter how much they would fight to be beside him. Solomon had only recently taken them in after the deaths of their mother and father— his brother and sister-in-law— and even now he could see remnants of their knowledge and fiery personalities in the young children. The youngest of the two, only born mere minutes after his sister, was the worst of the bunch. Sebastian was headstrong, resilient, and downright pugnacious at times. Smart as a whip, and can crack just as hard. Solomon saw a lot of his brother in the boy, not just in his unruly brown hair or how his hazel eyes glimmered with delight whenever he read about some knowledge he was not originally privy to, and if he was to be honest it scared him at times. That fire, that bullheadedness was what did his brother in in the end— he didn’t want to see the youngest fall prey to the same fate.  

As for the daughter, the eldest of the two siblings, Anne was not that different from the boy. She was less confrontational than him, but had just as much spark. Where Sebastian thrived in knowledge, she thrived in action. There was never a day where Solomon didn’t see her running up and down the Hamlet, practicing every and all spells she had learned so far at the school just north of their house, performing little tasks for her neighbors like delivering things or wrangling escaped farm animals, or just rolling around in the dirt after a heavy rain because she simply could. If Sebastian was his father, Anne was most definitely her mother— he was the scholar, and she was the experimenter. 

Sebastian wanted to understand why something ticked; Anne wanted to see what would happen if she set it on fire. 

Even still, with her proclivity for offensive spells and her desire to run rampant, free of all binds holding her down once her schooling is over, Anne was the more reasonable, the more docile of the pair. The boy could fly off the handle at a moment's notice, while the girl would be there to hear all sides and weigh everything out like the god Osiris, the feather of truth on one side of the scale and your heart on the other. 

Solomon believed she would make a great Auror one day, if she wanted it. 

The eldest Sallow stood before the door, his shadow no doubt peaking through the stained glass windows atop the low archway and hopefully intimidating whomever was on the other side. Still the knocking persisted, growing more frantic as the seconds ticked on. He sighed silently to himself, squaring his shoulders like his father always taught him to do before a fight and shrugging on his house coat, bracing himself for the cold winter air just beyond the range of the homely hearth burning away just beside their tiny kitchen. It was now or never, he mused to himself, as he cast one last glance over his shoulder, checking that there were no newly minted teenagers behind him before reaching his hand towards the door handle, his wand firmly grasped in his other. 

Just as his fingers just grazed the cool metal, the pounds stopped, bathing the room in silence once more. Solomon stood befuddled, his shoulders once again slumping as gravity took hold of his sleepy limbs. Could they have given up trying to get his attention? He didn’t think it took him that long to get to the door— it was a tiny cottage afterall. Still inquisitive, he forgoed just shrugging it off as a harmless winter prank and instead leaned closer to the door, pressing his ear against the wood and straining his hearing to identify anything on his land. The wind howled outside, rustling whatever remaining leaves clung to the trees lining the town and shaking the freshly fallen snow from their branches. It was sure to storm again soon, the air still smelled heavy with the scent of cold and incoming onding. He could hear some remaining jobberknolls flying south before the breaking of dawn, preparing their long flight as the yule tidings began across Scotland. Everything natural, he reasoned. Nothing out of the ordinary. But, as he was about to lean away from the door, content with crawling back into his warm bed and sleeping the night away, something else caught his attention. Just beyond the natural was a small slosh at his steps, like someone was toeing at the ground with the tip of their boot and digging into the icy path leading to the door. They were light in weight, that much was for sure, barely enough for their shoes to make a crunching sound as they paced. 

Steeling himself again, Solomon creaked open the door and peered out through the crack, casting his eyes to and fro in search for their late night visitor. Upon not seeing anyone at first, he opened the door more, pulling it until it was inches from the inner wall and wide open to the world. His eyes were hard as he glared into the night, his wand hand raised and prepared for anything while his other pulled his house coat tighter across his body. 

His voice was strong and resolute as he called out, careful to keep his volume low so as to not wake anyone. “Who goes there? Show yourself!” 

There was a moment of stillness before a tiny voice piped up from his feet, barely auditory over the banshee-ish wind. “Mister Sallow?” 

Solomon shot his gaze downwards, his eyes hardened and prepared to fight as he took in the form sitting on his steps. Curled around themselves was a young boy, his blond hair as pale as the stars above and skin littered with constellations of birthmarks. He had to be the same age as the twins, maybe even a bit younger if the eldest Sallow took into account how skinny he was. Once his sleep-muddled brain caught up with his eyes, Solomon realized he recognized the boy as the young Ominis Gaunt, a close friend of the children. He was shivering harshly, the cold seemingly seeping into his bird-like bones and chilling him to the core. 

The boy’s home life was no secret, even if the Sallow man wasn’t a retired Auror he would still recognize the last name. The Gaunt’s were known for their dark magic and pureblood status, their descendents going all the way back to the Hogwarts founder, Salazar Slytherin. Solomon had seen the family's cruelty first hand before, and because of this tried to forbid his brother’s children from talking to their new friend. That was, of course, until he met the boy. Ominis was small for his age, and definitely wise beyond his years. Not one ounce of dark magic could be found in his veins, and he detested the very idea of following in his family's footsteps. Not only that, he was exceedingly kind, something rarely seen from such high society families, especially to those that lived in the “slums,” so to speak, like Solomon and the children did. The boy helped around the house where he could, pointing out things with his location charm that even a sighted person could not find. He talked to Solomon about his work, and was often found playing games with the twins in their garden during summer break. If the boy was here, on his doorstep, that means something terrible had happened in the Gaunt manor. The ex-Auror startled quickly upon the realization, hastily ushering the trembling boy into the house before he froze to death. 

Now safely under his roof, the Sallow man took in the lithe child, his eyes moving across his figure as he analyzed the state he was in. Wrapped around his neck and lower face was a thin scarf, likely grabbed quickly as it was distinctly not weather appropriate. No winter cloak sat over his shoulders, just a thin housecoat hung loosely around him— more for propriety than functionality. Underneath was a sage green sleep shirt, some of the buttons in their proper place and others, particularly the ones near his collar, hanging on my the tiniest bit of string— like someone took him by the throat and shook him until they popped loose. Covering his legs was a matching pair of sleep pants, the knees dirtied from the muddy sludge outside— his left knee visible through a small tear in the fabric. Solomon could see some crimson blood decorating the edges of the slice. The boy’s slippered feet shuffled anxiously against the hardwood floor, the skin of his bare heels tinged slightly blue from the near freezing temperatures outside. 

It was clear that the young Gaunt boy had not planned on fleeing that night. 

Ominis had his wand clutched in his hand like a lifeline, his head downcast but still shooting from left to right, his ears straining to hear anything that could be deemed a threat. Every creak of the floor sent a jolt up his spine like he was being continuously struck by lightning. He was wound as tight as a spring, constantly on edge and ready to flee at the drop of a pin. 

What was most concerning, though, was that the smallest bit of bruising was peeking out from underneath his scarf. Just along the collar of his shirt, once likely covered by the cloth but shifted after his dash to the door, was a distinct ring of purple spots, so deep and dreadful that if Solomon looked close enough he could probably see the swirls of each individual fingerprint. The ex-Auror was sure that if he pried the fabric off of the child he would find a similar bruise in the shape of a palm wrapped around his tiny throat. No doubt his father was the culprit— Erebus Gaunt was not one to be trifled with, even if you were his kin. 

While one could argue it was part of the job, Solomon was not very keen on consoling fearful children. Sure he had encountered a few during his days as an Auror, but he was not proud to say that he primarily just shooed them away towards the nearest person that seemed equipped for the task. It’s not that he didn’t like children, he tolerated his niece and nephew after all, but he just didn’t know how to act around them, especially when they were processing some big emotions. 

Hesitantly, he kneeled in front of the trembling blond boy, trying in vain to get a good look at his face— if there was bruising around his neck, there was sure to be some wounds that he needed to tend to above his jaw. Solomon awkwardly raised his hands from his sides, moving them slightly towards the boy’s shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting touch, only for Ominis to take a shaking step backwards, a whimper unconsciously weeping through his clenched teeth. The man’s hands stilled in the air in shock, his heart cracking at the fear that seeped from the boy like a murky fog. 

Trying a different approach, the eldest Sallow held his hands upwards in a placating manner, still within touching distance but far enough away to show he meant no harm. His voice broke through the encompassing silence of the cottage, the tone low, hushed, and, he hoped, calming. 

“Ominis, you’re safe now. Nothing is going to hurt you here.” He sighed at the apparent trepidation that took over the young blond’s face, more anxiety than annoyance in the puff of air. Solomon tried again, schooling the shake from his voice, “I would like to take a look at your face and neck, is that alright?” 

The boy sighed to himself, a deep and foreboding thing that seemed to shake him to his very core— like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was only now safe for him to put it down and rest— and nodded, stepping closer to the elder man and more into the light of the dimly burning braziers. Solomon was gentle with his hands, more gentle than he had ever been in his life, when he touched the young Slytherin’s chin, tilting it upwards and revealing the damage done to his face by the people he had once considered his family. 

Solomon felt his soul crack when Ominis’ visage came into the light. Under the tufts of blond that fluttered across his temple were his ghostly blue eyes, both rimmed with red from his tears and the skin colored a dismal purple— whether from lack of good sleep or a slap to the face, he wasn’t sure. They sunk deep into his skin like they were permanently a part of his features. Across his left cheek, still plump with a bit of baby fat from his young— much too young— age was a long jagged scar, blood pooling at the surface and streaking down his face, just shy of dripping onto his once starched collar. The man thought of the onyx ring that adorned the ring finger of the Gaunt patriarch and had to swallow down his bubbling rage. Cradling the young boy’s face like one would cradle a fragile family heirloom, he carefully pushed Ominis’ bangs to the side, only to still when the boy winced. At the upper corner of his head, right where his hairline began, was a thin line of bruising. Solomon sucked in a breath as he peered closer, mapping out the injury to himself to see how well he can possibly heal it. There was a distinct diamond shape at one end, the dark plum and incarnadine colors blending together into a deeper, more concerning shade of maroon. Small curls, like scrapings of widdled wood or peeled fruit, could be seen in a pattern across the rest. The man felt anger spin into a burning knot just under his ribs when he realized what that could mean. A table. They slammed their son, their own flesh and blood and bone, into a table hard enough to leave indents. Finally, Solomon’s eyes flicked downwards towards the young Slytherin’s neck. His earlier suspicions were correct. The soft, pliable skin decorating the limb that kept his head afloat was covered in deep, angry fingerprints. Large ones. If he wanted to, he could put his own hand over the bruising and it would likely be a near perfect match— palm to palm, fingerprint to fingerprint. 

Underneath all the physical pain, though, there was something deeper. A glimmer in the young boy’s eyes. A tremble in his fingers. A stutter in his breath. Ominis’ hands shook at his sides, the tiniest of twitches sweeping through his small frame as if ants were crawling underneath his skin— biting at his fragile bone marrow. Through his years as an Auror, Solomon Sallow was well versed in the after effects of particular spells. This one, he was all too familiar with, and his rage knew no bounds at the thought of it being used against such a small soul. Such a gentle soul. Such an undeserving soul.

The cruciatus curse. 

The eldest Sallow’s eyes softened with pity, a deep frown turning down the corners of his lips as a soft sigh puffed out of his chest. There would be time to wreak havoc upon the heads of the people who did this to this young boy in the morning. Now, though, he was needed here. His hands trailed down the sides of Ominis’ face, smoothing his hair behind his ears before taking him by the shoulders and gently pulling the boy into an embrace. 

How heartbreaking it was, how quickly the boy clinged to him. Even after growing in a den of snakes, he sought kindness first.  

Solomon’s left hand raised into the boy’s soft hair, combing his fingers through the knots with his fingers as he leaned his chin against the top of his head. His voice whispered through the silent cabin, the words awash with sympathy and care. 

“Oh, my boy…”

That was all it took for the dam to break. The youngest Gaunt child wrapped his shaking arms around the man holding him even tighter than before, his jaw clenched so tight that the creak of his teeth was near audible, his eyes shut as tight as the shutters lining the windowed walls, and openly sobbed for the first time since arriving. Solomon held Ominis as tight as he dared, feeling the young boy’s fingers dig into the fabric at his back as he clawed onto the first solid thing he could find. He quietly shushed him, the hand still in his hair softly carding through the silken strands and his other soothing up and down his back. Never had he been the one to comfort others, but this felt right. This felt like what he needed to do. 

All he could do was hold the small, trembling boy with every ounce of care he had in his body. No words needed to be said— no curses towards the loathsome family of his hiding behind their tall metal fences and mile-high blood wards— no words of sympathy whispered against heaving necks and snow soaked pajamas. Now, there was just kindness and silence. Everything else would fall together in time. 

Solomon held Ominis until the early hours of the morning, only taking note of the time change from the clouded colors of his little stained glass decorations streaming through the beige living room and catching on the soft blond head wrapped in his arms— like the sun against the melting snow just beyond his door. Through it all, his hand did not falter once in its path up and down the young boy’s back. The ex-Auror’s heart did not once change its ever-present rhythm against the sobbing child’s cheek. He held the Slytherin’s tiny world together for him, because the eldest Sallow knew that in that moment the youngest Gaunt could not hold it himself. 

Stability he could do. Stability was something he was comfortable with. He could be the support beam to Ominis’ crumbling walls. And when they woke, his niece and nephew could help pick up the pieces and put them back in their correct places. They could do this. Together. 

So when the boy finally fell asleep in his arms, exhausted from the journey to his tiny cottage and from crying until he had no more tears to shed for his uprooted life, Solomon did not hesitate to scoop him up and carefully tuck him into the armchair in the corner of the room, the family tartan blanket wrapped around his frail shoulders and the fire roaring in the handmade hearth. He did not question when he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his alabaster temple, for it was as natural as protecting one's own. Because Ominis was his. Not by blood, not by name, but by choice. 

And as he would with any of his family, he silently, secretly, cared. He watched. He listened. He loved. 

Solomon’s voice did not stutter as he whispered a soft “Goodnight, my son,” against the blond’s temple.

And he pretended that his heart did not warm when he heard a hushed, almost inaudible hum of “Goodnight, father,” be spoken in return.

like what you read? here's more!

[giselsann]

you will always be my favorite twin, Sebastian. and I think that a certain character was jealous of Sebastian's father.

[sebastiansmuse]

I also want to point out this picture by @phinik

It shows Solomon directly destroying the Shrivelfig in front of her. Almost like he’s showing her. Now remember, Anne was excited about this. She even says to Sebastian when he presents it to her, “is that what I think it is?” Meaning that this gift obviously meant something to her.

The Shrivelfig supposedly has healing methods if I’m remembering correctly. So I wonder if it gave Anne some kind of relief during one of her attacks. Instead of letting her just have it he destroys it right in front of her. Not only that but he looks directly at her and says “nothing can” in reference to her curse being cured.

Solomon definitely had it out for Sebastian, but the way he treated Anne makes me wonder if he was the same way towards her. Look at her face in that picture, she looks so defeated. She looks as if the hope she has is being taken away from her, and let’s be honest, it is.

[hummingmuggle-oldaccount]

MC saves the Sallows

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Over and Over Again

Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summary: The legend of soulmates and the myth of endless lives tied to one another permanently was once a myth you don't believe. Until you met Remus Lupin.

WC: 4k

CW: Angst no comfort- The reader and Remus's depiction crosses gender and species lines. Hogwarts Legacy reference. Animal death and blood- so much death-

The pub smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the kind of scent that lingered in the wood and clung to the air, no matter how many windows were cracked open. The low hum of music played from an old jukebox in the corner, the neon glow of its lights flickering with age.

It was familiar, comforting in a way that only a Muggle pub on a Friday night could be.

You spun your drink in your hands, watching the ice swirl lazily in your glass as Lily Evans leaned against the table beside you. She looked radiant as always, her fiery red hair gleaming under the dim lights.

“I swear,” She promised for the fifth time. “You're going to love them. Just… be nice to Peter, and for the love of Merlin, don’t ask Sirius about his family.”

You frowned. “For the love of Merlin?”

Lily’s lip twitched.. “Ah- Just… an expression. The boys use it a lot.”

You raised an eyebrow but let it go. Lily had always been a little odd, but she was your odd, your best friend since childhood.

She had been gone for the last few years, tucked away in that mysterious boarding school she never let you visit. Every time she came back to visit, she seemed… different. Like she was carrying secrets she could never fully explain.

Tonight was the first time she was introducing you to her boyfriend- James- and his friends. You had spent years watching her fall out of the abusive cycle of friendship she harbored with Severus Snape- you almost felt bad for him. If only he'd grown up too.

You had, in equal turn, been berated with letters about the slimeball that was James Potter. Just to see her ink blots lighten and her words becoming more fond when it came to his name- you were excited to meet him.

You took another sip of your drink, then looked up as the door to the pub swung open.

A burst of laughter and energy filled the pub as a group of four young men stepped inside, shaking off the damp chill of the London evening.

You saw James first, instantly recognizing him from the photos Lily had shown you. He was all messy hair and glasses, grinning like he owned the world- but the way his gaze immediately sought out Lily made your heart warm.

Then there was Sirius Black, effortlessly handsome, carrying himself with the swagger of someone who knew he could have anyone he wanted, but still acted like he was above it all. His dark leather jacket and roguish smirk screamed trouble.

Beside him was Peter Pettigrew, shorter than the rest, with darting eyes and an almost nervous energy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

And then there was the fourth boy- no- man.

The second your eyes landed on him, it was like the entire world narrowed.

Remus Lupin.

He was quieter than the others, his posture a little more reserved. He wasn’t as flashy as James or Sirius but something was still there.

Something in the way he held himself- not quite shying away, but not fully stepping into the spotlight either. His soft sandy blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his hands through it too many times. His face was lean, cheekbones sharp beneath tanned skin, marred by faint scars that ran across his features. But it was his eyes that caught you.

Warm, golden-brown, and filled with something ancient, something tired, something achingly familiar. Your stomach flipped.

Lily’s voice jolted you from whatever spell had momentarily trapped you.

“Come on,” She squeaked, tugging you forward with a grin. “Let me introduce you.”

Your legs felt unsteady as you followed her through the crowded pub, weaving between groups of laughing strangers. The boys turned as you approached, James immediately scooping Lily into a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. You barely registered it.

Your focus was on Remus, who was watching you with the strangest look you'd ever seen.

Somewhere between horror and intrigue.

Lily cleared her throat, oblivious to the strange, charged silence between you and Remus.

“Alright, boys,” she said, grinning. “This is her.”

James turned away from Lily just long enough to flash you a charming, lopsided smile. “The infamous childhood best friend!” He declared. “Blimey, I was starting to think you were just a legend.”

You let out a short laugh. “Well, I assure you, I’m very real.”

Sirius tilted his head, appraising you. “We’ll see about that,” he mused, then smirked. “The real question is- are you cool enough to be seen with us?”

“Oh, definitely not,” You deadpanned. “I’m a disgrace to all things cool.”

James barked out a laugh. “I like her!”

Lily rolled her eyes but was smiling.

Meanwhile, Remus hadn’t moved.

He was still looking at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes- those deep, golden eyes- seemed locked onto you, as if he was trying to piece something together, trying to solve something that had no answer.

You met his gaze.

“Remus.” He whispered and you muttered your own name back to him without a second thought. And he smiled, lifted his hand-

The moment your fingers brushed as you shook his hand- it happened.

A bolt of pure, electric familiarity shot through your body, rattling every bone in your frame. The pub melted away, the noise, the people, the dim glow of the jukebox- everything faded into a swirl of golden light and rushing wind.

The world around you vanished. The dim pub, the chatter, the clinking of glasses- all of it was swallowed by the sudden rush of something else. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the rustling of leaves, the whisper of wind through tall golden grass. The scent of fresh earth, sun-warmed fields, and damp fur filled your senses.

And then, you were there…

You were small, swift, your body light as you darted between the tall stalks of wheat. A fox, red-furred and wild, your sharp nose twitching as you ran through the fields.

And behind you, paws pounding against the earth, was him.

A hound.

Lanky, golden-furred, and young, still growing into his paws. His ears flopped when he ran, tongue lolling as he chased after you, barking playfully.

He was supposed to hunt you. But instead, he chased you.

Every day, when his master wasn’t looking, he sneaked away from the farmhouse, bounding over the hills to find you. Together, you would race through the fields, rolling in the wildflowers, playing until the sun dipped below the trees.

Free, weightless. Soft fur against rough wheat and playfully snapping jaws. Then- Pain. Sharp, sudden pain.

A snapping sound- cold metal clamping down around your hind leg. A trap.

You yelped, twisting, trying to free yourself, but it was tight, unrelenting. The more you pulled, the more it bit into your flesh, blood staining the grass beneath you.

And he- your hound- panicked.

He barked wildly, circling you, nudging you with his nose. He tried to paw at the trap, but he was just a dog- he couldn’t undo his master’s cruel work.

You whimpered, eyes wide, pleading. He threw his head back and howled, loud and desperate, as if somehow, that would bring help.

And help did come. But not the kind he wanted. The farmer arrived. Gun in hand.

The hound whimpered, barking frantically, placing himself between you and his master. But he was a dog. And a dog’s loyalty belonged to its owner. Even when his heart was breaking.

The farmer raised his rifle.

A deafening bang-

Darkness.

The darkness faded, but you didn’t wake up in the pub.

Instead, you were staring at your own reflection in a gilded mirror.

A face- not quite your own, but one you knew belonged to you.

Your hair was woven into delicate braids, strands of pearls threaded through like drops of moonlight. A soft silk gown pooled around you, its fabric cool against your skin. The weight of a crown sat heavy atop your head, a reminder of your fate- one you had never chosen, one you had never wanted.

And behind you- fingers grazing your bare shoulder as they fastened a necklace-

Was her.

Your Lupin.

But not as you knew him.

A woman, dressed in modest, elegant gowns, a lady-in-waiting, her golden-brown eyes lowered in the practiced deference of a servant.

But she was not just a servant.

She was your dearest friend. She was your first love.

She was the one who walked with you through moonlit gardens, whispering stories of ancient myths. The one who pressed flowers into the pages of your books, so that when you opened them, they smelled like spring.

She was the one you could never have.

Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way that made your chest ache, that made your fingers tremble when they brushed against hers, that made your heart scream for a different fate.

Not in the way that had offended your betrothed.

Not in the way that would get you both killed.

You turned in your chair, reaching for her.

Her fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, hesitant, uncertain, as if she wanted to stay there forever- but knew she could not.

She met your gaze in the mirror when you looked back.

Golden-brown eyes, filled with longing and sorrow.

She knew, too.

She had always known.

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat. The distant sound of shouting, the clang of metal, the burning of the city below- it was getting louder.

“…Do you ever wish we could leave?” You whispered.

Her breath caught. A hesitation.

“…Every day,” She admitted. And your heart broke for her. For yourself.

For the life that could never be.

The chaos below grew closer- the sound of swords clashing, boots pounding up the castle steps. They were coming.

There was no time. No future. No way out.

Your fingers lifted, brushing against her cheek. Soft. Warm. Alive.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her lips parting slightly, her eyes flickering with fear, with need, with desperation-

And then you kissed her.

Not a soft thing. Not a hesitant thing.

But something urgent, something burning, something filled with the desperation of two lovers who knew they were out of time.

A kiss of fury, of grief, of love too big to be contained in a world too small for it.

She pulled you closer, her fingers digging into the silk of your gown, holding you, clutching you, clinging to you like she could tether herself to this moment, to you-

Then-

The doors burst open.

The room filled with shouting, with the gleam of blades, with the iron grip of soldiers as they stormed forward, tearing you apart.

You screamed, struggling against them, fighting, kicking, clawing, biting-

But your fate had already been sealed.

You saw her, your Lupin, your love, your heart, struggling, screaming your name, reaching for you-

And then- A soldier’s blade pierced your chest.

Cold. Sharp.

The world lurched, twisted- And then-

Darkness.

London was a city of smoke and gold. It was filth and grandeur, a place where the rich dined beneath glittering chandeliers while the poor shivered in the streets below.

And in the middle of it all- between the gas lamps and cobblestone alleys, between the choking smog and the perfume of wealth- you ran.

Your boots hit the pavement with a quiet rhythm, quick and light, barely making a sound as you weaved through the bustling crowds of Westminster Market. Your coat was patched and thin, your gloves fingerless, your stomach empty.

But that didn’t matter.

Because in your pocket, you now held a gold pocket watch.

Your lips curled in triumph. It was a beautiful thing- heavy, shining, the kind that belonged to someone important. Someone who wouldn’t even miss it.

Or so you thought.

Because just as you turned the corner into a shadowed alley, a hand closed around your wrist. Your breath caught.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to fight, to flee-

But then you looked up. And your world shifted.

Him.

A man, tall and fine-boned, wrapped in an elegant dark coat. His hair was soft brown, windswept, his golden-hazel eyes piercing in the dim light. He was young, maybe only a few years older than you, but there was something about him that felt older- as if he had lived a hundred years before this moment.

And despite catching you red-handed, his expression wasn’t one of anger. No.

It was curiosity.

Amusement, even.

His grip loosened, just slightly. “You’re quick,” He panted, voice smooth as silk, his accent refined.

“Not quick enough, but still. Impressive.”

You swallowed, heart pounding against your ribs. “Let go of me.”

“You stole from me,” He pointed out.

You smirked. “You can afford it.”

He actually laughed at that, low and warm, before slowly prying his pocket watch from your fingers. But he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you, like he was trying to place you. Like he had seen you before.

“…What’s your name?” He asked, softer now.

You hesitated. Giving your name was dangerous in your line of work. But something about him- something familiar, something achingly familiar- made you whisper it anyway. His lips parted slightly, his grip on your wrist faltering.

And then- he whispered his own name.

A strange, unspoken recognition passed between you.

Like a secret. Like a memory half-forgotten.

Weeks Passed.

And somehow, against all reason, you kept finding him.

Or perhaps, he kept finding you. He was wealthy, but he was not cruel. A scholar, an artist, a man who saw the world in soft strokes of poetry and charcoal sketches.

And despite your differences- a boy from the slums and a gentleman of high society- you kept returning to him. Perhaps because he never treated you like a criminal.

He treated you like something else entirely. Something important.

Something he was afraid of losing.

One night, beneath the glow of gas lamps, you let him trace the lines of your face with careful fingers.

“You keep looking at me like you know me,” you murmured. His lips parted, breath shallow.

“…Maybe I do.”

And then, before either of you could think- You kissed him. The world tilted, time stretched thin between you, and for a moment, it felt like something had finally fallen into place.

Like this had happened before.

Like it had happened a thousand times before.

But fate, cruel as always, was waiting. Because London was not kind to men like you. It was not kind to pickpockets caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was not kind to a street thief who had stolen more than just coins and watches- who had stolen the heart of a man who should never have looked his way.

You never saw it coming.

One moment, you were running through the streets, laughing, alive- and the next, the constables had you by the collar, dragging you through the mud.

You never had the chance to say goodbye.

They didn’t let him see you before the sentencing. But he was there when they dragged you to the gallows.

And as the noose was slipped around your throat, you searched the crowd- desperate, desperate to find him.

And you did.

His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists, his golden-brown eyes filled with helpless horror. You had seen that look before.

The executioner read your crimes. You kept your eyes on Remus.

And in that final moment- As the platform dropped beneath your feet- As the world fell away- As you left him behind.

You thought you heard him scream.

Then, darkness.

Then- you were back home, in Feldcroft. The sun setting outside the small cottage, casting warm, golden light across the wooden floors. The air smelled of burning wood and herbs, a familiar scent- one that had lingered in your childhood.

And you?

You were at the table, a book in hand, curled up in your favorite chair. The world was quiet. Peaceful. But then-

Hands suddenly gripped your shoulders.

You gasped, nearly dropping your book- only to be met with a familiar grin, a familiar laugh, full of mischief and warmth.

“Sebastian!” You scolded, playfully swatting at him. “You scared me half to death!”

He only grinned wider, stepping back before tossing something small into your hands. A shrivelfig.

“For you,” he said with a wink. “It’ll make you stronger, you know.”

Before you could reply, another hand snatched it away.

“Absolutely not,” Solomon Sallow’s stern voice cut through the air. Your uncle gave Sebastian a look of pure warning, his eyes sharp with disapproval. “She doesn’t need you sneaking around with magic. She needs rest. A shrivel Fig cannot reverse a curse.”

Sebastian scoffed, his jaw tightening. “She needs more than just rest, Uncle. If we’d just-”

Your heart clenched. You had heard this argument a hundred times before.

Sebastian’s obsession with finding a cure.

Solomon’s desperate attempts to keep him away from dark magic.

And you- caught in the middle, growing weaker by the day.

A sudden wave of pain shot through you. You winced, gripping the table, your breath hitching. Immediately, Sebastian was at your side, one hand on your shoulder, concern darkening his features.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice urgent. “Are you alright?”

Solomon tensed, his gaze hardening. “Do you see what I mean, boy?”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wouldn’t-”. But Solomon was already dragging him toward the door.

“Enough,” He snapped. “Outside. Now.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth but followed. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the house in silence.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes.

And then- A presence. Someone still here. You opened your eyes-

And met his.

Remus. From Sebastian’s letters.

He was watching you from across the room, hesitation written in every tense line of his body. He hadn’t followed them outside. He had stayed.

Slowly, he stepped forward, then knelt down beside your chair. His golden-brown eyes, warm and steady, studied you, searching for something.

He reached out- then hesitated.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re alright,” He said softly.

The words unraveled you.

No one ever said it. No one ever acknowledged the truth- that you were dying. That it was okay. That you could be seen in the smallest of moments and the shortest of times- without needing to be fixed.

Sebastian fought against it.

Solomon ignored it.

But he saw it.

And somehow, that made it real. You swallowed hard. “I’m not pretending.”

He gave you a look, one that said he didn’t believe you.

Then, without another word- he sat beside you. And that was all.

At first, he was just a friend.

Sebastian had introduced him- a quiet but sharp-witted student, someone with more patience than most.

Someone who- unlike Sebastian- believed that saving you meant more than just breaking every rule. And yet, despite his caution, he couldn’t seem to stay away.

He would sit with you during your worst days, reading aloud from books when you were too weak to lift them yourself.

He would walk with you through Feldcroft, letting you lean against him when the world became too much.

And when Sebastian grew more reckless, diving further into dark magic, forbidden spells, anything that might bring you back from the brink-

Remus fought to hold him back.

But it wasn’t enough. Sebastian went too far. The darkness took root.

And even when he destroyed Solomon, even when he sacrificed everything- It still wasn’t enough.

But for Remus, no. For Remus it was enough. To sit by you, by the fire. To listen to you talk in your final moments. Your uncle gone and your brother lost to his mind.

He reached out and placed a hand over yours. And when your fingers interlocked, he sighed. Staring at the fire, until your fingers loosened around his hand.

Until, darkness.

The Pub, 1978

The world slammed back into place. The scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled your lungs, the dim glow of the jukebox flickered in your peripheral vision. Laughter and conversation hummed around you. The wood beneath your fingers was real. Solid. Present.

But your body? Your mind? You had been somewhere else.

Across from you, Remus was shaking.

His breath came quick, his golden-brown eyes blown wide- not with confusion, but recognition. His hand still hovered where it had just brushed against yours, his fingers trembling like they had touched something far more than skin.

Something ancient.

Something inevitable.

You knew him.

Not just from this pub. Not just from this life. You knew him from a hundred lifetimes ago. From the fox and the hound. From the princess and her lady-in-waiting. From the thief and the gentleman. From Feldcroft. From every time you had found him- and every time you had lost him.

And now?

Now you were back.

His lips parted slightly, a breathless sound escaping, like he wanted to say something- like he didn’t know what he could possibly say.

You swallowed, heart pounding, the weight of a thousand lives pressing against your ribs.

“Remus,” You echoed again.

His fingers curled into a fist. His entire body tensed. And then, just as you saw him understand, just as his expression shifted, just as the words I remember nearly fell from his lips-

The door to the pub slammed open.

The moment shattered.

And then?

He did nothing.

Because what could he do?

What could you do?

Say it out loud? Confess to an impossible truth? Tell him that you had died in his arms over and over again?

That this time- this life- he had to stop it?

So you didn’t say anything.

You just sat there. Staring at each other.

Breathing.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Because in every life before, you had never feared the darkness. Just the loss.

~~~

The Great Hall buzzed with conversation. The sorting ceremony had ended, students were chatting excitedly, the feast had just begun. Plates were piled high, goblets filled with pumpkin juice.

Across the room, Teddy Lupin laughed, running a hand through his hair, which shifted colors between turquoise and soft brown as he spoke. His friends chuckled at something he said, shoulders bumping together, the easy comfort of a childhood spent side by side.

Then-

A hand brushed against his.

His laughter stilled.

The world tilted.

It was nothing.

A casual moment, an accidental touch. A transfer student- someone new, someone unfamiliar- reaching across the table to pass a plate of pastries.

But the second their fingers touched-

A jolt.

Something cold and distant- like the echo of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

Teddy’s fingers twitched. His breath hitched. The transfer student blinked, eyes flickering to his face, lips parting slightly, as if they had felt it too- as if they knew.

Teddy swallowed. His heart pounded.

And then-

He pulled his hand away.

Just a little too fast. Just a little too tense.

His friends didn’t notice. The conversation continued around them. But the transfer student frowned, staring down at their hand for a moment too long, brows furrowing, like they had just remembered something they weren’t supposed to.

Teddy flexed his fingers beneath the table.

His mind whispered something.

Something about foxes and hounds.

Something about princesses and Ladies.

Something about picked pockets.

Something about darkened pubs and stolen moments.

Something about a name.

A name that felt like his and not his, all at once.

The world lurched- but just for a second.

And then?

The moment passed.

Teddy shook his head, forced a smile, and reached for his goblet like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just felt the weight of every life before this one.

Like he hadn’t just remembered exactly what came next.

[syaolaurant]

In the Shadow of the Estate

Sebastian invited his new friend to Felcroft....

OMG I finally finished it 😭😭😭😭😭 Now I seriously think about learning digital if I want to continue drawing manga like this 😫

VERY LONG yap below the cut ~~~

I've just purchased a dip pen & ink like 10 mins ago bc apparently my Micron inking pen set is not very ideal tool to use :"( I've been drawing short comics for a while but holy cow I have to admit making manga is so hard, especially when I only have less than 2 hours per weekday to draw.

But I'm happy with the result hehe (except the handwriting makes it look so unprofessional ...) 😩

Ok here comes the real yap....

I've been thinking alot about how family background can shape each character's personality and their the way they act. I don't really like MC's neutral react in this scene (or almost every other scenes lol), they just didn't show much personality and pp around were just cool with whatever MC did haha.

Vi is such an ordinary girl, she was very well-raised in a happy family with loving & supportive parents and even she's a half-blood her parents didn't really care if she was a squib as long as she's happy. All that made her a very caring and compassionate person. She's also the one who (initially) always chooses to believe in the good sides of people. This made me question myself if this personality would lead to her mild conflict with Sebastian - who's already going through a lot.

Until now Violette is still too naive for this world, she still needs to be tougher and more determined...

[umstansich]

pt.4 (final) In our family portrait we look pretty happy

[ohnoema]

Sallow and Gaunt family trees and crests created for my fanfic Book of Revelation.

(All characters besides official HL and HP characters are my own! This is all made up for my fanfic!)

[littlejony]

He tried :D

[iffasart]

Sebastian "i kill people and use unforgivable curses on my friends but is all to cure mi sis so is ok" sallow

[honeydewsour]

anyone want some candy?

[nexeliam]

Hello everyone, the 13th chapter of "The Blind Wizard" is finally, FINALLY out ! Sorry it took sooo long but here it is ! I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Here are the links on AO3 or Wattpad :)

[ketto-art]

more Bully x HL! this time feat. sebastian and solomon hahah & the lil shrivelfig ; ;

alsoo my comms are open~ if you'd like to help a girl out feel free to dm me >< thank you so much!

[girl-named-matty]

Sebastian: Go big or go home! Ominis: *on the verge of tears* I am begging you, Sebastian. For once in your life, go home. Please just go home. Sebastian: I'm going big.

[venomousvio]

Hogwarts Legacy The Movie !

What if the game is actually a movie in the wizarding world and the casts have social medias? i have been thinking their behind the scenes lmao so here's Anne Sallow.

[sanschips]

you just know this could have been canon 😔😔