Waxen

Prologue - The End of Summer

August 31st, 1886

Sebastian awoke to the sound of turning pages, the smell of burning wood, and the sight of faint, flickering candlelight like he did each time he rose. His suitcase sat open below his bed, his trunk eagerly packed for his second school year. His door sat ajar, the clacking of his mum's shoes soft on his ears. He got dressed in trousers and flattened a dark emerald vest over his crisp white button-up. He contemplated the whereabouts of his other half, his sister, hoping she was not too far. The start of term was tomorrow, and he hoped to join her for a spot of tea and to review their summer readings in preparation for their next year at Hogwarts.

He strolled down the stairs, the fourth and ninth wood steps creaking as they always did. He didn't need to ask anyone in their home to know his parents were in the cellar library of their home, likely reading up on their scrolls and texts from past classes to do their own preparation for yet another year of teaching. He opened the back window of his home, leaning over the bright kitchen sink to spot the back of his sister's head, tilted in concentration. A thick book sat in her pale hands, always a fascinating object that held more than met the eye, or at least, that was what the two had learned from such a knowledge thirsty witch and wizard for parents.

He got closer to the kitchen and saw the window wide open. He could smell the waft of honeysuckle and jasmine picked up from the wind, flowing into his lungs. He lifted his head high, leaning back from the counter and inhaling the sweet floral smell of their garden – his head abruptly hitting the rusted hanging pots and pans from the ceiling.

"There you are," Anne called, a smile on her warm face. He could see the sun had made its summerly mark on her, her white cheeks and forehead pinkish and slightly tender.

"Argh," Sebastian groaned, rubbing the throbbing spot on his head. He heard Anne's laughter dancing through the kitchen window, making his tense shoulders lower slowly. Gaining a few inches of height since he first came to school was something Sebastian was still not used to. He wondered how much taller he'd get, he didn't think much, though. His parents, and extended family at that, weren't very tall.

"Come out, I've got tea and some scones dad gave me a recipe for."

Anne's bangs were getting long, and her brother reminisced about last school year in April; rusted scissors in his freckled hands; His right hand shaking lightly as he opened the blades, his left one lightly holding her dull brown strands over the deserted sink in the girl's lavatory on the 2nd floor of the castle.

Sebastian was eagerly anticipated for the school year to start, the crossed numbers on his calendar getting sloppier and harsher each time he picked up the quill by his bed. The boy was excited to learn spells he'd heard in passing from one parent's ear to the other, their cupped hands hoping his young ears would not pick up on them. But alas, he had heard. He always did. He could not wait to learn the disarming charm in the brightly lit classroom with his mother instructing, how to brew a wiggenweld potion in the depths of Hogwarts, or to read up on trolls and hags in defence against the dark arts classroom he'd come to love in the days he spent his first year at the magic school.

Something he was very elated for was being able to finally try out for Quidditch. He'd saved up some money last year from his birthday as well as over the summer helping his father do work around the garden and helping his mum in their cellar. In early July he thought he'd never get the scent of dust and old book pages from his nose. By August, he was begging his parents for a trip to Hogsmeade to visit Spintwitches Sporting Goods to buy any type of broom he could get his hands on. The oldest, cheapest broom Mr. Weeks had was around 300 galleons, and Sebastian only had just scraped together 250, the bruise on his elbow from reaching under his bed to find a stray galleon still fresh on his arm. Like an angel from above, Anne had come to his aid like she always did, with 50 galleons in her hands from her own summer work.