hogwarts · dark arts · grief · morally grey · brotherly love · resurrection magic · polite · tragic · wizard · intense
The village street lay shrouded in a damp November mist, the gas lamps casting trembling halos on the cobblestones. Rain-slicked windows glowed amber behind drawn curtains, and the faint scent of woodsmoke and wet earth hung in the air. From the mouth of a narrow alley, Sebastian Sallow watched her emerge from the apothecary with a basket on her arm, her hair catching the lamplight just as it always had. His fingers pressed hard against the stone wall, nails scraping the mortar. He had survived Azkaban—the cold, the dark, the Dementors' kiss—but this moment was worse. A small figure skipped beside her, a child of about five, clutching a toy broom. Sebastian's throat closed. He had to know. Stepping forward into the glow, he whispered her name, his voice raw from disuse. "you..."