Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me. All characters are aged up and are adults.
Chapter 12 – Scrutiny and Turmoil
~ Sebastian Gray/Harry Potter ~
The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a chamber of organized chaos. A sanctum of silver trinkets, slumbering portraits, and the cloying scent of lemon drops and old parchment. It was a room designed to intimidate, to comfort, and to confound, all in equal measure.
For Sebastian Gray, sitting in the high-backed wooden chair opposite Albus Dumbledore's massive desk, it felt like a cage.
He had showered. The house-elves, efficient little creatures that they were, had provided him with fresh clothes—a simple black button-down and trousers. He had scourgified the blood from his skin. But the phantom sensation of the metallic liquid remained. He could still feel the slick warmth of the leader's blood on his hands, the vibration of his wand as it severed bone, and the cold hum of Wrath enjoying the carnage.
The office was crowded, a claustrophobic assembly of the most powerful political and magical figures in Britain and France, all crammed between Dumbledore's whirring silver instruments. To his left stood the Greengrasses. Alaric Greengrass had a hand on Daphne's shoulder, his knuckles white, his usual pureblood mask of indifference shattered by the near-loss of his eldest daughter. Anastasia stood beside him, her eyes red-rimmed but dangerous, like a lioness who had just realized her cub was in a cage with hyenas.
To his right, the Blacks and the Potters formed a formidable wall. Sirius Black, the godfather who had once bounced a baby Harry on his knee before the world went to hell and Harry was shipped off to the Dursleys, stood with a protective arm around Vera. Sirius looked aged, his face lined with the stress of politics and the years of fatherhood, but his eyes were burning with a fierce, manic protective fire.
Beside him, James Potter looked haggard, his messy hair a mirror of Sebastian's own, though James wore his heart on his sleeve while Sebastian buried his deep in a fortress of Occlumency. Lily Potter… she was the hardest to look at. Her green eyes—his eyes—were fixed on him with a terrifying intensity, scanning him, dissecting his movements, desperate to find the crack in the armour, something that would confirm that he was Harry Potter.
He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Fleur. She stood beside his chair, the looming figure of Madame Maxime behind her as she stood protectively over her charges. She had already informed the assembly that Appoline Delacour was on her way, along with a lot of French political and diplomatic members. These members were arriving with quite a bit of power since Jean had to stay back and take care of Gabrielle as well as manage the French Wizarding World.
Sebastian sat with a stillness that was unnatural. He did not fidget. He did not look around in wonder at the magical trinkets. He stared straight ahead, his green eyes locked on a point just above Dumbledore's left shoulder, his Occlumency shields raised so high they formed a fortress of diamond-hard will around his mind.
'She knows,' a voice whispered in the back of his mind. It was a deep, resonating sound, like stones grinding together in a cavern. Wrath. The entity, the Obscurus that shared his soul, was awake and seemingly amused by his inner turmoil. 'Or at least, she suspects. The bond of blood is a nuisance, is it not, my Liege? It sings when she is near.'
'Be quiet,' Sebastian thought back, his mental voice sharp. 'I need to focus. The Auror is twitching again.'
Directly in front of him stood John Dawlish, a man whose ambition far outstripped his competence. The Auror had been trying to conduct an interrogation for the past ten minutes, and he was failing spectacularly.
"Mr. Gray," Dawlish barked, trying to impose authority he didn't possess. He leaned over the desk, sweat beading on his forehead. "I am going to ask you again. Where were the girls taken? The precise location. We need to send a team to secure the site."
Sebastian leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. He picked a piece of imaginary lint off his black trousers. "And I will tell you again, Auror Dawlish. I don't know."
"You don't know?" Dawlish spluttered, his face reddening. "You brought them back! You claim to have rescued them, yet you cannot tell us where they were?"
"I followed a discarded portkey," Sebastian answered smoothly. It was a partial truth, the best kind. "It led me to a cellar. I didn't stop to check the postal code or admire the local architecture. I went in, I grabbed the clients, and I sent them back using another Portkey, following them back via a simple tracking charm. That is standard mercenary protocol. My priority was extraction, not cartography."
"That is highly convenient," Dawlish sneered, and then proceeded to ask a question even a simpleton would know the answer to. "And what about the perpetrators? You said you neutralized the threat. What does that mean, exactly? Did you arrest them? Are they tied up waiting for us?"
The room went silent. Even Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk with his fingers steeped, looked over his half-moon spectacles with a gaze that seemed to judge his soul.
Sebastian looked Dawlish in the eye. A small, cold smile touched his lips.
"I killed them."
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
Dawlish blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. "You... you killed them? All of them?"
"Thirteen men," Sebastian clarified, his voice devoid of boastfulness or regret. It was a simple statement. "And their leader. They were armed, hostile, and had engaged in kidnapping with intent to harm and potentially traffic three high-profile targets. I made a decision to eliminate the threat permanently."
"You executed fourteen wizards without a trial?" Dawlish looked around the room, seeking support. "Headmaster, surely you see this? This is admission of mass murder! Vigilante justice!"
Dawlish reached for the handcuffs at his belt, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. He thought he had him. He thought he could pin this on the mercenary and make a career-defining arrest.
"Sit down, Dawlish!"
The shout didn't come from Sebastian.
It came from Sirius Black.
Sirius stepped forward, his face furious. "Are you out of your mind? Those men took my daughter! They took Daphne Greengrass and Fleur Delacour! If Sebastian hadn't acted, they would be gone. You want to arrest him for saving their lives?"
"He admitted to murder, Black!" Dawlish argued, though his hand wavered near his belt. "The law—"
"The law can rot if it protects scum like that," Sirius Black snarled. His voice was a low growl, reminiscent of his Animagus form. "He did what any father in this room would have done if they had been present. He did what you should be doing, Dawlish, instead of filing paperwork."
"I agree," Alaric Greengrass spoke up. His voice was ice-cold, the tone of a man who owned half the businesses in Diagon Alley and ran the biggest Potions conglomerate in Wizarding Europe. "If you touch a hair on Mr. Gray's head, Dawlish, I will have your badge tossed and your pension dissolved before the sun sets. He saved my daughter. As far as House Greengrass is concerned, he is a hero. We are indebted to him."
Dawlish looked like a cornered rat. He looked to Dumbledore for help.
"Albus?"
"Mr. Gray," Dumbledore said, drawing the attention back. "While we are all undeniably grateful for the safe return of the students, the brutality of your methods raises… concerns. You admitted to killing them."
"I did," Sebastian confirmed. "It was a combat scenario," he continued, leaning back in his chair. "I entered a hostile environment. Fourteen combatants. Three hostages. I did not have the luxury of stunning them and waiting for you to arrive and then file and process paperwork. I neutralized the threat."
"You used powerful Dark Magic," Lily Potter spoke up. Her voice was trembling, but it was strong. She stepped around towards the desk, coming closer to him. "We checked the last few spells used by your hand, Mr. Gray. The spells… Ossa Liquefaciunt? Ferrum Flagellation? These are not spells taught in any school. These are curses designed for battle."
Sebastian looked at her. Up close, she smelled of lilies and ozone. She smelled like a memory he had tried to burn out of his mind for a decade.
"I am a mercenary, not a student. Besides, I was not aware that saving your niece required a syllabus check, Mrs. Potter," Sebastian said coldly.
James flinched at the word 'niece', as if stung. Lily, however, didn't back down. She stared into his eyes, searching for the crack in the armour.
"Who taught you?" she whispered, ignoring the room. "Who taught you to fight like that? To kill like that?"
'Tell her,' Wrath affirmed, his voice coloured with annoyance at the woman. 'Tell her it was the man they fear. Tell her it was the man who saved you when they threw you away.'
Sebastian tightened his mental shields. "I have had many teachers. Experience is the harshest one."
"Enough," Madame Maxime announced, stepping forward. Her immense height allowed her to loom over the entire proceedings. She placed a large hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Monsieur Gray is under my protection as a member of ze French delegation. 'E saved my student. 'E saved your students. And you interrogate 'im like a criminal? Shame on you, Dumbly-dorr."
"He killed fourteen men, Olympe," Dumbledore said wearily.
"He saved our daughters!" Alaric Greengrass cut in, his voice sharp and aristocratic. "I do not care if he flayed them alive, Dumbledore. Those men took my Daphne. They threatened to… to do unspeakable things. This young man acted with the decisiveness that this system and your professors lacked."
"Hear, hear," Sirius muttered. He looked at Sebastian. "You brought Vera back. You brought them all back. As far as House Black is concerned, you are owed a debt. If the Ministry tries to press charges, I will bury them in legal parchment for the next century."
"And House Greengrass stands with him," Alaric added firmly. "We will not see our daughters' saviour put in Azkaban for doing what any father would have done if he had been present there."
Dawlish deflated, looking furious but impotent. He was losing the room. The political weight of the Blacks and Greengrass family was not something to be trifled with.
Sebastian watched the exchange with detached amusement. Wrath, within his mind, was having a field day watching Dawlish make a fool of himself as his lord proved his innocence.
"We still need to confiscate his wand till it is deemed safe for him to use," Dawlish tried weakly.
"Touch my wand," Sebastian said softly, "and you will lose both hands."
It wasn't a shout. It was a statement of fact.
Dawlish paled.
"I think that will be quite enough for tonight," Dumbledore decided, sensing the volatility of the situation. "Mr. Gray, you are free to go for now. However, I must ask you to remain within the castle grounds. There could be… further questions."
Sebastian stood up. He didn't bow. He didn't offer a handshake. He simply nodded to Madame Maxime.
"I need air," he stated.
Dumbledore turned his blue eyes to Sebastian. The twinkle was gone, replaced by a deep, probing sadness. "Mr Gray," he said softly, using Harry's alias. "While I do not question the necessity of your actions... fourteen lives. That is a heavy burden for one so young."
"They weren't lives, Headmaster," Sebastian said, standing up. "They were pests."
He saw Lily Potter flinch at that. She looked at him with such profound sorrow that for a moment, Sebastian felt a crack in his Occlumency shields. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to ask her where that sorrow was when he was rotting in a cupboard. But he shoved it down, feeding the emotion to Wrath, who devoured it greedily.
"If you are quite done," Sebastian said, buttoning his jacket. "I have a job to finish. The men in that cellar were hired hands. Dawlish, instead of trying to arrest me, perhaps you should do your actual job and investigate the money trail. Someone paid for Fleur Delacour to be taken. Someone British."
He let that hang there, watching the suspicion ripple through the room.
"Who?" Sirius asked, his hand drifting to his wand.
"I don't have a name yet," Sebastian lied again. He had suspicions, but he wasn't going to give them to the Ministry to bungle. "But the leader confessed they were hired by a British noble who wanted a 'prize'. Start digging through Gringotts transfers to anonymous accounts in France."
He nodded to Madame Maxime. "Madame. I will ensure the perimeter is secure for Madame Delacour's arrival."
"Merci, Sebastien," she said, her eyes wet.
He turned to leave, but Lily Potter took a step forward.
"Sebastian," she said, her voice trembling.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't turn around. "Mrs. Potter."
The woman looked like she wanted to speak a million different things to him in that moment, but she settled for something simple. "Thank you," she whispered. "For bringing them back."
"Just doing my job, ma'am."
He opened the door and walked out, leaving the suffocating warmth of the office for the cool, stone silence of the spiral staircase.
~ Sebastian Gray/Harry Potter ~
The walk through the castle was a surreal experience. Hogwarts was supposed to be a place of childhood wonder, of magic and light. To Sebastian, it had become just another battlefield. A battle that seemed adamant on stripping away years of carefully crafted walls around his being. Walls that protected himself from his past.
He moved through the corridors with a predator's grace, his footsteps silent on the flagstones. He needed air. The castle… it was beginning to suffocate him. He needed the cold bite of the wind to cool his head.
He exited through the main oak doors and headed straight for the Black Lake. The sun was setting, casting long, bloody streaks of orange and purple across the water. The wind whipped at his clothes, cooling the heat that still simmered under his skin.
He walked until he reached the shoreline, near a cluster of large rocks that offered some privacy from the castle windows. He stared out at the dark water, watching the Giant Squid break the surface lazily.
"You are loud when you zink, you know."
Sebastian didn't jump. He had heard her footsteps the moment she had stepped on the grass a few feet behind him. He recognized the cadence of her walk—light, graceful, but currently hesitant.
He turned his head slightly. Fleur Delacour stood ten feet behind him. She was no longer in her torn uniform. She had changed into a soft blue dress that hugged her frame, wrapped in a thick wool cloak against the chill. Her silvery-blonde hair was loose, blowing in the wind.
She looked ethereal as always. And troubled.
"I didn't know I was broadcasting," Sebastian said, his back towards her as he turned to look at the lake. "Go back inside, Fleur. It's cold."
"I do not care about ze cold," she said, taking a step closer. Her blue eyes were watching him intently. "Why did you leave so quickly?"
"You needed rest, and I needed a moment of peace" Sebastian answered, still not turning back.
She moved closer. He could feel her magic now, the Veela allure. It usually radiated from her like a beacon, a siren song meant to enthral. But tonight, it was muted, dampened by trauma. It felt like a soft hum, asking for comfort.
"I came to say zank you," she said, standing right behind him now. "Properly. Back zere... in ze Hall... it was chaos."
"Your father paid me," Sebastian said, his voice hard. "The contract covers rescue. You don't owe me anything."
"Is zat all I am?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. "A contract? A job?"
Sebastian closed his eyes. 'Yes,' he wanted to say. 'That's all anyone is. Clients or targets.'
But the words wouldn't come. Because when he had seen that man touch her in the cellar, when he had seen the terror in her eyes, he hadn't felt like a mercenary protecting an asset. He had felt like a dragon whose hoard was being raided. He had felt a rage so pure and ancient it had frightened even Wrath.
He chose to not answer, because letting his true feelings be known was something he could not accept.
"Sebastian, look at me."
He turned.
She was right there. Close enough that he could smell the vanilla and jasmine of her shampoo, cutting through the memory of blood. Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears.
"You saved me," she whispered. "You came for me into ze dark. You killed for me."
"I killed because I'm good at it," he deflected.
"Non," she shook her head. "I saw your eyes, Sebastien. In ze cellar. Before you sent us away. You were not looking at zem like targets. You were angry. Angry for us."
She didn't wait for him to respond. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Sebastian froze.
His instinct was to shove her away.
But then, she buried her face in his chest, and he heard a soft, hitching sob.
"I was so scared," she muffled against his coat. "I thought... I thought I would never see Gabrielle again. Or Maman and Papa."
The tremors in her body transferred to his. She was shaking apart. The adrenaline had worn off, and now the reality of her near-miss was crashing down on her.
Sebastian stood there, arms stiff at his sides, his mind in turmoil.
'I believe you know how to hug someone, my liege,' Wrath chided gently in his mind. 'Or is it something that we need to cover in our morning lessons.'
'I am dangerous,' Sebastian argued back, failing to find the humour in this situation unlike his Obscurus. 'She shouldn't be touching me. I still have blood on my hands.'
'And she is alive because of those hands. Comfort her.'
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Sebastian raised his arms. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, hovering his hands over her back, before finally lowering them.
He pulled her in.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, pulling her flush against him. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
Fleur gasped a little at the sudden tightness of his grip, but then she melted. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the back of his coat. She wept, letting go of the composure she had fought so hard to maintain in front of the professors and the other parents.
Sebastian stood there on the shore of the Black Lake, holding the most beautiful woman in Europe while she cried into his chest. He felt the heat of her body seeping into his, thawing the ice around his heart.
It felt... right. And that terrified him.
He stroked her hair awkwardly. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest. "You're safe. I promise. No one touches you while I breathe."
She looked up at him then, her eyes shining, her lips parted. The distance between them was non-existent. The air charged with something that wasn't just gratitude. It was raw, magnetic attraction, sharpened by the near-death experience the young women had been forced to go through.
"Sebastien..." she whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lose himself in the softness of her, to forget the blood and the screaming and the darkness.
But he couldn't. Not like this. She was vulnerable, traumatized, and emotional. And he... he was a mess of shattered identity and repressed anger. If he started this now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He would consume her.
He looked into her eyes, seeing the trust there.
"Sleep," he whispered.
He channelled a pulse of non-verbal magic through his hand resting on the back of her neck. It was a gentle charm, a spell used to sedate patients to ease their mind.
Fleur's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then glazed over. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. Her body went limp in his arms.
Sebastian caught her easily, shifting his grip to lift her bridal style. She felt impossibly light. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breathing instantly deepening into a rhythmic slumber.
"Forgive me, Fleur," he whispered into the wind. "But you need rest, not... whatever I am."
He turned and began moving straight towards the carriages, the castle remained forgotten. He disillusioned the two of them as he slipped closer and closer to the blue expanse that showed off the area the French delegation had occupied for their stay.
He bypassed the unaware French students and walked straight to her private quarters. He laid her down on the silk sheets of her bed, removing her shoes with a gentleness that contradicted his lethal nature.
He stood over her for a moment, watching her sleep. She looked peaceful now.
He drew his wand.
He didn't just cast a locking charm. He began to weave a complex web of wards around her bed and the room. He layered ancient runic protections, blood-proximity alarms, and a nasty little curse that would boil the blood of anyone who entered with ill intent.
'Paranoid much?' Wrath teased.
'Thorough,' Sebastian corrected.
He pulled the duvet over her, tucking it under her chin. He resisted the urge to brush a strand of hair from her face.
He turned and walked out, sealing the room behind him.
He needed to get away. The castle was too loud, too full of people and memories from his past. He needed silence. He needed to think.
He headed for the Forbidden Forest.
~ Sebastian Gray/Harry Potter ~
The Forest was alive, but it was an honest kind of life. Predators hunted prey. There was no politics here, no deceit. Just survival.
Sebastian walked deep into the woods, past the centaur territories, past the Acromantula nesting grounds as he blasted away a couple that wandered nearby. He walked until the canopy was so thick it blotted out the sky.
He found a clearing that seemed to be the grounds for meditation. A ring of ancient stones stood in the centre, covered in moss. He sat down on one of them, burying his face in his hands.
The adrenaline was fully gone now, leaving behind a hollow ache.
He was tired. So tired.
Tired of the lies. Tired of being Sebastian Gray. Tired of seeing James and Lily Potter and feeling that twist of longing and resentment. Tired of seeing Sirius act like a father to Vera while he had been left to rot by the man's best friends, unable to grow up beside his godfather and his daughter.
And now Fleur...
"Your emotions are loud, boy. They are disturbing the Thestrals."
The voice was cultured, German-accented, and amused.
Sebastian didn't reach for his wand. He knew that voice better than his own.
He looked up.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a massive oak tree, was Gellert Grindelwald.
He looked exactly as he had the last time Sebastian saw him at the Delacour estate. The mismatched eyes—one dark, one white—gleamed in the shadows. He wore a heavy wool coat with the collar turned up, and he was casually packing a pipe with tobacco.
He shouldn't be here. He was supposed to be on another job in Latvia. But Grindelwald had never been one for rules, and the bond between master and apprentice—forged in blood and magic—allowed for certain... visitations. Whether this was a physical projection or a mental one, it didn't matter. The presence was real.
"Professor," Sebastian said, his voice hoarse.
"Harry," Grindelwald nodded, lighting his pipe with a snap of his fingers. A ring of aromatic smoke drifted into the air. "Or should I say, Sebastian? You seem to be having an identity crisis tonight."
"I don't know who I am anymore," Sebastian admitted, slumping back against the stone. "I thought I killed Harry Potter. I thought I buried him deep."
"You buried a child," Grindelwald said, walking over to sit on the stone opposite him. "But the past is not a corpse you can hide in the cellar. It is a shadow. It follows you."
Grindelwald took a puff of his pipe, the embers illuminating his sharp features.
He began looking him up and down. He took fresh clothes, the tightness in his being, the lingering aura of death, the turmoil in the boy's eyes.
"So," Grindelwald started, another puff making him pause for a moment. "Fourteen men. A display of Dark Magic that has Dumbledore and his ilk sweating in their robes. Not a bad night's work."
Sebastian sighed. "You heard?"
"I hear everything, my boy. The French Ministry is in an uproar. Appoline is furious—at the kidnappers, not you. Jean is relieved. And the British Ministry is trying to figure out how a young mercenary dismantled a hit squad in under three minutes. I assume you used the bone-liquifying curse I taught you?"
"On the first one," Sebastian nodded.
"Good. It sends a message." Grindelwald studied him. "So why the long face? You saved the lass, you killed the bad guys, you humiliated the Ministry. By all accounts, a successful Tuesday."
"It's the parents," Sebastian spat. "The Potters. Sirius. They looked at me today... Lily looked at me. She suspects."
"Of course she does. A mother knows her own son, even if he is wrapped in scars and darkness."
"It hurts," Sebastian whispered, the confession torn from him. "Seeing them. Seeing them love the other children. Seeing them worry about me now, when it's too late. I hate them. But I also... I wanted to tell them. For a second, in that office, I wanted to scream that I was their son."
"But you didn't," Grindelwald noted.
"No. Because Harry Potter was weak. Harry Potter was a victim. Sebastian Gray is... powerful."
"And lonely," Grindelwald finished.
Sebastian looked away.
"And then there is the girl," Grindelwald continued, a sly smile touching his lips. "The Veela. You are compromised."
"I'm not compromised," Sebastian snapped. "She's a client."
"She is a woman who looks at you as if you hung the moon, and you look at her in a way that I have yet to see you at any other woman who has shared your bed or caught your eye." Grindelwald chuckled. It was a rare, rasping sound that startled even Wrath deep in Sebastian's mind. "Do not lie to me, boy. I felt your heartbeat spike when you held her. I felt your magic reach out to hers."
"It's hormones," Sebastian muttered. "She's a Veela. It's biological."
"It is affection," Grindelwald corrected. "And lust. And perhaps the beginnings of love. Dangerous things, all of them."
"So I should cut it off," Sebastian said, sitting up straighter. "I should distance myself. Focus on the mission."
Grindelwald sighed, blowing a smoke ring that transformed into a skull before dissipating. "You think I trained you to be a block of stone? To be a wand with no heart?"
"You trained me to be the best. To be unshakeable."
"I trained you to be superior," Grindelwald said sharply. "And part of being superior is understanding the full spectrum of the human experience. Pain, rage, joy... and yes, love."
He leaned forward, his mismatched eyes locking onto Sebastian's.
"Listen to me closely, Harry. No one could have moved on completely from what you endured. The cupboard. The abandonment. The training. You were forged in fire. But if you let that past hold you back, if you deny yourself happiness because you think you are only a weapon, then you have not mastered your past. You are still shackled by it."
Sebastian stared at him, his mouth slightly open.
"You are allowed to feel, boy," Grindelwald said softer. "You are allowed to want the girl. You are allowed to be angry at your parents and yet still crave their approval. It makes you human. And a human wizard is infinitely more dangerous than a soulless one. A man with nothing to lose fights with reckless abandon. But a man with something to protect? A man with a woman to come home to? He fights with the fury of a god."
"But... dating a client?" Sebastian managed a weak smile. "Isn't that rule number one?"
"Rules are for lesser men," Grindelwald dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Besides, dating a client invites trouble, yes. But is there anything we cannot handle? After Morocco, I do not think anything worse could happen. You have an Obscurus in your pocket and me in your corner. Let them bring trouble. It keeps life interesting."
"Exactly what this lowly knight has been trying to convey, Master Grindelwald," Wrath arose from his shadow, an exhausted sigh accompanying his words that made Harry roll his eyes.
"You're encouraging me to pursue her?"
"I am encouraging you to be honest with yourself," Grindelwald said. "Don't be surprised, boy. We don't choose who we fall for. It simply happens. Like gravity. Or a botched potion."
Grindelwald stood up, tapping out his pipe on a nearby stone glowing with magic. "I will not let you be a mercenary forever, Harry. You were meant for greater things than guarding politicians and killing kidnappers. You are meant to shape the world. And to do that, you need to understand more about yourself."
He looked towards the castle, visible through the trees. "The Delacour matriarch arrives tomorrow. You need to be back at your post and you need sleep. Tomorrow, you guard the mother, guard the students, and guard the girl."
He placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. The touch was heavy, solid, grounding.
"Be strong," Grindelwald commanded. "Not just in magic, but in heart. Be what you have always been, what I raised you to be. The best."
Sebastian looked up at his mentor, the man who had saved him from the dark, who had given him a purpose, a life, however ruthless. He felt a warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the cold of the lake and the office.
For the first time since returning to Britain, Sebastian smiled. It wasn't a smirk or a sneer. It was a genuine, boyish smile.
"Thank you, Grandfather," he whispered, slipping back into the title he used only in their rarest moments of intimacy.
Grindelwald's eyes softened imperceptibly. He patted Sebastian's shoulder once, hard.
"Go on then. And wash that blood off your boots. You look like a butcher."
With a swirl of his coat and a crack like a breaking branch, Grindelwald vanished, leaving only the smell of expensive tobacco and the echo of his advice.
Sebastian sat in the clearing for a moment longer, his loyal knight right beside him. He took a deep breath of the pine-scented air.
"Well," Wrath rumbled. "That was... surprisingly wholesome. For a dark lord."
"He's right," Sebastian thought aloud, standing up.
"About the girl?"
"About everything."
Sebastian cracked his neck. He felt lighter. The darkness was still there, the trauma was still there, but the crushing weight of it had shifted. He wasn't just a weapon. He was a man. And he had a girl to protect.
He turned and began the trek back to the castle. He had wards to check, a few hours of sleep to be had, and perhaps, in the morning... a breakfast to share with a certain Veela.
Something big was coming. The shadows were lengthening. But for the first time, Sebastian Gray didn't feel like he was fighting it with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He walked out of the forest and into the moonlight, ready for whatever the hell came next.