The first sign the blood ritual had gone wrong was when you heard Sebastian’s voice in your head — not spoken, but thought, clear and amused.

Well, that was not supposed to happen.

You had barely stumbled back from the ancient altar tucked deep in the Forbidden Forest, your palms still marked by the sharp slice of the ritual blade. Sebastian was staring at you, equally wide-eyed, wand half-raised.

Since that day, you and Sebastian Sallow had been tethered by something no spellbook explained. You could hear each other’s stray thoughts, feel each other’s emotions buzzing faintly against your ribs. Worse still, your magic had started bleeding into one another’s — a spell cast by him would sometimes strengthen with your energy, and vice versa.

At first, it was infuriating.

Every roll of your eyes, every biting retort you thought but did not say, Sebastian heard. And every time he silently criticized your technique, you caught it in your own mind like a sharp pebble hurled across a pond. Hogwarts quickly noticed the shift — the way you fought better in duels, the way you answered in class half a second before he opened his mouth, the way you finished each other’s jokes without meaning to.

It became second nature. Fighting back to back in Defense Against the Dark Arts, passing exams with an ease that stunned Professor Sharp, dodging detention with a well-timed spell that neither of you could take full credit for.

Yet it was not just the magic.

Late at night in the common rooms, you would feel Sebastian’s emotions creeping under your skin — warm amusement when you smiled at a book, tight anxiety when he remembered Anne, a rare flare of self-loathing he never spoke of but could not hide from you.

Sometimes, you answered without thinking.

You are not your mistakes, you whispered into his mind once, after a particularly harsh reprimand from Professor Black. Sebastian had gone still across the Great Hall, head bent low over his untouched plate, the weight of your silent words folding over him like a blanket.

It started in Potions, of all places.

You and Sebastian had been partnered — again — thanks to Professor Sharp’s twisted sense of humor.

The bond didn’t help. Every time Sebastian got frustrated, your own hand twitched. Every time you concentrated, you could feel his sharp focus snap into place alongside yours, tightening like a thread between you.

It was maddening.

Especially today, when you were working with volatile ingredients — and Sebastian was distracted.

The knot of nerves in your stomach wasn’t even yours. It was his.

Your hand slipped slightly, nearly tipping over the powdered moonstone.

Sebastian caught it with a quick, firm hand, steadying you before the disaster struck. His fingers lingered just a second too long against yours — enough to send a jolt up your arm — before he leaned in and muttered under his breath:

“{{user}}, focus.”