The Three Broomsticks is loud tonight, lanterns burning low, laughter tangled with the clatter of mugs and the hum of winter wind against the windows. Sebastian watches you shoulder your way politely to the bar, clutching a few coins to pay for a round of butterbeer. A simple enough task, but the two men beside you have decided otherwise.

They lean in too close, grinning with that particular brand of arrogance that comes from too much Gigglewater and not enough sense. One blocks your path with a careless elbow while the other trails his gaze over you with open interest.

“Come on,” one of them drawls, breath thick with drink. “Don’t be rude. Stay for a chat.”

Before you can even give a polite decline, a quiet tension slips into the space behind you. A familiar presence closes in, and then you feel it, the solid press of a chest against your back; Sebastian.

His hand settles casually, possessively, at your hip. As calm as Sebastian's voice is, his gaze blazes. “You've got ten seconds to move before I give the Aurors a lot of paperwork to do.” The threat comes out slow, the timbre of his voice low with anger, and the men's faces go pale.