Ch 8 | The First Signs

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• Ch 8 | The First Signs •

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Ch 8 | The First Signs



"Could I be the one you talk about in all your stories?"
James Arthur




Y/n's Perspective



I'm not giving up.

I won't give up.

I will not give up.

The affirmation would repeat in the back of my consciousness like a mantra every morning for weeks.

Yes, weeks. Sometimes, I couldn't even believe it myself that it had been that long since I last saw Sebastian Sallow. Since I last saw his face. Since I last took my pride and threw it away.

I couldn't even trick myself into believing Sebastian was still in Azkaban. Like if it was the sixth year again because this time, he wasn't in Azkaban. He was freed, but didn't want to see me.

It wasn't easy. I couldn't handle the truth, couldn't bear the thought of Sebastian living his new life in recovery while I was stuck in the past. Because I was.

"Sebastian seems to be progressing little by little." Ominis would tell.

I scolded Ominis Gaunt the first weeks, bothering him every day to tell me about Sebastian's progression; If there was some sort of hope that Sebastian Sallow would one day be himself and ask for me, but all Ominis would say is,

"Give it time."

I didn't speak to Ominis much after a month. It seemed like the sixth year all over again, but there were moments when Ominis would check up on me. Owl me. Anne would owl me too, but sometimes, they felt like reminders of him. That he was here, but wasn't.

I stopped crying myself to sleep on November 14th. Two months later. Not that I was no longer grieving — I still cried and felt trauma from my experiences fifth year, but it was less.

But, just because I didn't attempt to see Sebastian Sallow anymore, didn't mean I truly gave up. Instead, I wrote a letter to him every day.

I will sit every day near midnight at the Great Hall and write my daily letters. They started off long and sentimental, but they eventually got shorter and more of a reminder as the weeks flew by.


I hope you're better.

I miss you, Sebastian.

Sincerely. Y/n.


My quill played around itself as I drew little doodles on the parchment paper. I'll sometimes draw them to at least give some sort of humor over the darkness within us.

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