In the Shadow of Azkaban

Volume II: Alternate Ending XII

Lailah's Point-of-View
The Slytherin Common Room
December 1910

The constant dripping noise that stemmed from the ceiling made it impossible to sleep. I flicked my eyes open with ease once I decided that sleep wouldn't take over.

Pacing around the small bedroom hadn't been enough, so I snuck out of the lifeless dormitory. Frost cracked against the large windows on the furthest wall from the cold, winter air.

I quietly turned the corner to encounter one of the cozier fireplaces in the room. Ignoring the plush chair and sofa, I plopped down on the prickly rug as close to the fire as I could manage.

The crackling sound soothed me, like I was home spending time with Aunt Kass. There was no way I would ever admit it, but I missed my mother. Sebas—my dad tried his best. Since he admitted to loving my mother and competing with my father, I distanced myself from him.

The older I've gotten, the more I came to realize that the entire situation had been his fault. Or at least I decided so. I'd yet to find proof.

My theory was that he tipped the scale that constantly teetered, with him on one end and my father on the other. And my poor mother consistently had to decide how to appease both men without hurting the other's ego.

It had always been rendered impossible. Love, especially theirs, was a fickle thing.

When my skin seemed to adhere to the stone floor from the heat, I stood up. I eyed the trinkets on the mantle before fidgeting with one of the permanently lit candles. It was only warm against my fingertips.

The large mirror resting against the wooden fireplace ledge reflected my confused expression. I wondered if my family ever sat in this exact spot or if—

I assumed my fingers trailing over the antiques caused a small part of the back of the mirror to peel off. I grasped the paper in my fingers only to find it wasn't just a scrap piece.

It was an envelope.

The material was that of something you would wrap a parcel with. The bulky rectangle screeched when I tore it open as if I was opening my Hogwarts letter for the first time.

My hands shook when I read the first word.

Antoinette.

Could it have been? My mother?

I read further to confirm my suspicions.

Antoinette Delacour,

Darling. It was you.

You were quite possibly the only matter to draw me away from saving Anne. This is my last love letter I'll write to you as I have given up.

One of the professors discovered what happened with Solomon, and the Ministry sentenced me to Azkaban after a reduced trial. They gave me some time to give away my goodbyes since "I had so much to live for." However, I would rather not burden you or Ominis with this.

I drug you both into my world, and neither of you should have witnessed or experienced it. I love you, my moon. Please live out the rest of your days however you prefer. Do nothing to honor me. I don't deserve it, and I didn't deserve you.

Yours Till the End of Time,
Sebastian Sallow
December 1892

P.S. Natsai asked her mother for me. You'll have a daughter named Lailah. Thought you'd want to know.

The anger that rose in me quickly dissipated.

My dad was just a lovestruck teenager turned adult who had no concept of stability while mother had been the only person to ground him and keep the troubled fantasies away.

But she had other matters on her hands. Her ancient magic wasn't just there to save Anne. When she had been out on adventures for everyone else, my dad lost it. He lost her.

And my father picked up the pieces while my dad wallowed alone in his prison cell.

And even once my dad was released from Azkaban, he spent every waking moment attempting to win her back. Like a psychopath. I would declare him a sociopath, but he had always been too emotional for that.

And so was I.

I bundled the parchment up like it was a snowball and flung it into the fire. It seemed to be a fitting metaphor for their love. Shambled and in flames due to the reaction of another person.

The melting ink and crumbling paper made me smile. My father died fighting for my family, and my dad was here. Alive. Just meandering around. A mere placeholder for my father.

Perhaps it was as my mother understood: One day, I will be able to comprehend the situation.

When the note was completely ashen, I hovered back to my dorm. The rest of the room had been dead asleep, and I could have not been further from that.