Archive of Our Own

The first September of the year 1890 was without a doubt the worst day in Anne Sallow’s life, and she couldn’t help but feel pathetic just thinking about that.

Ever since she had been cursed three months ago, every day she'd lived had been bad. She had been in pain for every single second of every minute of every hour of every day, sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always there. Her days were bad, and they got progressively worse with every healer that looked her over and didn't find an answer, every expert that shook their head, and every Unspeakable that expressed their sorrow for not being able to help. For leaving her to die. It was bad, and it got worse, and it reached an entirely new level of terribleness when her uncle lost hope and her brother refused to.

Anne was sure that it would have hurt less to see Sebastian give up on her than it did now, watching him torment himself over her situation, desperately searching for an answer that might not even exist.

In a way, it had been a blessing to send her twin off to Hogwarts—finally, she would be free of his constant hovering, of the sad eyes that followed her everywhere, of the quick hands that tried to do everything for her, treating her like glass.
In every other way, sending Sebastian off to Hogwarts was the worst thing she had ever done, the worst day she’s ever lived, because he left without her.

It was a pathetic notion.
Only months ago, Anne had been cursed by an unknown and potentially fatal curse, and yet this was what she’d call the worst day of her life? For all that she wasn’t able to attend Hogwarts with her brother and their mutual best friend, Ominis, the castle was still only a short broom ride away, its silhouette a constant if faint reminder on the horizon. Hell, their house stood right next to Feldcroft’s Floo—if she wanted to, she could be back at school in less than ten seconds. Sebastian (and Ominis) in turn could make his way back home just as fast.
He would make his way home, too; her brother had already told her that he was planning on visiting her as often as he could, and Ominis (an avid hater of the Floo and most other means of magical transportation) had promised to write her at least one letter per day.

There were a lot of things Anne, cursed as she was, should be lamenting about instead of focusing on Hogwarts. She really, really should.

Instead, she spent the day moping, watching the hands of her father’s old pocket watch as they wandered closer to eleven in the morning and then past that, knowing full well that her twin was now sitting in the Hogwarts Express with Ominis, eating sweets and talking, without her.
When evening came, Anne refused dinner, her appetite completely lost, and instead locked herself in her bedroom, staring out the window in the general direction of the castle and wondering what it would be like to be there with everyone else.

What had the house-elves prepared this evening? How many firsties were there this year? Had Reyes miraculously grown a brain over the course of the summer? Were there any changes in the faculty? How many new students had been sorted into Slytherin? Who were the six prefects chosen from her grade and house? What was the longest hat-stall?

Some of her questions were answered hours later, when Ominis owl Naga swept through the open window, two rolls of parchment bound to her legs.

Imelda, predictably, had not grown a brain; she learned. There were no changes to the faculty, though Headmaster Black had banned Quidditch after the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor fiasco last year—she probably should have seen that one coming. A total of fifty-three firsties had been sorted into Slytherin, slightly more than average, giving their house the largest number of new students this year. Not the one with the most interesting student, though, it seemed, since both boys mentioned in their letters that there had been one new Ravenclaw that would be attending fifth grade with them.

A new student.

It wasn’t that the idea was completely foreign to her, as Natsai Onai had joined them during their fourth year after all, but the circumstances appeared to be rather different this time around. Where Natty (as the girl preferred to be called) had changed schools from Uagadou to Hogwarts, this new Ravenclaw that no one even knew the name of had simply appeared out of nowhere, without any prior magical schooling, and had then, if rumours were to be trusted, been attacked by a dragon on her way to the castle.

Neither her brother nor her best friend could tell her more than that, and not for the first time that day, Anne cursed her own circumstances, the ever-present pain in her body flaring as if to agree.

When she went to sleep hours later, Anne did her best to pretend that her pillow wasn’t wet with tears.

⛧

The next day, Anne did not get out of bed.

Some days were like that now; she had come to accept that over the last few months. Some days the pain was manageable, barely more than an uncomfortable humm in her bones, and other days it was pure and uninterrupted torture—a nightmare made reality.
On her bad days, the brush of the blanket against her skin hurt like the pinpricks of a thousand needles. Bad days meant that moving her joints felt like breaking a bone and that breathing felt like an impossibly difficult task. On those days, Anne felt like a prisoner in her own skin, unable to speak without hurting, unable to even move without crying out in pain.

The next day—the day after her twin went back to Hogwarts—that day was not one of those days.

She felt even more pathetic than she had the day before, simply laying there, but she just couldn’t bring herself to get up. For the first time, Anne was glad that Sebastian had gone to Hogwarts without her—her twin tended to fuss a lot more than he usually did on those days, and pretending would have felt even worse if he’d been there to hover over her. At least Uncle Solomon didn’t ask questions; he simply took one look at her and let her be.
So she laid there—she woke up, laid there, stared out of the window, slept some more, woke up again, and continued to stare at nothing, her mind slow and sluggish and self-deprecating. 

Until Naga swept back in, far earlier than Anne had anticipated, with a letter containing information that she had expected even less.

The new student, she learned from Ominis' surprisingly long letter, was a young girl by the name of Alya Peverell.

Now, Anne loves history.
Part of her only thought it was natural, really—when they had been children, her mother hadn’t read them bedtime stories but instead legends of old, retellings of great wars, and varying accounts of famous people's lives. She had grown up with history and its stories. The first book she had ever read herself had been a history book; the stories she had fantasied about as a kid had been inspired by her mum’s legends, and despite Professor Binns’ best attempts, History of Magic was still, to this day, the most interesting subject she could think of.

And as a lover of all things history, Anne knew who the Peverells were. Who they had been.

The Peverell family had been the magical family—not only in Britain but in magical Europe as a whole, really. They had been the first magic users in Britain, the ones that had inspired the wixen in other countries to come together—to not hide away but to mingle with others of their kind, to not bury their gifts but to live them the same way the tribes in Africa did. They had been the first magical family—the first coven of the continent.
The Peverell’s had been the ones spearheading the creation of their country, the ones who had strongly advocated a magical education long before the Founders of Hogwarts had even been born, the ones who had first designed the subjects still taught in every school today, even if just the concept of them.

But while their ideas and ideals lived on, Anne was more than aware that the actual Peverell family had died out almost four hundred years ago.

To have a Peverell attend Hogwarts in this time and age felt like nothing short of a miracle.

More important, though (even more important than Anne frothing at the mouth to go to the castle and ask questions), was Ominis' absolute confidence that there was no way that, despite what the rumours the day before had said, this girl had only just started her magical education.
From what the Slytherins had been able to gather by lunch (Merlin bless her house, the nosy twats), the girl had supposedly discovered her heritage only thirty days ago, which had resulted in the school sending Professor Fig her way to educate her on the absolute basics—and only on those. From what they had managed to overhear (again, nosy twats), the professor had only really taught her the Basic Cast, as well as Protego, Stupefy, and the Lumos Charm.

And despite that, Alya Peverell had somehow, inexplicably, managed to defeat Anne’s brother in a duel.

Anne hated it when her twin bragged; it was quite unbecoming in her opinion, but she had to admit that he was indeed an incredibly skilled duelist.
He had always taken after their father, the previous Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts, just as much as Anne had taken after their mother—he loved magic and the practical aspect of it, more than Anne herself ever had, enough for both of them, really. Sebastian loved to fight, and he was good at it; he had trained himself to be good. Good enough, even, that he had even won the annual Crossed Wands Tournament last year, defeating the returning champion, sixth-year Harry Potter from Gryffindor, despite the age difference and the fact that Potter came from a family of talented fighters and skilled duelists. (Sebastian had been unbearable for weeks afterwards.)

To think that someone who’s only been studying magic for a month had defeated Anne’s brother in a duel—simply impossible.

Sebastian himself, according to Ominis, had claimed to have gone easy on the new student. Their mutual friend had informed her rather smugly that it was probably Sebastian’s new-found first-ever crush on the girl that had him more distracted than was good for him, but it was practically impossible for her to latch onto that particular piece of information.

Part of her wanted to jump out of bed and over to her desk to write an entire essay to tease her twin not only about his loss but also the girl who had bested him.

A much bigger part, though, was ringing every alarm bell in her brain. The Slytherin drilled on self-preservation within her, screaming that something was wrong with this girl.

When Anne reached the end of the letter and discovered that Sebastian had volunteered to show the Peverell girl around Hogsmeade in the afternoon (so that she could replace the things she’d lost in the dragon’s attack), she turned around and screamed into her pillow.

⛧

In the evening, their owl (eleven-year-olds Anne and Sebastian had decided to share one since they were never apart anyway—they had been wrong, obviously, but they also both adored Biscuit (don’t ask) too much to get a second one) swept through the window to deliver a letter from her favourite idiot, and Anne had to try really hard not to floo over to Hogwarts and strangle Sebastian herself.

Ranrok, the goblin that might or might not be trying to organise another rebellion, was working with Victor Rookwood and had sent trolls to attack Hogsmeade so that his partner in crime could kidnap the Peverell girl. The very same girl who had used two (but, going by the description, probably three) spells she most definitely hadn’t been taught to kill one of the trolls. And the same girl that her absolute idiot of a brother had ‘heroically protected’ when Rookwood and his crony had come to The Three Broomsticks (because apparently her twin’s response to almost dying was to invite the cause of his misfortune out for a bloody butterbeer!) to look for her, ensuring that both dark wizards had most definitely seen his face. Just to impress his crush—because there was no doubt in her mind that Sebastian was crushing hard, not with the number of times he had complimented Alya Peverell on one thing or another in just that single letter.

For the second time that day, Anne turned over and screamed into her pillow.

Then she rolled out of bed (for the first time that day), sat down at her desk chair, and started a list of every single suspicious thing Ominis and Sebastian had told her about the new girl.
If neither of her closest confidants wanted to care about the mystery surrounding Alya Peverell, then Anne would have to do it in their stead. She would keep her idiots safe.

⛧

A letter from Ominis on Thursday told her that the list would probably be a lot longer than Anne had initially anticipated.

⛧

Anne quickly realised that, for the first time in their lives, Sebastian wasn’t telling her everything. It became more apparent with almost every letter that mentioned Alya Peverell—which was every single one. Not a day went by without her brother talking about his crush, and it would have been adorable if the girl could just stop being so incredibly suspicious.

Worse was that Anne could even somewhat understand why Sebastian wasn’t telling her everything.

Merlin, it was so frustrating, but she could understand. When she had gotten a letter late on Thursday night recounting a seemingly rather exciting venture into the Restricted Section, she had already known. It was obvious, really. Sebastian had not told her why they had broken into the Restricted Section, but Ominis had mentioned to her that the new girl had claimed that the reason why Ranrok was hunting her was down there when she’d come to ask for Sebastian’s help.
Her brother hadn’t told her why they had been there or what they had found, but it was obvious that whatever secret it was he was keeping from Anne, it wasn’t his but Alya Peverell’s.

The new girl had confided in her brother and told him her secret.

Alya Peverell was suspicious; there was no doubt about it.
She knew more spells than she should, she knew more about the Wizarding World than she could have learned in that short time, and she knew more about Hogwarts Castle than she could logically explain. Sebastian told her that he sometimes saw the girl staring at things that were perfectly normal, even for Muggles, like she’d never seen them before, while not even blinking an eye at things any sane person would consider strange. Sometimes she stared at people like she was seeing someone else—someone dead. Ominis told her that Alya Peverell once had problems with someone claiming to be from his family, yet he couldn’t think of anyone who’d fit that description. In addition to that, the girl had strolled up to him and proceeded to tell Ominis about his family history in connection to an old legend most wouldn’t know beyond its use as a bedtime story for children.
Anne had spent months looking through the Peverell family tree in her second year, absolutely in awe of all the famous and influential people that bore the name. Not even once had she seen the Gaunt family name anywhere.

Alya Peverell was suspicious—probably the most suspicious person she’d ever heard of.

But Alya Peverell also sounded like a genuinely nice person.

Anne tried her best not to put too much stuck into her brother's opinion on the matter since he was clearly biassed and completely incapable of talking about the Ravenclaw without gushing, but Ominis was a lot more helpful—as always.

He told her about the new girl's budding friendship with Natty, whom Anne knew to be an excellent judge of character. He told her how the girl had allowed Sebastian to talk her into letting him give her a tour of the castle, despite not actually needing one. On the first Monday after the school year started, Ominis mentioned Peverell befriending the Hufflepuff Poppy Sweeting while defending a creature from some bullies and their resulting friendship. At the end of the week, he told her about the way the girl seemed determined to avoid sitting at her own house table, how she bonded with Garreth Weasley over potions and pranks, and how she tended to eat her meals in the kitchens whenever the staring of the other students became too overwhelming, making small talk with the house-elves there. Ominis even mentioned that Peverell had become some kind of brand girl for the school, accumulating favours left and right as she put up with every request someone might have for her.

Alya Peverell was suspicious, but she was nice.

She was nice and helpful, and when Sebastian had shown her the Undercroft in exchange for whatever secret it was that had Ranrok hunting her and that she had told both Ominis and Sebastian everything about without a second thought, Alya had scolded him.

The Ravenclaw had looked at their secret hideout, the ultimate sign of Sebastian’s trust, and she had scolded him for breaking Ominis’ trust.

And she told them more of her own secrets as compensation. Secrets. Multiple. 

Alya Peverell was highly suspicious, and Anne wanted nothing more than to stay suspicious of this very strange girl, but she just couldn't because, suspicious or not, Alya was good for her brother.

It was so easy to see every time Sebastian came to visit her.

For all that, he still hovered like an overbearing mother hen; there was a lightness to him that Anne hadn’t seen since before she'd been cursed—something that couldn't just be explained by being back at Hogwarts. He spent far less time researching ways to lift her curse (she refused to admit to the small part of her that stung when she'd first realised—this was a good thing!) and more time living.

Both Ominis and Sebastian had expanded their circle of friends, not just to include the new student but also her friends. 

The letters she got every day slowly went from talking about each other and Alya and how much they both missed her to talking about whatever insane idea Garreth had that day, what beast Poppy had read about in her latest book, and what scheme Natty had come up with now. They talked about meals taken together, study sessions, help with homework, and friends.

How could Anne continue to distrust the stranger that had shown up in their lives when it was so evident that she made everything better?

By the third week of the new school year, Anne had stored the list of her suspicions in her drawer, never to be seen again. It was concerning how long it had gotten, and almost every letter that arrived held another piece of information that should be included on the parchment, but Anne didn’t pull it out again.

Alya Peverell was suspicious, but she was good for Sebastian. And that was really all she cared about in the end.

⛧

Anne couldn’t quite tell when it started or even how or why, but she was getting letters from her classmates.

Poppy Sweeting had taken to sending her at least two letters a week, sometimes just to tell her that their classmates were thinking about her, sometimes to complain about Sebastian. It was nice to read about Sebastian's lovesick shenanigans from another’s point of view, specifically someone who could actually see. Anne loved Ominis to pieces, but the boy missed more things than he would ever like to admit.

Natty was also writing her letters, providing her with all kinds of gossip going around the castle and all the most recent news. There were some mentions of what Professor Binns tended to discuss in that week's class, and other times there were simple complaints about Reyes talking shit about someone, not realising that even more people were talking shit about her behind her back—as always.

Even Garreth had written her once or twice; his messy handwriting was almost illegible, but the letter was still precious. He had given her some more information on Alya as well, but mostly he had told her how much her influence on Sebastian was missed, how terrible Reyes was, and how much he missed the only person who would and could smuggle one of his concoctions into Scribner's drink without getting caught.

Anne would never admit it, but she cried a little after receiving the first letter, before they became part of her routine.

Sebastian and Ominis would write her a letter each day, sometimes twice in the same day, when something particularly interesting happened before lunchtime. Poppy would send her a letter every few days, with one of Natty’s arriving on most of the days when her fellow Beater didn’t write to her. Garreth’s letters, as far as Anne could tell, came only once a week, but she treasured them just as much as she treasured all the others.

It became routine.

Which is why Anne was so worried when, four weeks into the year, four separate letters arrived almost simultaneously, all bearing the same news: Sebastian and Alya had their first fight and were now no longer on speaking terms.

⛧

Anne knew her brother well.
It kind of came with the territory of being twins—they had spent pretty much their entire life together. They had shared their mother's womb, their crib, their bedroom, and oftentimes even their bed itself when they were younger. And when the time came to attend Hogwarts, they also shared a house. They shared a best friend, too.
Naturally, they had some differences in their interests, what with Anne’s love for history and Sebastian’s obsession with spell work, but that was not the point.

The point was that Anne knew her brother.

She could tell how he felt about things by the twitch of his fingers and the curve of his fingers; she could see what he was thinking by the light of his eyes; and she could hear what he wanted to say not by his words but by his tone of voice. She knew him as well as she knew herself, and there was nothing about Sebastian that had ever stumped her.

Until Alya Peverell appeared, that is.

Sebastian had never been in love before, and Anne knew that too. He liked to flirt with every breath, and, though she disliked thinking about it, at least half of their year alone had had a crush on her brother at some point. She was aware that he was, objectively speaking, fairly attractive. He was talented, had good grades, was attractive, friendly, and a Quidditch player to boot.
She didn't like to think about it, but a lot of people were in love with her brother.
And Sebastian had never reciprocated any of those feelings. Never. Her brother being in love was entirely uncharted territory, and as much as Anne knew him on a normal day, she wasn't sure what to make of a Sebastian who was totally and entirely smitten.

Anne most certainly wasn’t sure what to do with a Sebastian who’d just had a fight with the girl he was in love with, someone she had never met before.
Frankly, she wasn’t sure what her friends (!) were expecting her to do about this.

When Sebastian came home to visit her that same afternoon, he looked miserable—shoulders slumped, lips downturned, feet dragging behind him. The only time Anne had ever seen him in a similar state, she’d just been cursed—and wasn’t that a revelation?

“She’s an idiot!” he told her half an hour later over two cuppas, brows furrowed and expression just overall very unhappy. “She wants to follow this ghost into the cave he’s been beheaded in; can you believe that?! How can she be so reckless? What if something happens to her?”
His voice broke on the last part, and Anne suddenly found herself in the very bizarre situation of having to comfort her almost-crying brother—something she was pretty certain hadn’t happened since before their parents had died.

Anne was really, really out of her depth.

⛧

When she got two letters on Thursday claiming that Alya and Sebastian had gone off to talk after DADA, Anne almost cried in relief.

⛧

Saturday was a good day, Anne decided when she woke up that day. Both because Friday had been one of those days and every day she could spend outside of her bed, writhing in constant pain, could only be a good day, and because it just felt like it.
The sky was blue, the grass was green, and today was a good day—it was simply a feeling, and Anne had listened to enough of her brother’s rants about DADA to know that she should always trust her gut.

Something that only proved to be right when said brother scared the living daylights out of her maybe an hour before noon, suddenly appearing behind her and yelling in her ear.

She should have been mad, but how could she be when Sebastian looked so much happier than he had on Monday, his grin brighter than ever and infectious, his laughter loud and free?
Something that had a very evident reason.

“If it's any consolation,” the very reason interrupted Anne’s teasing. “You can absolutely have him back.”

When Anne turned around, she finally got the first glimpse of the girl her twin was in love with.

Technically speaking, Anne knew what to expect when it came to Alya Peverell’s physical appearance. How could she not? For all that Ominis had not breathed a word of it (for obvious reasons), Sebastian just wouldn't shut up about it. 

It didn’t take more than a single letter for Anne to learn that Alya Peverell’s hair was the colour of freshly spilled blood and that, unlike most Muggle-raised girls, she didn’t care whether or not it was neatly tied back (it was apparently a maturity thing for the Muggles—Anne never really cared to find out more than that). She kept it out of her face during fights and practical classes, but most of the time she wore it the same way any proper adult witch of old with long hair worth their wand wore it—wild, free, and unrestrained.

She knew this fact, especially since her brother really liked to talk about Alya’s ‘wild curls’ and ‘wonderfully long hair’. Frankly, Anne wasn’t sure if Sebastian just had a thing for long hair or if this was a Peverell-only type of thing, but she also really didn’t want to know.

Not that she had wanted to know any of this.

Anne hadn’t wanted to know about the freckles Alya had all over her face or the little scar she had on her temple. That her eyes had an almost identical colour to that of the killing curse was certainly interesting, but not really something she had wanted to know either. She had never asked to be informed of how incredibly pale the other girl was, how thin her arms and legs were, or how short she was as a whole.

Anne hadn’t wanted to know.

Sebastian had told her anyway.

Now that she found herself face-to-face with the girl of her twin’s dreams, she could somewhat forgive him for putting her through all his endless ramblings.

Alya Peverell was stunning.

The Muggles would have certainly disagreed with her, but to a magic wielder, the absolute fierceness of everything Alya Peverell was a sight to behold.

Her hair, indeed as red as fresh blood, was even longer than Anne had imagined, flying everywhere in a wild mess of curls, undoubtedly in complete disarray from the flight over. Her eyes were brighter than any description could have prepared her for, a colour so unnervingly bright green that Anne both wanted to look away and never stop looking. The freckles Sebastian had raved about reached from the highest point of her forehead to her neck, vanishing under the cloth of her school uniform to undoubtedly continue there; the dots the Muggles called blemishes were a beautiful sign of nature’s freedom to any Wix.
And then there were the scars.
For all that Sebastian had told her about the one at the temple, Anne hadn’t expected the rest of them. The girl didn’t even have all that much skin on display to begin with, but there were still countless more. Her hands were littered with tiny cuts, with white lines criss-crossing over her fingers and up her wrists, where they became far larger. There was a long, gnarly gash trailing down the entirety of her left forearm that looked like it might stem from a knife, and what looked like an old but nasty burn on her right wrist. On her face, Anne could spot another few scars, besides the one on her temple Sebastian had already mentioned before; one was running up her jaw, and another one was hiding in her hair, with only the edge visible on her forehead, cutting through the freckles there.

Alya Peverell was wild and free-spirited and absolutely beautiful in a way only someone magical could ever appreciate, and suddenly Anne was a little less annoyed with Sebastian’s almost constant raving.

Especially when the girl stepped closer to greet her and she discovered just how tiny the Ravenclaw truly was.

Just because Sebastian never had an actual crush before didn’t mean that Anne didn’t know about his weakness for anything tiny and cute-looking—she was never going to stop teasing him about falling for the tiniest slip of a girl she’d ever seen.

All things considered, Anne thought that she would like getting to know Alya Peverell.
She could see it in the way Sebastian whined in front of this girl, in no way ashamed of his behaviour, even in the presence of non-family, absolutely and completely himself. It was in the way the Ravenclaw teased him right back, joking and open and friendly, before easily slipping into a conversation with Anne as if they’d known each other forever, handing over a bunch of her favourite snacks while rattling off all the things their other friends had instructed her to say.
Anne thought that she would likely come to love this girl, who might (hopefully) become her sister-in-law one day.

At least she thought that right up until this girl—this stranger that she had never met before and that she’d spent the better part of the last month being highly suspicious of—mentioned Anne’s curse. Like it was something natural, something that was basically common knowledge. Alya looked at her and made a joke about her curse.

Shock.
That was Anne’s first reaction. The first thing she felt. Nothing but pure shock—that Alya knew , that she was so casual about it, that Sebastian had told her.

Then came the rage.

She was barely able to concentrate on the ongoing conversation, the burning hot ball of pure anger unfurling in her chest taking up all of her attention as it swelled and filled her head with a low buzz.
Sebastian had told Alya about her curse—that was the only thing that she could think of. He had told her. Not even most of the students they had known for four years knew what exactly it was that was keeping Anne from attending Hogwarts, and yet her brother had seen fit to tell this complete stranger.

The third thing Anne felt was betrayal.

Her own twin brother had gone behind her back and told a stranger she’d never met and was highly suspicious of about her curse. And said girl had come into her house and made a joke about the worst thing that had happened to Anne since the death of her parents.
And as if that wasn’t already bad enough, now they were attempting to tell her that Alya Peverell, who had only been a witch for a little over two months (supposedly), had some kind of miracle cure for her curse. Or at least a way to identify what it was that had hit her.

Anne could deal with the rage of her brother’s betrayal. It was terrible, and she was very tempted to simply launch herself across the table and strangle the other, but she knew that she would eventually forgive him for going behind her back. She always did. Her anger, while seemingly overwhelming right now, would simmer down, and they would be able to talk it out.

What she couldn’t forgive was their attempt to give her hope.

For the past few months, just about every single expert on the British Islands (and even some from beyond that) had poked and prodded at her, trying their best to figure out what it was that ailed her, what spell had hit her, and what they could do to cure her. Each and every single one had failed. No one had been able to discover what it was that had hit her. No one knew what curse was causing the pain she was feeling every minute of every hour of every day. And no one knew how to cure her.

Anne had accepted her reality—there was no cure.

She was set to suffer for the rest of her life, however long that may be, and to tell her anything else was needlessly cruel and nothing short of a slap to the face.

Truth be told, Anne had been ready to do something—to yell, or scream, or throw her glass, or throw them —and had even started to do a little bit of all that when Alya had looked at her, smiled, and shattered all of that with four not-at-all simple words.

“It’s my family magic.”

Anne was done hoping. She had been done hoping by the second week of consecutive ‘I don’t know ’s and ‘I can’t help you's, and she had accepted that. It had been an incredibly painful process, yes, but hoping for something that would never come was far more painful than accepting the inevitable end. No, Anne had long since given up hope, and in her darkest moment, she sometimes found herself resenting Sebastian a little for not doing the same—for continuing to chase after a cure that couldn’t exist because if no professional in this world could tell her what it was that ailed her, there obviously couldn’t be a cure either.

There was nothing anyone could do; Anne had been sure of that.

Except if Alya Peverell had indeed some type of family magic capable of figuring out what was wrong with her... 

While the Sallow Family was one of pure blood, it was not in any way an aristocratic or old family like the Blacks or the Malfoys, nevermind the Peverells. Their great-grandfather had been named Septimus as a Sallow of the seventh generation, Anne and Sebastian marking the tenth generation of the Sallows having magical blood, starting with the muggle-born Silas Sallow some good three hundred years ago. The man had married a halfblood, and ever since everyone in the family had followed his lead, marrying either a pureblood or a halfblood with two Wixen parents.
The Sallows were purebloods. But they were not an old pureblood family.

Family magic, as everyone knew, was something only magical families so old that they could be called ancient developed—a specialty unique to their family, a trait born from dozens of generations working towards the same goal or from extraordinary feats achieved by a few.

The Sallows were purebloods, and they were just about ready to get recognised as a decently old-ish family as well, but they were still far away from getting their own family magic.

It was the ultimate goal for a wizarding family to get a form of family magic of their own—the absolute proof that they were as special and as great as they liked to believe. It was their greatest desire, their biggest ambition, and their most well-kept secret, a knowledge hoarded not unlike the way goblins hoarded their gold.

Anne wasn’t sure what was more overwhelming; Alya Peverell just straight up told her about her family magic or the implication that she could use it to identify her curse—the hope it gave her.

When her mind cleared again, many minutes later, after sending Sebastian out of the house and having a conversation with Alya one-on-one, she was left feeling... Honestly, Anne wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling.
There was still a bit of leftover anger towards Sebastian for spilling her secrets to an unknown, but most of it was positive. A bit of slowly brewing affection for Alya and her readiness to help her, for her willingness to go along with whatever mischief they could come up with. She felt glad that the redhead was there, that Sebastian had befriended the girl, and that she was ready to extend that friendship to Anne simply because she was important to her new friend.
Mainly, though, and far more damningly, there was hope.

Looking at Alya, Anne allowed herself to hope once again.

⛧

Anne liked her uncle.

When they had been children, when their parents had still been alive, Uncle Solomon had often come to visit their family in their home, here in Feldcroft. She wasn’t quite sure where he had lived before that, but he had moved in with them and their great-grandmother, Ruby, after their parents' deaths. Even now, Anne has fond memories of that time—of afternoons reading with her mum while her dad and uncle played with Sebastian, of picnics in the sun with the entire family, of get-togethers to celebrate their birthdays.

She also remembers the years that ruined everything.

In the year before her parents’ incident, their grandfather had died of dragon pox. It had hit all of them hard, and only harder when Anne and Sebastian’s parents had followed him not even seven months later. Uncle Solomon had taken them in then, keeping up a facade during the day and only crying softly in the night when he thought that his own grandmother had already gotten them to sleep. Once, Sebastian swore that until this day, he had sat by the fireplace, drinking and mumbling incoherent curses as he blamed his own brother for their mother’s death.
Anne hadn’t believed her twin back then—Uncle Solomon was such a sweet man, how could she?

Then, another year later, Grandma Ruby had died, and Solomon had turned from the sweet, caring uncle Anne loved so much into a bitter old man.

He had started to shut them out and had spent less time with them. He had stopped looking at Anne altogether, and whenever he had turned his attention to Sebastian, it had ended with the two of them fighting over something. His temper had become shorter, he had started drinking even when the two of them could see, and on most days he forgot to cook, leaving the twins to somehow feed themselves. He had lost his job as an Auror that year, and it had only gotten worse since.
It had been a blessing that they had only needed to wait a little more than a year to attend Hogwarts, the only way to get away from a home that no longer was.

Once upon a time, Anne loved her uncle. Now, years after their parents' deaths and laden with a curse that was slowly draining her—one that her uncle was doing nothing to get rid of—she was far less fond of him.
But he was still her uncle.
He was the only direct family Anne and Sebastian had left; aside from a few third cousins, she had never actually talked to all that much and their respective parents. 

And then he burst into the room while Alya was trying to identify the curse that was threatening to ruin Anne’s entire life—the curse that had practically done that already—and he condemned her for it.

Anne had stopped loving her uncle as a person almost half a decade ago, but he was still her uncle. She still loved the man he used to be, and she appreciated what little he did to take care of them, both her and Sebastian. Technically speaking, even ‘like’ seemed to be almost too strong of a word to describe the feelings Anne held for Solomon Sallow these days. 

Then the man tried to destroy the only chance at recovery Anne had left in the entire world, all in the name of the solution being improper and not appropriate in society.

What care did Anne have for what society thought to be proper (not even illegal, just improper) when it might just save her life?

Still, she could do nothing but watch as her uncle insulted first her new friend (?), then her dead father, and then her equally dead mother, before tucking his tail in between his legs and fleeing to the Ministry, intending on reporting Alya to the authorities so that she could be better controlled.

Anne almost started crying when, even after all that Anne’s so-called family had put her through just now, Alya waved off their apologies and concerns just to get back to talking about the curse—to get back to figuring out what this curse was and what to do with it.
Even after everything that had happened just now, Anne realised in silent awe that the other girl was still willing—insisting, really—to help her.

“I came here because I wanted to meet and help you; nothing your uncle says or does is going to change that. Hell, even if Sebastian suddenly changed his mind, I’d still try to help. Don't tell anyone, but I get attached real fast once I click with someone,” Alya told her seriously, so gentle and earnest that Anne wasn’t sure what to do with herself except to smile helplessly. She hoped that the redhead didn’t notice the way she sniffled a little right after, eyes moist, deeply touched by the other girl’s willingness to help her, no matter the cost.

And then Alya went and dropped the biggest (best) news of the day.

“Now, what I can already tell just from sitting here is that the curse is not inherently meant to be fatal,” she threw out casually, as if the words weren’t erasing Anne’s biggest fear quicker than any charm ever could, leafing through the huge grimoire she had pulled from her tiny little pouch like she wasn’t even noticing the way the siblings crumbled beneath the weight of their relief, their hands clenched together on the table. “Not sure if it can kill you, mind you, but it’s certainly not meant to. It's also definitely dark magic—some type of torture curse paired with very weak mind control. Does that match your experiences with the curse?”

Anne barely managed to answer the question, a large part of her feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

She was not going to die.
Her curse was not fatal.
It was apparently a torture curse (she could easily believe that), and there might be some mind-control involved (she was good enough at compartmentalization to decide to worry about the implications of that at another time), but it was not meant to kill her.

Never again would she have to live with the fear that every day might be her last.

For the first time in what seemed like way too long, Anne didn’t mind feeling hope.

⛧

When everything was said and done, Anne felt both more tired than she had in weeks and far more jittery than she had in months. A part of her wanted to lock herself in her room and cry into her pillow out of sheer relief; another part wanted to climb the tallest mountain in the Highlands the muggle way and scream—wanted to yell from the top of her world so that everyone would know that she’d be fine.

Anne might have been bound like a House-Elf of old, tied to some idiot wizard too stupid to even realise what he had done, but she would be okay.

Over time, the spell would lose its potency until it would fail altogether, and all she needed to do to not be in constant pain anymore was to find that idiot wizard and stick close to him. Or, more realistically, to find the place the idiot wizard either lived at or frequented to minimise the time she’d have to spend being in pain.
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was far better than anything she’d had up until Alya showed up.

So when the girl had hinted (the Ravenclaw was not being overly subtle, at least not to someone who’d been sorted into Slytherin) at leaving soon, Anne had taken the opportunity to invite herself along. Sebastian would forgive her for interrupting his alone time with Alya, she was sure—she just needed to guilt him into it. Which was even easier than it used to be, now that she’d been stuck inside their home with Uncle Solomon for months.
Her brother and his stupid protector instinct—he really was too easy to convince sometimes.

Luckily, she was not about to let his overprotective tendencies get in the way of her desire to leave the house.

Except Anne kind of started regretting that decision a little when Sebastian turned away from her, finally convinced to let her join them on their afternoon adventure, and started full on flirting with Alya—who immediately returned the favour, both of them smiling at each other and clearly forgetting Anne’s entire existence in the process.

Yeah, she could kind of see what Ominis had been telling her for a month now.

Her darling brother was so in love that it was almost disgusting to watch, and though it was quite a bit harder to tell with the Ravenclaw, Anne was sure that the girl wasn’t that far behind in terms of being utterly besotted.

She was happy for them. She was, really.

Anne just wished they could take their happiness somewhere where she wouldn’t be forced to watch. 

⛧

“You’re a great flier,” Anne told Alya as they flew past the old catacombs, a handy spell Alya had taught them both, ensuring that no one in their little trio had to yell to be heard over the wind. “Have you been flying for a long time?”

“Eight years now,” the redhead answered readily, apparently not even attempting to hide that she’d been aware of the magical world for far longer than she had told the Ministry and everyone else at Hogwarts—Anne couldn’t help but appreciate the sincerity, was flattered by it even, “During my first flying lesson at my old school, there was... let’s call it an incident? I honestly thought Professor McGonnagal was going to expel me or something, but instead she put me on one of the Quidditch teams as a Seeker, and I’ve been playing ever since.”

Oh Merlin, the girl was a Quidditch player.

“Are you going to try out for the Ravenclaw teams next year, then?” She inquired further, chancing a little glance over her shoulder back at her twin, and—yeah, the fopdoodle was making heart-eyes at the Ravenclaw’s back. “If I remember correctly, one of their Seekers graduates this year, so the position should be open next year—as long as Black won’t ban Quidditch again, that is.”

“He won’t,” Alya told her with absolute confidence and a mean smirk. “Too many important people have already written to him and complained about their children complaining to them. The only reason he hasn’t lifted that ban is his own ego; he’s not going to lift it until a new school year starts.”
“And will you try for the teams then?”
“I… think? Haven’t thought about it all that much, to be honest,” the other girl gave a short hum, absentmindedly staring down at the rooftops of Irondale as they made their way past. “I do miss playing, though, so I guess I’ll at least try. That’s such a weird thought; the only time I ever really participated in any tryouts, I was the captain.”

Like Sebastian needed any more reasons to swoon, Merlin!

“I’m sure you’ll be great!” she told the other girl, actually meaning the compliment. Alya was an absolute natural on her broom, holding herself with an ease that Anne had never quite seen before—never quite as pronounced as this, not in a student. She hadn’t seen the other girl actually play yet, but if Alya had told her that she played professionally, Anne would have no trouble believing her just from the way she moved through the air—like it was her element.

“Thanks,” the Ravenclaw just snorted, clearly dismissive, and then hastily changed the topic, “How are you feeling? Is the pain getting better or worse?”

“Not much of a difference yet,” Anne replied easily, going along with the abrupt change without protest. “It’s a little better, but not enough to be significant.”

“Well, up until now, we’ve travelled towards the northeast,” Alya commented, casting a look around them as the South Sea Bog came into view beneath them. “We can either continue that way, or we can go either east or north. Your call.”
“I think we should try east first,” the Slytherin replied, glancing over her shoulder a second time to see Sebastian nod in agreement, her twin apparently perfectly content to let the girls make all the decisions that day. “If it doesn’t get any better, we can still go further north.”

“Alright,” the redhead agreed as well, swerving her broom ever so slightly to the right, “to the east then.”
Wordlessly, both Sallow siblings followed suit. Anne had a feeling that they would do that a lot in the future.

⛧

Anne had managed not to cry when Alya told her about the curse.

She had felt like crying every step of the way—when the Ravenclaw had told her that her curse was not deadly, when she had told her that she had been cursed by a human and not a goblin as they had assumed, when she had told her that she had expected said wizard to kill Anne instead of 'simply’ cursing her. She had even managed to suppress the tears that had wanted to flow the first time Alya had uttered the word ‘slavery’. The entire time, Anne had been able to hold her tears—through both the bad and the good. Not even finally knowing what it was that most likely ailed her made her cry.

Yet here Anne Sallow stood, at the edge of a stinking swamp, with a Kneazle tightly clutched in her arms and at least half a dozen more slinking around her legs, crying her eyes out.

All because Alya looked her in the eyes and told her that her life wasn’t over yet.

Anne could get back to Hogwarts. When the curse let up, be that this year, next year, or even the year after that, Anne could go back to Hogwarts. Even if the spell wouldn’t break before their yeargroup’s seventh year was over, she could still get both her O.W.L.s and her N.E.W.T.s—Anne was still enrolled; she could still do her homework and hand in her assignments. She could sit her exams at the Ministry, if necessary. 

Only a few hours ago, Anne had thought her life to be as good as over.
Even if she hadn’t believed the curse to be fatal (which she had), Anne had been so sure that the pain would stay with her for the rest of her life, ruining every chance she had at a normal life—every chance she had at fulfilling her dreams.

Without schooling and proper exams, no one would have ever allowed her to become a Professor of the History of Magic.

Except she could. She could still finish school and her exams and get her absolute dream job.
Her life was not over.

Standing at the edge of a stinking swamp in South Sea Bog, wrapped in her brother’s embrace and clutching a large Kneazle to her chest like a lifeline, Anne Sallow cried.

⛧

“I don’t know what to name him.” Anne sniffed after the worst of her crying was over, rocking the cat in her arms a little to emphasise what (who) she was talking about: “What even is a good name for a Kneazle?”

“I don’t know,” Alya answered her, looking incredibly glad that Anne had stopped crying—which was not the main point. The main point (and the main problem) was that she had asked the Ravenclaw specifically because the last time she trusted Sebastian to choose a name for a pet, they had ended up with Biscuit the Owl. Whom she loved, of course, but the name was still terrible.

“How can you not know?” The aforementioned brother of hers questioned, sounding rather disbelieving as well, “You have, like, twenty of them already! Did you just not name them at all?”

“Oh no, I named all of them!” the other girl assured them, though she still looked rather sheepish as she did so. “It’s just… I named all of them after something from one of my favourite Muggle books, so the Kneazles are kind of just named after whatever humans I could think of…”

“You’re kidding, right?”
“I named the really grumpy one Boromir,” was all Alya offered in reply—like that actually meant anything to them. Anne wasn’t sure if she’d ever even seen a Muggle book before, nevermind read one. She had no idea who this ‘Boromir’ character was supposed to be.

“I’m revoking your naming privileges.”

“Honestly, that’s fair.”

⛧

“Fumo. I think I’m going to call him Fumo.”

“Isn’t that just Latin for smoke? You’re calling your grey Kneazle smoke, but I’m the one whose naming privileges got revoked?”

“Shut up.”

⛧

“Anyway, now that that’s all over and done with,” Alya began as she closed the weird bag she had called her Nab-Sack , all eight Kneazles now (presumably) safely stored inside. “How are you feeling, Anne? What’s the pain radar saying?”

“The pain... radar?” Sebastian repeated at the same time as Anne uttered the words, both of them exchanging a confused look when the Ravenclaw only blinked at them, “What’s that?”

“Oh!” The other girl finally seemed to realise their problem: “It’s... a muggle device used to measure distances. I'm not sure how to explain it, really.”

“I mean, if it measures distances, then I guess it’s a rather fitting description,” Anne allowed with a shrug, smirking a little. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting your naming privileges back, though.”
“You’re evil.”
“That’s the second time you said that today,” she pointed out, very entertained by the entire situation. “Seriously though, I think we should head north now. Going east hasn’t really changed anything so far.”

“To the north then,” Alya simply shrugged, apparently happy to go along with whatever.

Not even a minute later, they were back on their brooms and flying towards Hogwarts Castle in the distance, the warm sun shining on their backs and the autumn chill stinging their skin pink.
Anne couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.

⛧

Alya Peverell was a highly suspicious person.

She had come out of nowhere, claiming that she had not received a Hogwarts letter when she’d been eleven, which she should have. When she’d been discovered, she had told the Ministry that she had no previous experience living in the magical world, yet when they had spoken, the girl had made no secret of the fact that she had obviously been a part of some kind of Wixen community.

In fact, Alya Peverell had barely bothered to hide the fact that she was far more competent than she had originally claimed to be.

Her knowledge of spells and curses was more extensive than that of anyone their age, even the ones who’d been specifically studying them. The way she used the spells both spoke of great creativity and a wealth of experience she shouldn’t have. Somehow she seemed to have previous experience with both politics and fighting, as well as knowledge on how to properly teach someone else the various skills she herself had accumulated. Most suspiciously, the new girl knew more about Hogwarts and its grounds than many of the students that had been living there for years now—she used hidden doors and secret corridors with a certainty that was absolutely baffling. Not even once had she been stuck inside one of the trick steps on the stairs, skipping them instead, like it was the most natural thing to do. No one had ever seen her get lost or ask for directions. 

Alya Peverell was suspicious.
Frankly, she was the most suspicious person Anne Sallow had ever met.

But for all that, the other girl was still a total mystery; she was also, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to Anne.

Ominis was finally coming out of his shell and actually talking to people—he was making friends. Her brother was so in love that it was almost disgusting to watch, absolutely besotted, and it was doing him good. He was more open, smiled more, and was more relaxed. For the first time since they had come to Hogwarts, the three of them had started to branch out, all because of Alya Peverell. Anne has actual girlfriends now. She had friends who were not her twin brother and their mutual best friend.
On top of that, Alya had done what no one else in the entire country had been able to do—not the Ministry of Magic and its Unspeakables, not St. Mungo's Hospital and its Healers, not Gringotts Bank and their Cursebreakers, not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with its beloved Nurse. Alya had not only been able to identify the painful curse that had been plaguing Anne for more than four months now, but she had also figured out what to do with it. She had found a way to minimise the pain. And, most importantly, she had made Anne realise that even though she had been cursed, her life wasn’t over yet.

Alya Peverell might be the most suspicious person Anne Sallow had ever met, but she was also the person who made her realise that it was okay for her to hope.

Alya had given her hope.

And Anne realised, when a school owl came through her window on Wednesday, clutching a letter in its talons that contained a long rant about Sebastian being a nuisance and how amazing it was that Anne had been able to put up with him all these years, maybe she had also given her a new friend.