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Chapter Text

The familiar corridors of Hogwarts seemed like a far distant memory, but certain recollections of her time there were vivid and yet lingered, especially the guidance she received from her former teachers. For of late, Eve found herself growing restless in her current career as the proprietor of her Hogsmeade store, feeling a burning desire for something more.

As Eve stepped into the cozy warmth of the Three Broomsticks, relieved to be out of the unusually chill air for so early in the season, she spotted Mirabel at a corner table, her vibrant red hair plaited and crowned with her signature green hat adorned with flowers. She waved Eve over, her smile beaming.

"Eve, my dear!" Mirabel greeted, her voice was warm and joyful. "I'm delighted to see you. Sit, sit."

Eve eagerly took a seat across from her, appreciating the familiar comfort of her friend. Mirabel, or Professor Garlick as she was to Eve then, had been one of her favourite teachers. And although she had not been her Head of House, she had always felt a deep and close connection to her.

"It is so good to see you, I am sorry it has been so long," Eve began, a tinge of restlessness evident in her voice. "And I hate to come to you with complaints. Will you tell me how you two are getting on?”

Mirabel gave a shy smile and her cheeks coloured slightly. “Things are going well. Better than expected even!” She added excitedly. “The cottage is settled and he plans to join me in little more than a week.”

Eve sat forward and took her friend’s hands in her own. “I am so pleased to hear it! What are the students saying?” Eve asked with a grin. “I daresay they have caught wind of this?”

“It seems not. It seems any growing gossip has not even budded,” She said unconcernedly, evidently she didn’t care if the students knew or not. “I can easily laugh off their teasing and playful taunts but, though I daresay his approach will be detentions en masse rather than laughing, he is a grown man and may deal with it in his own way when it comes.”

Eve smiled ruefully, recalling the detentions she had served in her own time. Bright though she was, Eve was not a model student by any means. She had far too much fight and defiance to remain supine in the face of any injustice. As such, she had served a few for retaliations against her friends’ aggressors. More often than not, on behalf of Ominis Gaunt. She sighed as she reflected on those remembered affections.

“What bother’s you, my dear?” Asked Mirabel with a kind smile.

Eve started from her reverie and shifted uncomfortably in her chair as her gaze drifted over the carved foliage that decorated the table. Quickly substituting her current sigh for a previous concern she had been burdened with, she looked up. "Given your love of botanical metaphors, I must confess," Eve began, in a low and solemn tone. "I'm feeling a bit like a plant that's outgrown its pot. I'm looking for a change of career."

Mirabel's eyes sparkled with a hint of mirth as she leaned forward, her voice a melodic cadence. "Oh, Eve, you have been an Oak on too small a plot for many years now, surely this is not new to you? Restlessness and change can be a time of growth."

Eve chuckled, appreciating Mirabel's close observations. "Well, yes. But it seems I might finally wish to do something about it." As Eve concluded, Mirabel’s brows arched high as she nodded and contemplated her younger friend.

"I've known you for years, Eve, and I've always sensed your thirst for adventure and justice. Have you considered—," Just as their conversation deepened, a creak at the door signalled the arrival of a new patron and a familiar figure shuffled over to their table. His tall frame slightly stooped, but his eyes were keen and observant as he swept over the room on his way. He pulled up a chair, joining their conversation uninvited. His stern countenance was a stark contrast to the vibrant atmosphere of the pub.

"Alatar,” the man acknowledged.

“Sharp, sir,” said Eve, as she rose to extend her hand to him. Aesop Sharp, with his long brown hair and short beard, now flecked with grey, possessed a commanding presence. His three-piece suit, consisting of a brown overcoat, a light brown vest, and brown trousers, exuded an air of formality. The crisp white shirt and brown tie completed his attire, lending a touch of refinement to his otherwise rough appearance.

“Sharp will do just fine,” He said gruffly with a slight chuckle, which Eve supposed she had mistaken and was perhaps just a clearing of his throat. “You’re a grown woman, leave your schoolgirl days behind.”

Eve pursed her lips, slightly embarrassed, and resumed her seat. Meanwhile, Mirabel simply gazed smilingly at the man.

“Aesop, Eve has just been explaining she is considering a change in occupation," she said sweetly.

“What? The Shop isn't good enough for the saviour of Hogwarts?” Sharp grumbled as he rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement underlying his gravelly tone.

Eve looked around to see if anyone was listening in, it had been a little over five years since her battle against Ranrok and she had since enjoyed a relatively low profile. If graduating with perfect N.E.W.Ts, registering two novel magical patents, and publishing on magical theory is to be considered ‘low profile’. She was rather happy to be a quiet achiever and wished to keep her fame to an absolute minimum. “Please, Sharp, not so loud,” she hurriedly pleaded.

Sharp grumbled again but complied, settling himself into his chair with significant difficulty. After so many years, his injuries still ailed him. "So what’s the path then? Auror Department. It's not a bad idea, I suppose."

Eve regarded Sharp, surprised by his unexpected support but motivated to correct him. "It’s a comfort to know you wouldn’t outright object but, and I mean no offence, every second wizard and his toad wants to become an Auror. And besides, oftentimes they are far too ostentatious and conspicuous—which is odd given the nature of their job. I can’t imagine having your picture and activities posted in the Prophet every other day is good for wizard-catching."

Sharp's gaze met hers, his eyes penetrating. "Too right,” was all he said as he dropped his gaze and once again scanned the exits of the room. His eyes were dark, sharp and ever-watchful. His attire was impeccably put together, but his careworn face, scarred and creased, hinted at his past tribulations. Similarly, walking with a pronounced limp in his left leg, he carried himself with determination and purpose despite it.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Mirabel gently inquired, leaning in towards Eve.

“I am at a loss. I want something exciting but not too demanding of my time. I fancy a challenge, but something that would give me peace enough to pursue my other passions…” She huffed and crossed her arms, falling back into her chair. “I want-” 

‘Bah! Obstinate and exacting as ever, I see,” He observed coarsely as Eve shot him a hard look. At which point he genuinely gave out a short sharp bark of a laugh. Never having heard the man laugh before, Eve sat up in surprise and looked to Mirabel, who gazed at him so fondly Eve felt she ought not to be there and considered taking her leave.

Noticing Mirabel's look, he coloured slightly and somewhat indiscreetly edged his hand to hers so that their fingers lightly touched. Blushing furiously at this uncharacteristic show of affection from a former Professor, Eve averted her gaze and instead waved to Sirona who returned her greeting with a wink.

Clearing his throat, Sharp went on. “Well here, how’s this? Curse Breaker. It’s contract work, well paid given the danger involved. Should be at least a bit of a challenge and you can choose to take an assignment or not, depending on your whims at the time,” he ended dryly.

Perking up at this sensible suggestion, Eve turned back to her companions. “Now there’s a fair idea. I do have contacts in the field too, perhaps I could reach out to my close acquaintance, Mr Rabe. I also have experience! Though admittedly limited- The Dale family tomb, the Cursed Tomb to retrieve the Helm of Urkot, the Script-” She stopped herself before finishing, knowledge of the Scriptorium remained the secret of just three still among the living, “A lot of cursed tombs really… You believe I could do it then?”

“Don’t force me into a compliment, Alatar. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you had the potential. You were a diligent enough student. If you're serious about it, I might be able to put in a word for you. I have contacts at Gringott's myself."

Eve felt a surge of gratitude towards Sharp, grateful for his acknowledgment of her abilities and his offer of help. "Thank you, Sharp. Your support means a lot to me."

Sharp huffed, attempting to downplay his role. "Don't get all sentimental on me. You'll need some training, lest you die and I am lumped with the blame,” he said as he glanced sidewards to Mirabel who gave him a disapproving look but soon relented offering a warm smile in its place. 

Sharp possessed a keenly acute nature. He had a sharp wit and a tough-love approach to mentoring. He never had been easily impressed by his students, even when it seemed perfectly proper to provide commendation of a job well done. He would often just huff and stalk off, which everyone understood as having been gifted with as much praise as he was capable of giving. He was a difficult taskmaster, demanding excellence and limiting self-conceit.

While he was unwavering in his expectations, Sharp was not entirely unreasonable in his methods. Though he did not suffer fools gladly in his class, he took a genuine (though well-disguised) pride in students who excelled despite the various challenges posed by his demanding curriculum and manner. In this respect, his approval was a rare but significant accomplishment.

Sharp's reputation for being stern and exacting was therefore not without reason, but beneath his gruff exterior, there was a deep-rooted passion for his subject and a commitment to nurturing worthy talent. He believed in pushing his students beyond their perceived limits, recognising their potential and encouraging them to surpass their own expectations. But these lessons were never delivered half so gently as Professor Garlick's.

“I’ll reach out to Rabe, though I’m not sure how good an idea that is. It was me that saved him when I was in my Fifth year,” She offered doubtfully.

“Nonsense, a perfect record is the poorest sign of skill.” He growled. While Mirabel's speech often bloomed with plant-related similes and metaphors, Sharp's communication style remained distinct. He spoke with a straightforwardness that brooked no ambiguity, yet his words carried weight and authority. His language was cutting and concise, like a blade to a root, leaving no room for misunderstanding. 

“Isko has gone on to be Deputy Head of the division. Given past...debts, he may oblige you with some pointers. He’s a good man, seek him out,” he asserted.

“Very well, I shall write a letter tomorrow morning,” said Eve, brimming with excitement. She had not expected to have found a solution to her current misery, she would have been pleased enough with counsel and commiseration from Mirabel.

The next morning, Eve sat at her writing desk in the back room of her shop. A modest space that had served her well since her Sixth year at school, but she rather felt she had since outgrown it. Dipping her quill into an inkwell she began to scratch at the parchment:

Dear Mr Rabe,

I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health and spirits. It has been some time since we last corresponded. Do tell me, how is your dear wife Daisy? I hope she is doing wonderfully and that life has been treating her kindly. I recently had tea with Johanna Bickle and young Archie (now started in his Second year, would you believe it?). Both send their regards.

Firstly, let me express my gratitude for the lovely Christmas card you sent. Although it arrived a tad early, it brought a delightful touch of holiday cheer to my doorstep. It inspired me to begin preparing my own cards and decorations in advance this year. Your thoughtful gesture was a welcome reminder of the joy that accompanies the festive season.

Secondly, if I may, I wish to inquire about your work. I have been reflecting on my current career path, and a burning desire for something more meaningful has taken hold of me. It has been suggested that I look to Curse Breaking. The challenges, danger, and opportunity of such a role appeal to me deeply and align with a skill set that, I modestly claim, I already possess. With this in mind, I am reaching out to you, Isko, as you are both a friend and an experienced Curse Breaker—do you think I could be of use to your team? 

If you are agreeable, I am eager to seek employment and receive instruction under your tutelage. Your expertise and wisdom in this field are widely known and respected, and I believe that learning from someone of your calibre would greatly enhance my skills and prospects.

I understand that the path of a Curse Breaker is not an easy one, but I am prepared to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to the craft. I am confident that my determination and resourcefulness will serve me well in this pursuit.

If you think me not suitable, I will not be offended so do not fear to speak plainly with me. For I know that you have my best interest, and those of your team, at heart.

Thank you once again for your kind Christmas card and for considering my request. I eagerly await your letter.

Wishing you and your family a joyous holiday season and a prosperous new year.

Warm regards,

Eve Alatar

Rolling it carefully and fixing it with a simple red ribbon, Eve deposited it within the folds of her fur coat and stepped out into the street. Met with a crunch of newly fallen snow underfoot, she pulled her coat tight around her and made her way to the Square.

Admitting herself to the post office, she gazed up at the two hundred or more owls and selected a handsome Snowy. She attached her letter to its leg and offered it a portion of kibble for its trouble. It hooted to her softly before flying out of the open window above.

Wishing to enjoy the warmth just a little longer, she delayed her exit. With a shake of her shoulders, finally determined to brave the cold, she pushed open the door and made to rush down the steps. Instead of making a clear run for the shelter of her shop, she instead found herself sprawling out onto the snow as she collected an unfortunate gentleman who had been, before this moment, intent on entering the post office. Slipping on the icy steps, both had lost their footing in shared surprise and tumbled out into the wind-whipped street.

Scrambling to her feet and making to assist the poor gentleman she had just bowled over, she extended her arm to him but immediately withdrew it upon seeing who it was. 

“Mr Gaunt!” She said, a little more shrilly and panicked than she would have liked. “My apologies.”

“Pray, don’t mention it,” He replied stiffly as he stood and brushed snow from his Morning Coat and matching navy vest. “You seemed in quite a rush, was there a cause for your alarm?”

Staring ashamedly at the ground, she replied. “No, only fear of the icy wind catching me in its claws,” she mumbled as she shifted her feet, more out of anxiety than the cold.

They stood a moment in awkward silence. Eve, so shocked into speechlessness by this uncomfortable meeting, supposed he was internally upbraiding her for being so careless. This was agony to her! To think they had shared so many a happy year together… she scowled bitterly to herself. Understanding this malice to be directed at him, he cleared his throat and muttered regrets on having held her up. Both murmured their last apologies and Eve darted off across the street. Taking refuge under the eaves of Steeply and Sons, she turned to catch him glancing back over his shoulder as he stood on the threshold of the doorway.

“Oh, do come in and SHUT THAT DOOR! ” she heard the postal attendant squeal above the alarmed screeches of several owls. As his coattails disappeared inside the shop, Eve privately wondered at his delay. It had been many months since she last spoke with him, despite him being a longstanding tenant of hers and living in the same village.

It could have been the fright of being knocked over, she thought, but the man that had stood before her seemed changed. No, it was not shock upon his features, it was stress. His once lively eyes now appeared sunken, surrounded by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and weariness. The features of his face, once defined and vibrant, now seemed drawn and pinched, lacking the vitality they once possessed. His complexion had lost its healthy glow, replaced by a pallor that hinted at underlying affliction. The lines on his face seemed deeper as if each passing day had taken a toll, etching traces of exhaustion and worry.

“Well, it’s no longer any business of mine!” She snarled and stomped back towards her shop.

Some hours later, Eve busied herself with domestic chores and gave occasional advice to Penny as she set about merchandising a new shipment of goods for the store that had been secured earlier that week. Eve's movements were impatient and her tone was a little sharp but, having known 'Miss Alatar' for many years, Penny did not take it personally and resolved to offer her assistance when Eve had settled a little.

Then came a sharp rap at the window, an owl demanded admittance. Eve crossed the room and let it in, immediately relieving it of its burden. Though it was far too light to be considered a burden, really. It was just a small note, hastily scrawled.

Dear Eve,

Come and see us this night, if convenient!

Bring some wine if you could, and we shall make a merry night of it.

Isko

This quite pushed the earlier incident from her mind. “Well, it isn’t an immediate ‘no’ so that is quite something!” She exclaimed with glee, looking at Penny.

“Penny is delighted to see such a smile on your face, Miss. It seems many months since she has seen it, Penny thinks,” She said softly as she joined Eve by the window. “What is it that brings you such happiness?”

Seating herself on the worn rug upon the floor, Eve was now comfortably at eye level with the sweet little house elf. “I am so very sorry for these past months, you’ve been so patient and kind.”

“Oh dear, Miss. Penny has no need of an apology,” She replied shyly and averted her gaze. After many years together, and living as a free elf, no less, Penny was often shocked by common kindness. She had, after all, been conditioned to anticipate mistreatment at worst and commands at best. The transition to a life of freedom and equality was not so easy as Eve assumed.

“But you deserve one, Penny,” She insisted. “You have been a great comfort and dear friend to me through this difficult time, and many years besides!”

“Miss is too generous with her love,” Penny began and immediately regretted it.

“Don’t I know it!” Eve sniffed, but her shoulders quickly relaxed and she turned to Penny smiling again.

“I will be visiting the Rabe’s tonight. You’ll take care of supper for yourself?” Eve asked and was answered with a happy nod. “Good. I’ll be home late, but you know where to find me if you need me.”

Thankfully it was not yet the start of the month, which would have inflicted Fastidio’s contractual anarchy upon them. Penny and Eve usually sought rooms at the Three Broomsticks to escape it, seeing as they could no longer take refuge at Mind’s Rest, but tonight it was not necessary.

Eve selected formal evening attire from her sizeable collection of clothes (stored efficiently in a closet charmed with an expansion spell), buckled her Cromwells, scooped up a bottle of wine and was out the door before more than an hour had passed.

Closing the door behind her and turning she found a man standing before her door. She leapt back in surprise and instinctively drew her wand. He raised his hands in apology, “I did not mean to startle you, forgive me.”

“Forgive you? Unlikely. But we must not meet in doorways so often,” she said testily, for Eve found herself upon a threshold facing Ominis Gaunt for the second time that day.

“It was not my intention, I had hoped to have the courage to knock,” he replied, looking grave.

“And, why is that exactly?” She hissed.

It took some time for him to respond and Eve was almost out of patience with him. She had somewhere to be and, nowadays, had little enough patience for him to begin with!

Just as she made to push past him and be on her way, he held out his hand to stop her but was careful enough to prevent himself from gripping her arm. He wanted no cause for her to run from him. “Please, I must tell you something.”

Chapter Text

Eve had been so dismayed by Ominis’ appearance last night, she had dismissed him out of hand, refusing to hear anything he had to say for himself. Though, in the soft morning light, after a night’s rest, she now regretted having done so. “Perhaps I was too hard on him,” she thought to herself. “And I am curious as to what he meant to say…” 

She had fled to the Rabe’s house and took a minute outside their home to collect her thoughts and herself, she was so flustered—caught somewhere between indignation and grief. Indignation she could accept, but grief? No. She had recently taken steps to remedy her broken heart and move on and was doing rather well with it, or so she thought.

Eve had certainly been more than a little distracted at times throughout the night, but her hosts bore it kindly. Eventually, lively conversation with recounts of the most gruesome Curse Breaking cases, no doubt an attempt to scare her off (or at least test her mettle), had kept her engaged enough and by the end of the night it had been quite driven out of her mind.

On that chilly December night, Eve walked through the quaint streets of Hogsmeade alone, the sound of her footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. The town was mostly deserted at this late hour, with only a few dimly lit windows indicating that there were still some residents awake.

The glow of the streetlamps cast a warm, golden hue on the surrounding buildings, their light gently flickering as the wind rustled through the trees. The air was crisp, carrying a hint of snow and the scent of distant fireplaces burning. Eve pulled her cloak tighter around her, seeking warmth and comfort in its embrace.

As she strolled along the deserted streets, Eve marvelled at the charm and enchantment that permeated Hogsmeade. The cozy shops, adorned with festive wreaths and twinkling fairy lights, whispered promises of holiday cheer and delightful surprises within. Occasionally, a stray cat would dart across her path, its eyes glowing in the darkness before disappearing into the shadows.

Though the night was beautifully clear and still, its darkness punctuated only by countless stars, twinkling like diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, she welcomed the warm embrace of her shop as she entered. Feeling quite content, full of good food and ale, she stripped down to her bedclothes and crawled under the covers. The flickering candle on her bedside table danced gently, as she rolled over to lay on her back, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress and the embrace of her warm blankets. Her eyes slowly closed, their tiredness evident in the gentle droop of her eyelids. Any concerns she might have had throughout the day began to fade away, replaced by a gentle calmness.

Ominis, however, wasn’t half so lucky. Though the bed was comfortable, the fire warm and the blanket thick and comforting, he would find no peace in them tonight. His tired body lay stiffly on the mattress, and the crackle of the fire was loud in his ears. The weight of his troubles weighed heavily on him, making it difficult to find respite in the embrace of sleep. Restlessness took hold of him, causing him to toss and turn, seeking a comfortable position that seemed perpetually out of reach. Removing the Ocufili, a treasured gift for more reasons than one, he closed his eyes and thoughts of past misdeeds and regrets surged forth, relentlessly invading his consciousness. 

Eve, however, knew none of this. She woke a little later than was usual for her, around half nine. She rose and dressed, brushed her hair and put on the kettle for herself and Penny.

Penny was already awake and attending to the store’s displays though the door would not open to customers for another half an hour yet. 

As Eve poured two cups of Earl Grey and left them to steep, she considered what she might say in the way of an apology. She didn’t feel an apology was altogether necessary, in fact. She only meant to say that she couldn’t spare the time last night but would consent to hear him out today if it was convenient. Eve was happy with that, she thought, “I feel calm and steady, quite in control of my emotions today. I shall see to this in person!”

Dressed in a long black skirt and a purple blouse, she covered herself with a rugged Overcoat to protect her from the biting wind. She donned her dusky wool scarf and black leather gloves and stepped out into the cold. Choosing the most direct route, and one that was decidedly quieter than the main thoroughfare, Eve treated herself to the change of scenery. She turned right from her shopfront and followed the meandering path up past Flutes and Lutes. 

Stopping for a moment to browse the wares of a travelling stall parked behind the tea shop, she selected some delicious-looking apples. “I shouldn't arrive empty-handed, it’s bad manners,” she thought as the vendor counted out the coins (7 sickles and 3 knuts). As she waited, she caught a few lines of a nearby conversation.

"-it will be quite the event, I'm told. Despite the money drying up, the Black dowry could save it all," said a witch was saying to a man seated in front of her. She leant jauntily on an old barrel as he turned his ear in interest.

The mention of the Black dowry caught Eve's attention too. The Headmaster’s daughter is to marry?

"A respectable match in bloodline, to be sure. It's critical we maintain these things, of course. But the family has suffered from its efforts to uh-maintain that line. They have been...unstable," remarked the sallow-looking wizard.

Eve stifled a grimace but made a half step to get a little closer. Though her old Headmaster was indeed loathsome, she would not have described Black as ‘unstable’.

"Well, some new blood, pure as it is, will be a boon to that line. Thank goodness he didn't have any sisters to marry!" The witch replied with a snigger.

"Quite so! But, if you excuse his gaze, the young groom was always of a far more moderate nature by all reports," enthusiastically added the wizard.

Eve's breath caught in her throat. This now sounded suspiciously like someone she knew, and knew well. 

"The Gaunts were positively ashamed of him, I heard!" the witch squealed with delight, revelling in the drama.

Eve's world seemed to crumble around her. The realization hit her like a wave of icy water. He was getting married, in silent acquiescence of his pure-blood family's wishes.

No, not in acquiescence! He had surely meant to find a reason—to manufacture one—in order to extricate himself from his relationship with Eve those many months ago.

So quickly did her rage overtake her she very nearly forgot where she was. Her face darkened, “So that's what he meant to tell me last night!” she seethed internally. Anger surged through Eve's veins, shattering any illusion of her supposed indifference to him. She was not quite so ‘moved on’ as she had thought.

“Uh- your change, Miss?” Said the stall’s vendor as he tried to push the knuts into her hand and see her on her way. For a moment she glared at him. How dare he interrupt her at so important a moment!?

Blinking away her ferocious scowl, she checked herself. “I need to get away from here!” she thought desperately. She was determined to remain unaffected by this news—too late, perhaps, to hide it from the shopkeep, but if she kept this small regression to herself, no one else need know. With a whirl of her cloak, she had refused her change and swept off down a nearby alleyway, struggling to maintain (or regain) her composure. 

As she leant against the cold stone wall, outwardly unaffected by the storm raging within her, Eve took a deep breath and steeled herself. She knew she had to put on a mask of indifference, no matter how difficult it might be. The townspeople will have quite a thrill from this news, and yet more so from the gossip that will undoubtedly ensue regarding his and Eve’s recent separation.

“To think I regretted putting him off last night! The spineless worm will not hear from me in a hurry,” she fumed.

Later that afternoon, upon her return from a lengthy walk around the dale to calm herself, she saw someone lingering at her shop door. Their coat was pulled up high against the cold and Eve made to hide but, the stranger turned to reveal they were no stranger at all.

“Poppy!” Eve called as she made for her friend’s side. “I didn’t expect you until Tuesday.”

“Oh, Eve. I’ve had news and thought I had best come quickly,” she said looking concernedly at Eve, who suspected she might know what this news was.

“You’d better come inside.”

Waving a quick greeting to Penny and showing her friend inside her room, Eve waved her wand. At once the bed was swallowed into nothingness and two comfortable leather armchairs appeared in its place. “Have a seat, I’ll put the kettle on,” said Eve quietly.

Poppy had known her friend far too long and shared far too much in their lives to waste time on trivial pleasantries, and each of the girls considered the other as a sister. She was a sweet and kind young woman, still in single blessedness herself as it happens, but not for much longer it was suspected. “Oh, Eve. I don’t know how to begin-”

“Then allow me, darling. You’ve heard about Belvina Black’s happy circumstance?” Queried Eve, forcing a lightness into her tone that convinced nobody.

“Happy for whom, I wonder,” replied Poppy with a pointed stare. “Don’t play at this nonsense with me.”

Eve sighed and slumped down into her chair, watching as the silver spoon stirred itself around her teacup. “He came to see me last night-”

“And he told you himself!?” Poppy exclaimed before Eve could finish.

“No-” Eve began.

“He didn't even mention it!?” Poppy rose, nearly shouting the question in such accusing outrage as Eve had never seen.

“Sit down, silly girl,” Eve said with a laugh in spite of how she felt at this moment. “He came to see me but I turned him away. I assume he had meant to inform me…”

“Oh, Evie,” Poppy moaned as she piled onto her friend and wrapped her in a desperate hug.

Struggling to breathe but glad of the comfort, Eve hugged her friend in return. “I shoon’t ‘e so upsed,” she said but her words were badly muffled by the shoulder of her friend.

“What?” asked Poppy as she pulled back, confused.

“I shouldn’t be so upset,” Eve repeated, now able to breathe and speak freely. “I’ve moved on-” Poppy scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I am trying to move on, at least.”

A small silence followed, not an uncomfortable one. It was a silence that spoke volumes. Eve was trying to move on, but not succeeding. She had been so greatly wronged by him but he owned her heart, wholly and unconditionally. Both girls sighed.

“Have you spoken to him lately, then?” Asked Poppy after a while.

Eve didn’t have to ask for clarification, she knew who she meant. “No, not for a month at least. I met with Mirabel and Sharp though!” She added with surprising enthusiasm.

“Well, that's hardly a date—or you at least,” Poppy replied with half a laugh. “Are they adorable together?”

“Mirabel is adorable always, and Sharp well- he was a positive puffskein in her presence. Touching her hand, and laughing, if you would believe it!” She giggled along with her friend, delighted for an excuse to escape her own misery. “Apparently they move into the cottage together in, well, it would be just a couple more days, I expect.”

“I don’t know why but they are just perfect for each other, exact opposites in almost every way…” Her words petered out as Poppy realised that this was true of Eve and Ominis, or so it had been.

Where Eve was warm and kind, Ominis had been standoffish and merely polite if required. Though he had grown to trust others a bit more, he remained closed off to all but his closest circle of friends. This circle, until about 8 months ago, had included Poppy Sweeting. The two had gotten on extremely well. Ominis’ dry and dark sense of humour was in contrast to Poppy’s seemingly evergreen genial demeanour but laughs came easily and the banter was frequent. 

She could never understand why Ominis had acted as he did, but her concern was devoted to Eve alone. There was no questioning it, Poppy was ultimately Eve’s. Events of their Fifth year at Hogwarts had cemented that enduring closeness and nothing would come between them so long as they lived. Perhaps this dutiful devotion was a symptom of being a Hufflepuff, but in truth, she owed Eve a great deal.

Having confided in her friend about the nasty nature of her upbringing and parentage, Eve never turned her back on Poppy. To Poppy's amazement at the time, Eve did quite the opposite. She didn't brand her friend a hypocrite but rather, she devoted herself to aid Poppy with unwavering determination. Using all her (ample) abilities, Eve committed to bringing down the poaching ring that threatened the valley's magnificent beasts.

One of their most memorable missions involved saving a dragon from an underground bookmaker’s ring, only to later run a harrowing gauntlet to return the egg to an incensed brood-mother, an act that proved both courage and compassion. And so, their friendship flourished in this unconventional but effective way. Though not as powerful as Eve, Poppy’s empathy and zeal stayed her friend’s hand when force was ill-advised. They complemented each other's strengths and supported one another in their weaknesses. These young girls were a formidable team and would be so in any endeavour thereafter.

The young women lost track of time, talking until the warm glow of the afternoon sun sank low enough to fill the room, and rising to light some candles, they continued until sometime around seven o’clock. Discovering that Penny intended to meet her friend Deek in the Hogwarts kitchens for supper, Poppy and Eve sought out their frequent haunt—the Three Broomsticks. 

At times, Eve had wondered if she should find somewhere else to eat and drink, but there was nowhere better. The warm and wonderfully spiced butterbeer, the delightful music, and the jolly patrons made it an unparalleled experience. She recalled trying the Hog’s Head at one time. Jasper Trout, the innkeeper, was friendly enough, but that insufferable portrait made her head ring (which was, of course, her own fault for putting him there). Moreover, the patrons were sullen and surly.

On this particular Sunday evening, as they entered the Three Broomsticks, the usual crowd was dotted among the tables. Local residents and visitors from afar mingled, sharing tales of travel and trade, their conversations lively and animated.

Returning to their earlier conversation, Eve turned to Poppy and inquired, "So when do you return to the Continent?"

"Two days from now, unless the team can find it and bring it in before then. In that case, I'll have a Nogtail to attend to instead," Poppy replied with a sigh.

Eve's brow furrowed. "Will Muggle-repelling charms not suffice—for the Erkling, I mean?"

Poppy shook her head. "No, unfortunately. It's already taken two Muggle children. It's a dire situation."

"Merlin, how awful!" Eve exclaimed, her voice genuinely pained.

"It's too awful. And, the International Confederation of Wizards is already preparing its case against the German Ministry for the breach. Johannes is going to have an awful time dealing with the fallout," Poppy explained, mirroring Eve’s strained tone.

Poppy was now Lead Investigator for the British Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had been pulled in on a case outside of Stuttgart, Germany, and the current lack of progress was clearly wearing on her.

Eve sympathized, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, if it's the Nogtail you're called away for, at least the albino bloodhounds will be a fun substitute for a field partner. But shouldn't the Pest Division be sorting that out?"

Poppy sighed again. "They simply can't spare the personnel for it. They're all occupied with the Bundimen infestations in Wales."

"Good grief, is there no peace for anyone at the moment?" Eve asked rhetorically, a sense of exasperation in her voice.

The current state of affairs weighed heavily on both of them. The constant challenges and crises, both personal and worldly, seemed to leave little respite for them.

“It’s a shame Penny didn’t join us, she’s quite funny when she’s tipsy!” Poppy giggled.

“Yes, when uh-uninhibited, she’s certainly less formal. But I should have enjoyed her company even if she exercised her temperance. She has been away with Deek an awful lot,” Eve said with a hint of questioning in her tone. “You don’t suppose they are… you know…”  

“I’m not even sure that’s possible, Eve,” Poppy lowered her voice and leaned in. “A house-elf can’t erm, procreate, without expression permission from their masters. And even then, it's only to produce a new generation to serve the House. They’re both free elves, they don’t have anyone to ask permission of, and indeed if they don't need permission, they might not see a reason to… you know.”

Eve frowned deeply. “But surely they're not incapable of, shall I say, romance? They would not need permission to feel an interest, right?”

Poppy shrugged, “I could ask the department if you’re really that curious. Fergus is a nice man, and almost exclusively deals with elf-related cases.” Eve answered with a vague hum.

“It’s a shame Curse-Breakers don’t operate out of the Ministry, I’d see you more often.” Poppy offered a change of subject. “But at least you’ll be in London!” She finished brightly.

“Perhaps, but it’s as much a desk job as yours is!” Eve replied, taking a deep swig from her tankard. “Neither of us would ever be at the office,” Eve laughed, as Poppy pouted with an exaggeratedly glum look. 

“You’ll be off to Egypt or Mexico, and goodness knows where else!” Poppy exclaimed.

“And you’ll be tramping through the Schwarzwald! Besides, I don't actually have the job yet,” Eve pointedly reminded her. 

“No, but you’ll get it,” She responded, so matter-of-factly that it seemed as sure as sunrise.

Isko Rabe had explained there had been a recent opening but declined to enlighten Eve as to why there was a job vacancy. It was all the same to Eve though. If some awful accident befell her, like that of Photine whose note Eve had found on a body in the cellar of an abandoned manor at West Manor Cape, then so be it. 

Eve wouldn’t shy away from living for fear of dying.

Chapter Text

First week of December, 1896

Eve had seen him just once since she heard the news of his imminent marriage—two days after she had overheard that dreadful conversation. Before she could catch herself she felt her face transform into a scowl so deep and foul and watched as Ominis paled at the sight of it and rush off down the nearest lane. “He had better run. Why does he linger here, surely he has better places to be nowadays?!” she thought bitterly to herself. 

As Ominis burst into the little cottage he had once called home, he leant upon a sideboard and tried to catch his breath. Gripping his chest, from heartache more so than over-exertion,  he slumped down onto the floor and wept. “I am a wretched fool! What I had was so precious…how could I have thrown that away?” he moaned as he tucked his legs to his chest, burying his face in his knees.

A few more days saw Eve settle into a rolling boil and a decision that absolute outward indifference was the way forward. Doubling down on her efforts to move on from her heartbreak, she wished to make some sort of statement, to acknowledge his betrothal but show that it wasn’t of huge consequence to her (though indeed it was). She toyed with various ideas, “Perhaps I should send him a congratulations note?” She mused late one afternoon, as she ran her fingers over soft quills and crisp parchment on the Scrivenshaft shelves. But she doubted she could maintain a steady hand. She considered dropping by and expressing her best wishes in person, but if she couldn't trust her hand to stay steady, she couldn't very well trust her body. She gave a heavy sigh and departed empty-handed.

The days slipped by, it was now a little over a week since the news . Eve had calmed to little more than a simmer now, realising that she had been struggling to accept it for months she was relieved to have some closure as she knew now that it was certainly over. She had busied herself with proprietary matters, usually organising orders of new stock for the store, this week she had taken up an old habit of small raids to see what she could find in the countryside. It was fun, thrilling and most profitable for the store, even if it did take its toll on her body. “Nothing that a healthy stock of Wiggenweld’s can’t patch up!” She hummed brightly as she filled her satchel with vials of the bright green liquid.

Rising at dawn, she selected her Treasure-Seeker’s attire, a fitting ensemble for the task at hand she thought, and complimented it with a banded colour scarf and pair of handsome refined duelling gloves (these had protective knuckle shields in a fine copper that she was very fond of). Throwing her staple rugged overcoat, she was ready to brave the early winter weather.

With little idea of where to begin, she first travelled to Lower Hogsfield and waved good morning to Mr Sehmi. She carried on, wandering the paths further down the valley, until she came across signs of a nearby Mongrel lair somewhere in the small thicket of trees by the river. She wouldn't usually bother herself with such easy game, but she noticed that Arn had set up shop in dangerous proximity to them. She cleared the Mongrels out and had little to show for her efforts aside from a few samples of fur. Passing Arn’s cart, she stopped in for a chat, asking after his brother, Kaal—an accomplished goblin metal worker who had assisted with the Ocufili—as it had been some time since they had spoken.

Traversing the steep incline to the right of Brocburrow, near to the Guild Perch, she rooted out a nest of Spiders and found them to be a little more of a challenge—two Venomous Scurriers, a Shooter, and a Matriarch! Despite what she had told some villagers, she truly did abhor spiders. Too many eyes, too many legs; they made her skin crawl. Making reasonably quick work of the spiders, Eve moved on seeking more challenging prey. Consulting her map and mounting her broom, she headed for Brocburrow’s Floo Flame and travelled to a spot along the rocky shore in north Cragcroftshire.

When she alighted at the Cragcroft Shore Floo Flame for the first time in many years, a wave of grief she thought had long since passed crashed over her. It was just as she remembered it, walking between the steep cliffs with Professor Fig, wondering why the Keepers had sent her here. The majestic Graphorn, its perfect likeness carved into the cliff face, loomed above. In the short time she had known Fig, he had been something of a father figure to her, but he too had been taken from her.

Blinking back a tear, she thought a walk would do her good. Eve turned and made her way out of the ravine passing a Jobberknoll den on her left. Skipping across the falls to collect some Ashwinder eggs and some lacewings flies (you can never have enough ingredients in your stores), she wandered on and met up with Rohan Prakash. He had no news or anything wares of interest to her so she carried on.

Way out on the Clagmar Coast, below a Fwooper den she found a Troll lair—with not one, but two Trolls! Now this was good fun. Ducking and weaving, shielding and blasting; she hadn’t used these kinds of combinations for too long! It gave her a chance to really stretch her legs, as it were, and Eve had always found duelling to be invigorating. She was much more powerful than she had been in her fifth year, but so rarely got an opportunity to let loose, she was a little rusty and suffered a few blows. Downing a Wiggenweld, she carried on parrying attacks and firing off spells in return, it was exhilarating.

Puffing and panting as she watched the last troll’s club roll away down the hill, she looted the nearby sacks and crates. Her adventures for the day had yielded a modest list of sellable goods:

1 x  plain school uniform with a Cableknit sweater, 

6 x Troll Bogeys

1 x Tartan Vest uniform

5 x Dugbog Tongues 

3 x Vials of Leech Juice

3 x Mongrel Fur

6 + Wiggenweld’s (Hard to say, as she had used them as she found them)

1 x Decorous Blazer school uniform

180 Galleons

Mildly concerned at why there were a number of uniforms lying about the dens of dangerous creatures, Eve set off home. She gave the clothes to Penny for some required mending, a few simple seams and the like, and Eve cleaned them up with a scouring charm. With a uniform selling almost as soon as it had reached the rack, Eve thought she should really should get back into this habit, it was great for business!

Perhaps it was blowing off steam on the trolls or that she was beginning to heal now that she knew there was no scenario in which she and Ominis would ever be together again, but she was feeling rather reconciled with the news. Her recent happenstance catchup with Arn a few days ago was a fortuitous one. She had finally decided on a wedding gift for him, but she needed Kaal’s help. Eve planned to replicate her early work, just in miniature form—a wee pair of Oculfili, so small as to service a newborn.

She figured that this gift was a threefold message. Firstly, it was functional. Despite her lingering cheerlessness, she was proud to say she was not a frivolous woman and delighted in giving truly useful gifts. Secondly, it implied she had considered his new future and what it would bring, and harboured no ill will or resentment (though this was, at present, still a lie).

Lastly, it was a statement on how she viewed his right to see and extended her talents to the benefit of his progeny if they were not so fortunate as to escape his condition naturally.

Laying it out this way in her own mind, she had to swallow a lump in her throat. His children will see no matter the genetic outcome, but his children would be exactly that— his children, and not hers. Inhaling a ragged breath, she turned to an ornately carved chest in the corner of her room. Protected by a good deal of enchantments, it took her some minutes or more to gain access. Alarming Penny with an ear-piercing screech, she had failed to remember one particular enchantment and silenced it a little too late.

Provided Arn had sent on her regards to Kaal, it would not be rude to reach out to him to request his help in a few more day's time. But before she could even think about reaching out to Arn’s brother, she must gather her own materials. Without the original pair of spectacles to base the new pair on, she had to work from her notes. She sifted through the pile of parchment scraps and journals held securely within the chest, but it seemed one was missing. Given the effectiveness of her security, she figured there was no way someone had been able to steal it. “I must have overlooked it, it’s still in the Room ,” she murmured to herself as she order the journals by date in the chest and locked it once more.

Fortunately, she had an excellent relationship with several of the Hogwarts staff, including Madam Scribner. She wrote a short letter requesting access to the Hogwarts archives as a means of obtaining a reason to be within the school walls.

Dear Madam Scribner,

I hope this letter finds you well. May I kindly request permission to access the Hogwarts Library archives once more, for research purposes? Your consideration is greatly appreciated.

P.S. Your former assistance in locating materials relating to imbuing semi-sentience was most helpful!

Sincerely,

Eve Alatar

***

15 December 1896

As Eve stood in the familiar yet melancholic emptiness of the Room of Requirement, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness mingling with her deep appreciation of this space.  Her Enchanted loom and Desk of Description, once essential tools of her craft, had since vanished, recovering the Moonstone for an immense project she would one day undertake. The vivariums that had once housed her beloved beasts had been emptied and entrusted to Poppy's care, a necessary arrangement that still tugged at her heartstrings. The potting benches stood before her, their soil barren and devoid of life. The potion stations similarly sat quietly gathering dust, with the exception of a single hopping pot that had, at some point, conjured a vial of Felix Felicis. The room seemed to thrum with a familiar energy, like her Ancient Magic and yet unique.

Eve's eyes swept across the room, taking in the grandeur. The vaulted ceilings soared above her with enchanted books flapping overhead. The internal colonnaded porticoes, with its intricately carved pillars and heavy drapes, added an air of elegance and mystique. The sweeping staircases beckoned her to explore the higher levels, still covered in lush and verdant vines.

Enchanted bookshelves, laden with magical artifacts, lined the walls, forming a mesmerizing display of cauldrons, skulls, tomes, wand cases, astronomical charts, and celestial globes. Each item held its own tale, a fragment of knowledge waiting to be studied. The room had been a sanctuary of wisdom and wonder, a place where Eve had once found solace and inspiration—a space where she had undertaken some of her most important work to date.

Suits of armour stood tall against the walls, their polished surfaces reflecting the room's soft glow. Beast statues, meticulously carved in pure alabaster, dotted the space, bringing magical creatures to life in intricate detail.

Plush chaise lounges and armchairs, adorned with richly patterned fabrics, offered a haven of comfort and relaxation, beckoning Eve to unwind and contemplate amidst the room's comforting embrace. Low coffee tables, laden with an assortment of curious objects, showcased a world of wonders—a crystal globe forecasting the weather, intricate musical instruments emitting melodic tunes, and wizard chess pieces poised for strategic play.

Reluctantly, Eve tore her gaze away as she remembered why she had come. Her eyes settled on a lectern in the centre of the room. The Room of Requirement had offered her a gift; the missing journal was placed upon it. She clutched the book to her chest and whispered a ‘thank you’ to the Room. Though there was little more to see, she delayed her exit after collecting the book and the small golden-hued potion she had left behind many years ago. This was a place of such comfort and delight in her schooldays, it was a shame to leave it. But leave it, she must. With a heavy sigh and one last gaze around the room, she passed through the exit and entered the Astronomy Tower corridor, and readied herself for an obligatory visit to the Library, the pretence for her being here in the first place.

Having lost herself in a book of significant interest, Eve cursed herself for the rush she was now in. Tonight, of all nights, she had to be collected and calm! Eve was meeting someone, but this time it was officially a date. They had seen each other a few times and corresponded via letters frequently, but a fortnight ago he asked to take her out on "a night she wouldn’t forget". 

Eve swallowed hard when she thought of it, it was going to go one of two ways: she would have a great time and leave all thoughts of Ominis behind her forever, or she would be plagued by memories and comparisons to him and waste her and her date’s time. “No good wasting it right from the off. If he could be on time from all the way from Egypt, I should be able to manage the same courtesy!” She thought desperately as she ran into the shop already flicking off gloves, shoes and her scarf.

//

As the door slammed open her eyes widened in horror. The resident poltergeist was rifling through her drawers and flinging their contents about the room, blushingly, she noticed her intimates currently flying through the air. “Fastidio! Now is not a good time,” She said warningly.

“Oh, and it is such a shame that a legal contract is binding, isn’t it?” He mockingly beseeched. 

With a huff and a glare, she set about pulling clothes off the floor to see if any of them would do for the occasion. She was stressed and nauseated, it had been so long since she felt nervous like this.

“Preparing for battle are we?” The spirit playfully queried as he somersaulted in the air. “You’re ready for Round Two with me then.”

“I’m afraid not, but I can honestly say I’d prefer to be in your hellish dungeon than what I’m headed for.”

His curiosity piqued, Fastidio halted, having just snapped a pearl necklace and watching them scatter across the floor. “Sounds intriguing. Can I join you?” He said with a malicious grin.

To his surprise, Eve laughed. “I don’t think it is quite your scene. It’s a date,” She said with a lopsided frown on her face and a tension in her voice that suggested anything but a good time ahead.

Strangely, Fastidio had developed a sort of affection for his landlady, or as near enough to it as was possible. For not only had Eve upheld her end of the bargain with grace and honour, but she had also, on occasion, joined him in his chaos. Particularly in the last year, she had taken great pleasure in setting phantom fires to the curtains, filling cupboards with water, and puppeteering mannequins to twirl in the style of popular ballroom dances.

“Bring him here and we can turn the night into a really good bit of fun!” He cackled, as Eve poked her head out of a teal blouse to smile at him.

“For an agent of chaos, you’re quite thoughtful,” She commented, earning herself a withering glare as he resumed snapping the chains of her necklaces.

//

Eve was tense, though it was less about eagerness to impress and more about getting through the night without embarrassing herself. She felt little for the man she was to meet, not nothing, but certainly not the way she felt- ‘ had felt ’, she corrected- for Ominis. She was decidedly out of practice with this sort of thing. 

Applying her signature scent—patchouli and rose, she wondered if this was out of revenge. “What revenge? It’s not like he cares one way or the other!” She thought. Perhaps it was a genuine interest, after all, they had history, however slight. As Eve crossed the square, she saw that familiar boyish smile and casual charm as he leaned against a low rock wall.

Watching on from a darkened doorway, Ominis had spotted her from a sidestreet and thought he might try again to speak with her but as he looked on, he discovered her purpose. As she went up on tiptoes to bless this person with a brief but warm hug, a scowl so deep and of such loathing stretched across his wan features. He was positively murderous, but he knew this was no one’s fault but his own.

Chapter Text

It was early spring, with the snow gradually melting and signs of renewal emerging all around, but Ominis was at the lowest point of his life. The world was awakening from its wintry slumber, yet he felt trapped in a perpetual state of desolation—the separation was fresh. The vibrant colours of blooming flowers and the sweet fragrance of new life that permeated the air were in stark contrast to the barren wasteland within him.

Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of renewal and growth. Trees shed their icy coats, revealing fresh green leaves. Delicate blossoms emerged from the once-frozen ground, painting the landscape in hues of pink, white, and purple. Birds filled the air with their cheerful melodies, celebrating the arrival of warmer days. Yet, none of these external transformations could penetrate the fortress that encased Ominis' heart.

He felt disconnected from the world around him as if an invisible barrier separated him from the joys and promises of spring. The chirping birds mocked him, and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming roses taunted him. Ominis was a mere shell of the person he was with her and each passing day felt like a monotonous cycle, an endless loop of emptiness and sorrow. His interactions with others became perfunctory, devoid of genuine connection. He wore a mask of indifference, concealing the anguish within him. Smiles turned into twisted gestures, hollow and devoid of warmth. Laughter was now a foreign language that he no longer understood. Even the simplest tasks felt insurmountable as if he had been sapped of all his will.

The world outside continued to bloom and thrive, yet Ominis remained stagnant in his misery, his raison d'être melting away like the snow upon the fields.

On a rainy February evening, some four weeks prior, Ominis found himself in the familiar yet distressing position of receiving yet another letter from his parents. It was the third in as many years, and the contents were as predictable as ever. Inquiring about his relationship with the girl, they expressed their disdain and disappointment at her "unknown blood status." With a mix of frustration and defiance, he crumpled the letter in his hand and tossed it into the crackling fire, unwilling to let their pureblood mania tarnish his feelings.

Perhaps spurred by his lack of response, another letter arrived the following week. This time, the tone was sharper, the words more insistent, as his parents demanded that he sever the ties they deemed distasteful and return to the family home. Ominis scoffed at the notion. What home? The grand manor that once exuded opulence and prestige now stood more-or-less abandoned, its vast halls were musty and echoing. Only a few rooms remained habitable, housing his aging mother and father while his older brother, with a tempestuous temper that rivalled his own, languished in squalor and poverty somewhere in Little Hangleton. The disparity between their ancestral heritage and their present circumstances was a bitter reminder of the family's decline.

Frustrated but determined, Ominis composed a reply to his parents' letter, expressing his refusal to comply with their objections and unreasonable demands. He implored them to desist, he was unwavering in his and would never leave the woman they so vehemently disapproved of. There was never any question; he had made his choice years ago, and he would not allow their prejudices to sway him.

Yet, it was in early March that the foundations of his fondness, belief, and devotion fell away. The arrival of a stranger had him questioning everything he thought he knew and casting a shadow over his once-unwavering faith in her.

As the rain fell outside, he recalled that awful night—the memory of Eve's infidelity haunted him. 

It had been nine agonizing months since he had seen her—with his own two eyes— with another man, shattering the trust and love they had built. The image was seared into his mind, etched deeply like a cruel tattoo that burned relentlessly in his thoughts. Each time the memory resurfaced, it tore at his soul, reopening the wound that refused to heal. In that heart-wrenching moment, he had glimpsed them, entangled in an intimate embrace, entirely oblivious to his presence. The identity of the mysterious man remained unknown to him, which perhaps was fortunate for the stranger, for Ominis could not fathom what acts of retribution his tempestuous rage might have unleashed that night.

The overwhelming fury consumed Ominis, and he succumbed to the most acute fit of rage he could ever recall. In his outrage, he had stormed into the shop slamming the door shut behind him with such force, almost ripping it from its hinges. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the deafening sound reverberated in his ears, drowning out everything else. His thoughts whirled, the kiss he had seen, his fingers tangled in her hair, his arm around her waist, the flush in her cheeks. His vision was clouded by a red haze as Eve entered moments later—or was it minutes? He could hardly say. There she stood, removing her coat with a smile, innocent it seemed but it cut him like a knife. 

"I’m sorry I got caught up with-,” She began but her mouth fell open when she saw the look upon his face. “Ominis! What's wrong?" Eve's voice trembled with concern as she rushed to him.

The sight of her attempting to console him in the aftermath of her betrayal only fueled his anger further. Comfort!? That duplicitous witch. He recoiled from her touch, feeling the sting of her deceit piercing through the shattered remains of their relationship, there was no remorse in her eyes, she meant to go on as if nothing had happened. 

"What's wrong? How dare you ask me that!" Ominis spat, his voice laced with anger and pain. "Do you think me still blind? I bet you regret giving me these!” Pointing viciously to the spectacles that rested on the bridge of his nose. 

“Ominis, I- I would never regret such a thing, your ability to see…why I regard it as a right!” She cried desperately with panic in her eyes. 

“Sssso how is it that you think I did not sssee you with him, wrapped in his armsss? How could you betray me like this?" He hissed, his jaw clenched and temples pulsing. The love they had once shared was swallowed whole, lost in a fiery inferno of broken trust.

Eve's face paled, her eyes widening in shock. "Ominis, please, I don’t know what you mean. There must be a misunderstanding. I have been with-,"

But her words fell on deaf ears. The betrayal had cut too deep, and Ominis' heart was engulfed in a raging fire that consumed any remnants of trust or compassion he had. He gripped her wrists and threw her hands from him as she tried again to soothe him.

"You expect me to believe your lies?" Ominis' voice trembled with a mix of anger and sorrow. "I suppose I should congratulate you! You have had the wool over my eyes for Merlin knows how long. Our love meant nothing to you!" He roared.

Tears welled up in Eve's eyes as she reached out, her voice pleading. "Ominis, please, let us discuss this!"

In the depths of his despair and wrath, Ominis cast Eve out of his life. Despite her vehement denials and pleas for understanding, his wounded heart had deafened him to all else. He flew from the house and disappeared into the night. The wildfire of betrayal and pain had spread, fueled by every breath of wind, leaving a scorched landscape where their love had once blossomed.

With a sorrowful sigh, he shook his head. Things had been icy ever since. On the rare occasion where a correspondence had been necessary, it had been for the most part exceedingly civil given the circumstances. Ominis had continued to live in Mind’s Rest (though now paying his way as he had secured himself a job as a Genealogist in the French Ministry of Magic Records a year and a half ago).

As much as he detested using family connections, Ominis couldn't deny the reality of the situation. The opportunity had presented itself through his father's network, and he suspected that the influential Rosier family had played a role in securing the highly sought-after position for him. He had no prior experience, after all, but he could not argue that his inherent abilities aligned perfectly with the demands of the job. With exceptional research skills, Ominis adeptly navigated through the vast repositories of records, unearthing valuable information and tracing ancestral lines with precision. Attention to detail was, of course, second nature to him, allowing for meticulous examination of documents and identification of key facts. Lastly—and this came as a great surprise to himself—Ominis approached the work with empathy and sensitivity, recognising the emotional significance and handling personal stories with care. Despite his own disdain for his family heritage, he counterintuitively embodied the qualities of a remarkable genealogist.

Professional achievements aside, he reflected on the dire state of affairs. He had been burned once before, the constant betrayal of his friend once seduced by the Dark Arts, little lies here and there. But this—this was different. This was a swift severance, an abrupt termination with no hope of reconciliation. The pain of the betrayal and his own explosive reaction had left him in a state of profound sadness and self-doubt, unsure of how to move forward from such a devastating experience. How could he ever trust again?

***

She heard the crack as he Disapparated, the sound resonating through the darkness, an audible sign of his departure. Eve knew that chasing after him would be futile, and with a heavy heart, she retreated into the shelter of the shop. Tears welled in her eyes, but she hid them from the curious onlookers who had gathered on the street corner, roused by the commotion that had unfolded.

In the days that followed, she made attempts to speak with him, calling at the cottage several times. But it was clear that he had left. There was never any smoke billowing from the chimney, no warm glow of candlelight in the windows. Eve couldn't help but wonder if he had completely vacated it, however, despite his absence, a weekly payment continued to be deposited into her account, accompanied by a Gringotts credit note. It was a bitter reminder of the lingering connection between them.

Then, November arrived, and with it came his sudden return. From a distance, Eve observed as he emerged from the Floo Flame very early one morning in a state of great agitation. He appeared dishevelled, tugging at his hair and spinning in circles, seemingly disoriented. After a moment, he realised where he was and hurriedly made his way towards the cottage. She could see he was in an awful state of mind but, truth be told, so was she. Eve had no desire to seek him out again.

She had shed countless tears in the wake of his departure, desperate to reach him, to bridge the widening chasm between them. But every attempt to speak with Ominis was met with a locked door or a cold and resolute silence. It was clear that he had made up his mind on that awful night; she had begged and pleaded for him to listen, to give her a chance to speak. But it was futile. There was nothing she could say or do that would sway him. He had shut her out, closing himself off from any possibility of reconciliation or understanding. It pained her to see the transformation in him, to see the light of their love snuffed out so abruptly. 

In the midst of her own grief, Eve had come to a bitter realisation. It was no use clinging to a love that had already slipped through her fingers. No amount of pleading or reasoning could resurrect it now—he had made his choice, and she had no choice but to accept it.

Chapter Text

The decay and poverty that plagued his once-grand home were stark reminders of the family's downfall. Ominis could still vividly recall the days of his childhood when the manor thrived with activity. But even then, behind the façade of grandeur, he had sensed the undercurrent of financial strain. The elaborate parties and extravagant luncheons were merely brief respites from a life of restricted pleasures. The staff, usually only three or four devoted workers, would be supplemented by additional help only during these social gatherings. It was all a charade, a desperate attempt to keep up appearances for the ghastly pure-blooded families that surrounded them.

As an adult, Ominis reflected on those times and understood the true extent of their financial pressures. The once-lavish lifestyle had crumbled, leaving only remnants of opulence. The grand halls of the manor now echoed with emptiness, their faded splendour a haunting reminder of a bygone era. The once-proud ancestral home had fallen into disrepair, its walls marked by neglect and the passage of time.

The House of Gaunt, an ancient lineage with a dark and powerful history, held steadfast to its preferences for a palette of green, silver, and black, and decorated exclusively with wrought iron, ebony hardwood, and dark marbles. Despite its haunting and menacing ambience, the manor retained a twisted beauty in its gothic aesthetic. 

The manor’s imposing architecture cast a shadow over its inhabitants. The sharp angles and intricate gargoyles perched upon its corners commanded attention, inspiring both awe and unease. Through the stained glass windows, scenes of ancient battles and gruesome rituals were portrayed, casting a kaleidoscope of eerie hues onto the cold stone floors. The twisted designs of the intricately wrought iron railings on the staircases seemed to weave a sinister web in a kind of macabre beauty. The black and green marbles, once polished to a lustrous sheen, now bore a weathered patina, bearing witness to the passage of time and the family's decline.

As one traversed the ebony stairs, now scratched and worn after years of neglect, an air of elegance and mystique still lingered. Each step upon them elicited a mournful creak as if the very foundations of the manor groaned under the weight of the Gaunt history. The once luxurious dark green velvet drapes that adorned the windows now hung heavy and moth-eaten, their once vibrant colour fading into muted shades of moss and decay. His own private chambers, once decorated with opulent furnishings, now held but a remnant of their former splendour. The canopy bed, draped in tattered black silk, stood as a centrepiece of melancholic luxury. The silver candle holders, bearing the family crest (the few that had escaped sale to the Peddlers), were tarnished, their once-polished surfaces now dulled by neglect and time. The grand dining hall, where the Gaunt family once entertained esteemed guests, now lay shrouded beneath white sheets and layers of dust. The massive chandelier, once ablaze with candlelight, hung precariously from the ceiling, its crystals shattered and broken. Despite the decaying splendour, the manor still possessed a macabre allure. Its gothic beauty, intertwined with the weight of its dark history, cast a spell on those who dared to enter. Like the Gaunts themselves, it was a place where beauty and menace coexisted.

Amid this decay, Ominis' ailing father struggled with deteriorating health. His mother, too, was growing older and found it increasingly difficult to provide the care he needed. Ominis suggested employing a nurse to assist with his father's medical needs, but the family had no spare funds to allocate for such expenses. The financial strain was so severe that even the most basic necessities were a luxury they could scarcely afford.

"Things must be dire," Ominis thought, his heart heavy with the weight of their circumstances and his own grief at the time. He felt a sense of helplessness as he witnessed his family's decline and his father's suffering. Yet, when he proposed asking his brother, Marvolo, to attend to their father's care, his mother passionately protested.

“Though married, he is, as yet, childless. Have him attend to Father,” He had suggested.

"Your brother is already burdened with his own afflictions," she pleaded. "Leave him be. We need you, our young son. Please."

Ominis, with a bitter ache in his heart, found himself submerged in the memories of a time when his own parents regarded him as a blight upon the family name. The wounds of their shame ran deep, etched into his very soul. In the dimly lit chamber of his thoughts, he revisited the countless murmured curses, cold and disapproving words. His blindness, an affliction undoubtedly cause by their own vile incestuous habit, became a stain upon the House of Gaunt. His existence was a painful reminder of genetic weakness, for in the eyes of his parents, it was not simply a physical limitation but a tarnish on their noble lineage. Their lineage, with its legacy of power and brilliance, abhorred this imperfection. He remembered the painful moments when he had desperately sought their approval as a young boy. His accomplishments, no matter how remarkable, were diminished by the overshadowing cloud of his disability. His intellect, his talents, and his potential were rendered insignificant in the face of their embarrassment. But as bitterness settled within him, Ominis realised that their shame was not his burden to bear—or one that concerned them any longer. Eve had crafted a solution, not the perfect fix his family no doubt would have wished for, but to them, it was at least serviceable.

Ominis relented and went to them. With no clear purpose or direction in his life, he found himself wallowing in a sea of grief with this pitiful lifeline cast as a means of giving him purpose again. The despondency seemed magnified within the dilapidated walls, and he felt trapped in a cycle of hopelessness and resignation. Which, if Ominis had been present enough to notice, delighted his mother.

Months passed, each day blending into the next with a monotony that mirrored the decaying grandeur of his residence. His father recovered somewhat under the attention of his youngest son, and soon, sly comments were whispered between his parents. 

Ever mindful of their dwindling fortunes, they gradually introduced the notion of a ‘respectable union’ with a ‘worthy woman’. Downcast and dispirited, Ominis would only sigh and shake his head.

The suggestion grew more pronounced over time, as his parents dropped subtle hints about various compatibilities with other noble families. They regaled him with tales of illustrious lineages and impeccable bloodlines that nearly matched their own. Cunning comments disguised as casual conversation floated through the air, speaking of how a potential union would bring stability and rejuvenation to the crumbling family estate. In response, Ominis, slipping deeper into the waves of his wretched sorrow, would only nod and hum noncommittally. Which, again, brought great excitement and a malicious smirk to his mother's features.

The burden of his own resignation and the sombre acknowledgement of his family's financial straits bore weighed upon him. He knew an arrangement would never grow to anything more than stiff tolerance, but perhaps that was all he could hope for—that a desperate attempt to deliver his family from poverty was the best he could ever achieve.

As their scheming grew louder, his parents gradually broached the subject more directly, discussing the possibility of a match between their son and Belvina Black. Ominis knew next to nothing about her other than her age (about sixteen years) and that she was the only daughter of Headmaster Black and Ursula Flint.

They subtly hinted at the potential for a formal proposal, suggesting that the letters from the Black’s sounded promising. Reading from the latest correspondence, she said:

To the House of Gaunt,

I pen this letter with the intention of addressing this matter directly. Recent indications of a matrimonial alliance between our esteemed families should be explored further.

As you know, our families boast a long and distinguished lineage within the pure-blood community. It is this shared heritage and the preservation of our esteemed bloodlines that compel me to discuss the potential union between our children. Such a merger would undoubtedly solidify our positions and ensure the continuation of our proud lineage.

However, it is imperative that we approach this matter with a clear understanding of its transactional nature. Our primary concern should lie in securing the advantageous benefits that this union could bring to our families. Any notions of love or personal happiness must be secondary in our considerations.

While your son's present state of grieving may impede his willingness to embrace this arrangement, it is our duty as parents to guide him towards fulfilling his obligations. The notion of personal happiness, particularly our children's wants, should be of no concern in this matter; instead, our focus should remain fixed on securing our families' respective interests.

In light of the above, I propose that we expedite the discussions regarding a formal proposal and subsequent marriage. Timeliness is of the essence, and it is in our best interest to conclude this matter swiftly, leaving no room for hesitation or second thoughts.

I trust that you understand the importance of this alliance and will act in accordance with our shared goals. Let us proceed with the necessary arrangements, devoid of sentimentality or unnecessary delays.

Yours,

Ursula Black

But, to his mother’s annoyance, Ominis remained detached and aloof, showing no sign that he had even heard her. The veil of his own desolation and the burden of his family's expectations swam lazily through his mind, leaving him somewhere between duty and his own numbness. While the world outside conspired to fulfil this potential betrothal, Ominis existed in a state of silent introspection.

As he contemplated the proposed union with Belvina Black, a solemn realisation settled upon him: it was true, there would be no love in this arrangement, and he could never hope for such a thing again. Still tender from Eve’s infidelity, his broken heart knew that true affection had withered away with it.

"But what does that matter?" he thought, his gaze fixed upon the fading portraits of his ancestors. The weight of his family's needs, the burden of their financial struggles, loomed larger than any romantic aspirations. In his heart, he knew that this union with Belvina would be a transaction, a merging of two families bound by duty and survival: the Gaunts for money, the Black’s for the blood of Slytherin. The prospect of suffering a loveless marriage seemed a small price to pay compared to the alternative: the destitution of his family. 

And so, Ominis made his peace with the sacrifice. He steeled himself against the prospect of never loving again, accepting that his heart would forever be entombed within the memories of Eve. The future, it seemed, held no promise of romantic bliss or shared affection. Instead, it offered him a path of duty, of fulfilling his family's expectations, even at the expense of his own (seemingly unachievable) happiness.

As he gazed upon the fading portraits, a flicker of determination ignited within him. He would endure, he would persevere, for the sake of his family and the remnants of the life they once knew. Love may have abandoned him, but his resigned existence may yet serve the needs of the family.

One morning, in the early hours before dawn, Ominis was unable to sleep and wandered listlessly through the dimly lit halls of the decaying manor, his steps directed by randomness rather than intention. Unbeknownst to him, his unconscious feet carried him to a forgotten passage, tucked away and out of sight from general household traffic. As he stumbled upon its entrance, he came to his sense and felt a dormant hint of curiosity rise.

The air within the passage felt stale and heavy, as though the air was undisturbed for many months. Hesitant, but driven by an inexplicable force, Ominis decided to follow the winding path. The further he ventured, the stronger the scent became. It was a soft fragrance that danced delicately in the air—Rose and Patchouli, a hauntingly familiar combination.

Grief washed over Ominis like a tidal wave, engulfing him in its sombre embrace. The lingering scent permeated the air, it clouded his mind and fogged his senses—a bittersweet reminder of the woman he had loved and let go, it threatened to drown him in a sea of longing. But amidst the melancholic reverie, something else lurked within the hidden depths of the passage—an undercurrent of dark magic, palpable and unsettling. The hairs on the back of Ominis' neck stood on end as a sense of foreboding gripped his heart. In the ancient language of Parseltongue, a hiss escaped his lips, a reflexive response to this malevolence. 

The sound reverberated through the passage. But even as his rational mind urged him to retreat, an insidious curiosity gnawed at his core. What was this place? What was this awful trick of the mind, and how did it know to torment him with thoughts of her? He backed away, heeding the signs. 

But he must know! He dared not ask his mother about this place, and his father, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self, was no longer capable of coherent communication. His curiosity won over his desire to flee from this place, and Ominis found himself lurching down the passage. Determination etched across his face, Ominis cast Protego Horribilis, a complex charm but easy enough to maintain in a space so small and, taking no chances, he followed it with another protective enchantment, Salvia Hexia.

As he waded into the darkness, the tip of his wand blazed as he cast Lumos Maxima, a hovering ball of brilliant light that illuminated the chamber. Blinking momentarily to adjust his vision, Ominis gazed upon a scene that sent shivers down his spine. Before him sprawled a twisted table, an abhorrent workstation cloaked in all manner of grotesque things including the remnants of taxidermy gone awry, and Canid skulls, their elongated jaws locked in eternal snarls, stared back at him with empty eye sockets, their feral essence preserved in a macabre display. Jars, arranged meticulously along the shelves, held a haunting assortment of eyeballs. They gazed out with an unsettling familiarity, some suspiciously similar to human eyes, their irises clouded and lifeless. His face contorted at the thought of what twisted experimentation had taken place within these walls. A stagnant cauldron, once bubbling with a noxious brew of untold intentions, was now abandoned. Its fetid brown surface was overrun by a sickly green growth, a forest of mould and decay. The air held a pungent stench of the now acrid alchemical concoction, an olfactory assault that made Ominis crinkle his nose in disgust.

He turned away and was drawn to a collection of vials containing potion ingredients. As he cautiously approached, his nostrils twitched with anticipation. He sniffed, the pleasant scent was stronger here. His eyes fell on two small vials off to the side: one was seemingly empty, but the other held a wire of some kind that reflected in the light. His hand reached out, trembling slightly, to retrieve the vial. Within its transparent chamber, a single, delicate golden thread caught the light. As he held it up to his eyes, an expression of confusion mingled with awe crept over his face. This was no thread, it was a single strand of golden hair. Turning the vial over in his hand he read the label—marked with an "EA." His mind began to race. His eyes flicked to the row of ingredients: Lacewing flies, Bicorn horn (powdered), Knotgrass, Boomslang skin… He whirled back around to the stagnating cauldron but, daring not to disturb its contents, instead launched himself upon the empty vial. He seized it and, unstopping the cap, was immediately assuaged by the last vapours of that familiar rose and patchouli scent.

His breath became short and sharp as he desperately tried to keep his wits. “Polyjui-” He choked. The urge to tear at his own hair, throat and eyes was near overwhelming. “These vile, ghastly, delinquent villains have-!” his internal monologue screamed, but fell abruptly silent. “Hush, you fool,” a voice in his head said, arresting all thoughts in his mind. “They are but a symptom, it was you that did the damage.”

A long and deafening silence followed as his eyes passed over the evidence of his family’s treachery that lay before him. 

He whispered, just as the light above him blinked out and the shadows swarmed and swallowed him in darkness, “What in Merlin’s name have I done?"

Chapter Text

Bursting from the Floo Flame just before sunrise, Ominis was in a state of utter dismay. He rubbed furiously at his eyes and tugged at his hair, “How could they have done this? How could I have been so blind!?” he thought frantically. “What can I do? I have to make this right!” Spinning in circles, a mirror of his swirling thoughts, he lost where he was. Gathering his senses he chose his direction and set off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Eve watched as he ran off into the dark, memories floating back unbidden of the night he stormed out of the shop. Though she masked her inner turmoil well behind a façade of stoicism, in less than half an hour she would be privately venting all of her anger and pain into the wanton destruction of countless vases, inkwells, and plates.  The room echoed with the symphony of shattered porcelain, as she found herself casting the Reparo spell more times in a month than ever before in her magical career. It became a cathartic act of rebellion against the pain and disappointment that consumed her. Yet, despite her private outbursts, she knew there was nothing more to be done. The relationship had reached its bitter end.

Her heart had been shattered by his lack of trust. Amidst the vast array of enchantments, magical items, potions, charms, and transfigurations at their disposal, how could he not, even for a moment, consider a more plausible explanation? It was glaringly evident to her that someone had impersonated her, fabricating a false image of adultery to manipulate him. Yet, he stubbornly clung to his belief in her betrayal, unwilling to entertain any alternative. Perhaps, she mused, deep down, he sought an excuse to free himself from the confines of their relationship.

And so, Eve made a conscious decision to sever ties. Eve clung to the small moments of joy that remained in her life. There was still dinner with Mirabel to look forward to, and her upcoming date—though she was apprehensive about that one…

***

She was so anxious about being late that she nearly sprinted up the streets and stopped momentarily to catch her breath. Smoothing her hair she stepped out and spotted him in moments. As she crossed the bustling square, Eve felt a thrill of unexpected delight coursing through her. It had been far too long since she had laid eyes upon him, and she was genuinely pleased to see him for more reasons than one. A man of around twenty-two years now, time had made subtle changes to his features, rendering him both familiar and yet somehow transformed.

Her gaze swept over him, taking in his height and broadened shoulders. His once-boyish face had matured, though that same charming grin lingered. And there, adorning his now handsomely defined jawline, was a short and rugged beard, in that trademark red. Garreth Weasley, with his green eyes and a constellation of freckles, leant against the low rock wall, an air of cool nonchalance about him. 

Garreth's signature flame-red hair, as vibrant as ever, caught the afternoon sunlight and cast a fiery halo around his face. His complexion, kissed by the sun, had warmed to a healthy bronze under the Egyptian rays.

Eve couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth in her chest as she reached up on her tiptoes to embrace him. He was still the Garreth she had known, and yet, he had matured, and grown into the man he was meant to be. There was a strength about him, an aura of self-assurance that she couldn't help but admire.

The reunion was effortless; no awkwardness or stiffness. Their embrace was warm and close without being overfamiliar. There were no forced pleasantries or strained small talk; conversation flowed naturally between them as if they had never been apart. They picked up where they had left off, their conversation filled with laughter, banter, and genuine joy.

Eve's eyes widened with excitement as they approached the meadow and laid eyes upon the majestic hippogriffs, Highwing and Caligo, tethered nearby. The magnificent creatures bowed their heads gracefully, seemingly welcoming their presence.

Unable to contain her astonishment, Eve turned to Garreth, her voice filled with wonder. "How did you manage this?" she asked, her hand gently stroking Highwing's neck.

Garreth grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I had a bit of help from Poppy, truth be told," he confessed.

Eve's brows furrowed in mock anger. "That conniving little witch! How dare she keep secrets from me!" she exclaimed playfully.

Garreth laughed, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, it wasn't a secret, it is more of a surprise. You see, it's different," he explained. "And I'm glad she didn't betray me because there are two parts to this one."

Curiosity sparked in Eve's eyes as she looked at him, waiting for him to reveal the second part of the surprise.

Garreth extended his hand, an invitation for her to join him on this magical adventure. "Which shall you ride?" he asked, a twinkle of anticipation in his voice.

Eve's heart raced with excitement—this was not a simple ‘sit down to dinner’ sort of date and Eve was thrilled by it! She made her choice and mounted Highwing. Having been introduced back in Fifth year, Highwing and Eve had a longstanding connection. Her form was a perfect blend of avian and equine grace, a stunning female with snow-white plumage. Curious and intelligent, her eyes took in everything around her as she stood powerful and proud.

Garreth reached into his satchel and flung a small bag to Eve. Peering inside, she discovered it was filled with slices of toast. "We have a squid to feed," he explained with a wink and a mischievous smile. Eve's eyes widened in surprise and amusement. She couldn't help but appreciate the effort he had put in.

As Highwing carried Eve through the skies, the wind rushing against their faces, they soared over the vast expanse of the lake. Garreth skillfully guided his hippogriff companion beside them, his face alight with exhilaration, a brilliant smile stretching across his features.

In the distance, they spotted the telltale signs of movement beneath the shimmering surface. Eve reached into the satchel and retrieved a few pieces of toast and tossed them back towards Garreth, gliding skillfully behind them.

Clutching a few pieces herself, Eve leaned over Highwing's back and playfully tossed the slices towards the water. The toast spun through the air, twirling and flipping before landing on the surface with a gentle splash. 

Suddenly, with a burst of motion, the giant squid’s tentacles emerged from the depths, slinking and writhing towards the floating feast. In a graceful dance, its long appendages curled around each slice of toast, then in a titanic wave of motion, the squid pulled its head from the water and every tentacle shot into the air, propelling the food right into the squid's waiting mouth.

Eve and Garreth hooted and wailed in excitement as they watched the squid devour the slices in one swift motion, its massive beak snapping shut with a resounding splash. The water churned and frothed, as it disappeared back into the black depths.

As the wash dissipated, Highwing and Caligo gracefully descended towards the shore, their wings beating with a gentle rhythm. Eve's eyes widened in delight as her gaze fell upon a beautifully laid-out picnic blanket, topped with a bottle of wine, two glasses and a few wrapped bundles of other goodies. A coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her heart fluttering with warmth at Garreth's thoughtfulness. How had he managed to coordinate such a magical evening?

With a soft blush colouring her cheeks, Eve couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for the man beside her. She hadn’t known what to expect from this evening, but it certainly was not this. He knew her.

As the sun descended towards the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the tranquil lake, Eve and Garreth settled onto the soft blanket, propping themselves up on their elbows. The delicate clink of wine glasses filled the air as they raised a toast and indulged in an assortment of bread and cheese. The wine flowed freely, almost as well as their conversation and laughter, in fact. 

Occupied by a shank of lamb, the hippogriffs sat gnawing contentedly behind them until the sun went down, at which point Garreth rose to throw a blanket over each of the hippogriffs. As the twinkling stars emerged in the velvety night sky, Garreth reached into the same (undoubtedly) enchanted pocket within his coat and produced an extra cloak. A soft smile graced his lips as he handed it to Eve. "I feared you may be cold, not knowing how long we would be out for and all," he said, his eyes thoughtful

Eve gratefully accepted the cloak, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Garreth's resourcefulness and attention to detail were beyond impressive—It seemed that he had thought of everything to ensure her comfort and enjoyment throughout the evening. She wrapped the cloak around herself, feeling its cozy embrace ward off the cool night air.

But Garreth had one more surprise up his sleeve. With a mischievous grin, he retrieved a small telescope from another hidden pocket. "Courtesy of our dear friend, Amit," he revealed. "Most conveniently, he happened to be at Poppy's house every time I visited to discuss the logistics of Highwing and Caligo." His eyes sparkled with a playful gleam.

Eve smirked. "Well, they might have been slow in their progress," she replied with a teasing tone, "but I have a feeling a wedding will be in order sooner than later." Eve was so confident in this fact that, unthinkingly, she added, “Will you join me at the wedding?”

Blushing at her own boldness, Eve felt both vulnerable and excited. Garreth's eyes widened, and for a moment Eve shrunk at the fear of rejection but soon relaxed as she saw a grin spreading across his face. The unexpected invitation had caught him off guard. "I would love that," he replied.

Under the gentle glow of a new moon, Garreth adjusted the telescope with practised ease, smiling to himself as Eve watched him. Offering the eyepiece to Eve, he leaned in close as she peered through the lens, her eyes tracing the familiar constellations and recalling their names. Pointing out clusters she had overlooked, Garreth’s celestial knowledge was a little better than hers. "See here—Orion, the Hunter," he began, his voice soft, "home to two of our brightest stars, Betelgeuse and Rigel. Only observed in Winter time here…”

Pondering the transient nature of the stars, their ebb and flow with the changing seasons, she felt a sadness settle upon her thoughts. To think of those bright lights dipping below the horizon not to be seen again, it reminded her of the impermanence of all things. But that wasn’t true—they may disappear for a short time, but those stars make their way back to us each season, joining us in the cold night skies once again—some things in life come and go, but others find a way of returning. 

Looking between Garreth and the dark expanse above, Eve knew the purpose of this evening, it was always intended to be more than just a meeting of two old friends. “I had not expected this…rekindling of things,” she thought as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She watched him make adjustments to the scope, humming to himself. “It is just as it was. Relaxed, carefree…”

It was a bittersweet moment as she thought of what might have been if she had chosen a different path. There was no changing the past, she knew, but a second chance at such an effortless and uncomplicated relationship was a rare gift. Before the night was over, she resolved it would not be squandered this time.

***

Dearest Poppy,

I write to you with conflicting emotions. On one hand, I am furious with you for withholding vital information about Garreth’s plans that night. But on the other hand, I am overjoyed that your intervention allowed him to create a truly stellar evening. It seems Amit also played a role in this delightful surprise, so please extend my heartfelt thanks to him as well.

Recounting the events of the night is pointless, as you undoubtedly were privy to the plan. But I will say, it was a night I will not forget. His thoughtfulness and attention were evident in every gesture and surprise. It was thrilling, exhilarating, yet peaceful and unhurried.

Of course, it was his goal, but I will admit it has rekindled affections—ones long-denied during our younger years (and hampered by his idiotic foray into misguided and cunning schemes). However, I find myself laughing at those memories now; how young we were and what foolish things we did! I cannot express the surge of happiness I feel, Poppy. I imagined I should feel guilty—about moving on— but the thought has not crossed my mind! Perhaps the guilt will follow in a few days’ time, I cannot say.

And now, I shall pen a confession, both exposing and liberating. Admitting this to you is the same as voicing it to myself, I feel, and it will do me good! I loved Ominis, yes, in the past tense—perhaps a part of me still does, and I do not yet love Garreth. However, I am relieved to be in the clear air again. I fear my life with Ominis was a death by a thousand cuts. It seems unfair, I know, but there was never a day without lingering self-doubt, pity or deprecation that needed dispelling. I overlooked it at the time, but it was a cloud over us—over me. Of course, it was just one date, but with him I was content. Happy. He is confident and self-assured, but not arrogant (he isn’t Sebastian !).

Not all of the credit may go to Garreth though, for it is as much about letting go of my desperate need to fix what is broken, to mend birds with broken wings, as it is about his gentle, easy-loving nature.

While I may be furious at your secrecy, I cannot deny the delight it has brought. Missing you always.

Yours,

Eve

Chapter Text

Christmas had come and gone, leaving behind memories of whirling snow and carols carried on the cold night air. Eve had spent a delightful few days in London with Poppy and her Gran before embarking on her first assignment. She had received her instructions via Owl:

To Eve,

Our esteemed clients require the retrieval of a family heirloom, a sapphire ring of significant sentimental and monetary value, from a seaside cave in Malta. It is believed that an ancestor lost both the ring and their life within the same cave.

Use the enclosed map to locate the cave, break any curses that may be present, and recover the ring. 

Best of luck,

Selena Ravenshadow

Deputy Head Curse-Breaker

Gringotts Bank

She liked Selena, they got on rather well and Eve believed the woman would become somewhat of a mentor to her; but it was a much shorter note than she had anticipated.

Now, standing before the imposing entrance of Gringotts, she felt a surprising lack of nervousness. It wasn't because she believed the task ahead would be easy—she was not in the habit of arrogance and naivety. Instead, it was the realisation that she had stumbled her way through countless trials before, often without much guidance, and yet she had managed to overcome them all. She had faced adversity head-on and emerged all the stronger for it each time. “Besides,” she pondered, "How difficult could it truly be?"

The main hall of Gringotts Bank was a breathtaking display of grandeur and opulence. Towering marble pillars, adorned with intricate carvings, stretched towards the high vaulted ceiling, their surfaces polished to a lustrous sheen. The hall was bathed in a warm golden light, emanating from ornate chandeliers that hung overhead, casting a soft glow upon the surroundings.

The floor, made of polished black marble, reflected the brilliance of the grand hall, adding a sense of depth and magnificence. All about her, goblins went about their business, weighing gems, counting coins and escorting witches and wizards to various desks.

In short order, she was directed to a room off the main hall, stepping into a vast chamber lined with shelves. Each shelf held a myriad of seemingly innocuous items, an eclectic collection of worn treasures. As she walked by, her eyes scanned the array: shoe horns, tarnished silver butter coolers, carved bone and boar bristle brushes, blackened candle snuffers, spoons, bronze whistles, and ceramic bottles with peeling glaze.

Distracted by the assortment she rushed to catch up with her goblin guide, she moved along the rows until they came to a stop in front of a sooty kerosene lamp. Its cast iron base formed a pyramidal shape, adorned with faded scrolls and star shapes on each side. A piece of brass connected the base to a violet-coloured bowl, housing a charred wick. The brass wick holder was worn from countless adjustments.

The goblin gestured to a small plaque in front of the lamp and her eyes widened in surprise. This was no ornament—this was her transport . It read "Rabat, Malta," and next to it was a rusted shaving razor labelled "Rabat, Morocco." 

A sense of adventure tingled in her veins as the goblin grunted and shuffled off. This was to be her destination—one of the far-flung British protectorates, a Maltese colony in the Mediterranean.

***

Released from the uncomfortable tug from somewhere behind her navel, and being stretched and pulled in every direction at once, she landed just outside a rural Maltese village signposted as “Baħrija”. The picturesque countryside was quiet, surrounded by rolling hills and fertile farmland. The village consisted of a cluster of stone houses, built from the local limestone, in a flat-roofed rectangular design that seemed typical of the region. These houses featured thick walls, arched windows, and open terraces.

Life in the village seemed almost exclusively agricultural, with farming being the primary occupation. Vineyards and olive groves dotted the landscape, as fields of wheat, barley, citrus fruits and other crops fanned out in every direction around the edge of town.

The village centre boasted a small piazza. Here, locals were gathering around market stalls to trade goods and stories. At the northern end of the square, stood a humble church flanked by modest buildings with narrow, winding streets leading out of sight. The village was simple and tranquil, with the sound of clucking chickens, the occasional donkey cart passing by, and the distant chimes of church bells.

Eve carried a small satchel, containing only the essentials for her journey. Her wand, a journal and quill for notes, the map to the cave, and a copy of a recently published book, "Saggi del Folklore dell'isola di Malta" by a Sicilian author, were all carefully tucked inside. The book, written entirely in Italian, would have been a valuable resource to anyone that could understand the language, she assumed. Eve, however, did not speak Italian and knew even less of the Semitic language family of this region. But she didn’t dare decline this opportunity and resolved to gather as much information as she could along the way.

Having noted the bookmark on a passage titled “Il-Belliegħa”, Eve had learnt from Mrs Sweeting that this was a witch-like being of Maltese folklore who lurked in caves or wells and snatched over-curious children or foolish villagers that strayed too close to their lair. Initially, Eve questioned whether the assignment fell more within the domain of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. However, since it lay outside their jurisdiction, Poppy reported after consulting with a raft of her colleagues, they could only provide limited assistance in the form of information: 

MALTESE FOLKLORE

Il-Belliegħa

Għar tal-Belliegħa cave: In some versions, the Belliegħa is depicted as a beautiful woman, similar to a siren, using its charm to entice unsuspecting individuals. However, in most other versions, the Belliegħa may be described as a more sinister or grotesque entity. The specific attributes and appearance of the Belliegħa can differ depending on the source or the storyteller recounting the tale. According to the legends, seven sisters entered the Għar tal-Belliegħa cave, but none returned.

They had also included a disclaimer, absolving themselves of responsibility should any harm befall Eve in this pursuit. So, whatever it was, it would be dangerous; a thought that curled the corners of Eve’s lips into an eager grin.

As Eve conversed with a few locals as best she could, she managed to elicit the words "the Swallower" and "whirlpool" from them. Their fearful reactions were palpable as they quickly retreated into their homes, their doors sliding shut with a resounding thud and the sound of grating metal told her they were locked for good measure.

To her surprise, some of the locals cautiously returned, bearing gifts in the form of various Muggle talismans. Bowls of salt, bunches of garlic, and iron horseshoes were among the offerings. One man gifted her a crucifix and made a sort of gesture that seemed to warn against whistling at any point along her journey. “Muggles are terribly odd,” she grumbled, feeling quite encumbered by these ‘talismans’.

Undeterred, Eve followed the map to Għar tal-Belliegħa cave, her footsteps shuffling along the worn dirt path that led northwest out of Baħrija. The journey was hampered by a few wrong turns and difficulty in matching some landmarks, but she eventually climbed down from a limestone cutting onto the beach and stood before the mouth of the cave.

A wide and gaping hole of limestone swallowed Eve in unnatural darkness, where even the light of her wand struggled to pierce the shadows. As she cautiously made her way through the eerie expanse, she came upon a harrowing sight. “Lumos maxima,” whispered Eve as a ball of light flooded the chamber, illuminating the remains of seven adult females (by the shape of their pelvis) laid out in a circle. “The sisters…?” Eve mused.

Looking to the edges of the light, she gazed at a jumble of what must have been several, much smaller, skeletons. “Children,” she whispered, seeing that their bones had been disturbed and displaced by the dark tides that had swept through the chamber. A profound sense of sorrow washed over her, a deep empathy for the lives that were cut short, the futures that were stolen. She bowed her head in reverence, silently paying tribute to these forgotten children—their little souls trapped in this grim grave.

A sloshing noise made Eve spin in alarm. Emerging from the darkness, a haggard old woman with matted silver bedraggled locks appeared before Eve. Long, crooked talon-like fingernails protruded from her bony fingers. Deeply sunken within her skull, her eyes glimmered with an intensity that sent a chill down Eve's spine, a malevolence emanating from their depths. But worst of all, her twisted feet faced backward, moving in a terrifying display of jerking and twitching. Its body spasmed and twisted, with limbs and joints moving in sharp, jagged motions, contorting in unnatural angles with each convulsive tremor. 

Horrified, Eve knew she had to keep her wits about her. “So it isn’t the beautiful siren that lures me to my death, it's the twisted hag. Jolly good,” Eve thought as she slowly and stealthily closed her fingers around her wand, preparing herself for the first move.

She needed to distract it, casting Protego against whatever the…—the what? “ it,” she decided, “I can’t well call it a woman, can I?”—whatever it might hurl at her first and she tossed the horseshoe towards the cave wall to her left. The deafening clatter echoed from every wall in the small cave and did an extraordinary job of disorientating it. As the being spun and flailed in retaliation to every echo, Eve saw a flash of a chain and a red glowing amulet around its neck. Knowing little about the local culture and magical origins she took a chance. Drawing from the scraps of her History of Magic lessons she managed to stay awake for, she recalled that the Jewish mystical tradition, or Kabbalah, leant heavily on divine names, ritual objects, and symbolism. And red was usually the colour for power— “Destroy the amulet and destroy its source of power! Yes, that sounds quite like something I’ve read before. Perhaps in fairytales-”

She had no time to finish her sarcastic and dry self-berating as the woman- the thing- screeched and in her hurry to block out the agonising note, Eve almost dropped her wand. 

Firing off a well-aimed Silencio! The creature's mouth opened wider, a gaping hole in the centre of its face, but wordlessly it screamed and thrashed in anger. Raising its arms EVe heard a rush of water about her and noticed that water was pouring off the walls of the cave, the water level rising alarming fast about her ankles.

Recalling a Drought Charm from her Sixth-year lessons, she saw the waters swiftly recede. The thing tore at its hair, mouthing wordlessly in frustration. The silence was almost more unsettling than its wailing. All Eve could hear was the dripping of the damp cave and her own frightened panting. To fill the silence, she took to talking herself through the fight.

“A being of water, then perhaps fire will harm you. Lacarnum Inflamari !” She yelled but her intuition failed her. The creature did something similar to a laugh and the fire on its tattered dress fizzled out almost immediately.

“No fire. Alright then, how about ice? Glacius !” The ice seemed to root it to the ground, the rags it wore stiffened and it struggled against the charm. Frantically it waved its too-long arms and curled its long fingers, summoning a cool thick mist. “A nebulous charm, eh?” It shrouded itself and Eve lost sight of it. 

“Clarus !” The fog immediately dissipated but it was gone. Stricken with panic, Eve whirled about just in time to dodge a horrific swipe by its jagged nails.

Countering the creature's attack with a swift and precise evaporating spell, Eve witnessed the figure before her wither and weaken. The air around her crackled with the unmistakable energy of Ancient Magic, swirling and condensing as she harnessed its power. With a firm grip on the ethereal forces at her command, she unleashed a searing bolt of lightning that crashed down upon the now-desiccated form, reducing it to smouldering ash and embers. The fiery remnants crackled and hissed, fading into nothingness as they sputtered out.

Overwhelmed with a surge of adrenaline and relief, Eve couldn't contain the bubbling laughter that escaped her lips, the sound of her exhilaration as the chaos of the situation subsided. The laughter echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the walls, and struck her as being incredibly insensitive and inappropriate. Her laughter abruptly ceased as the realisation of her surroundings sank in once more.  She felt a pang of guilt for finding amusement in a place that held such tragedy.

Regaining her composure, Eve turned her attention to a wooden box as it caught her eye, having overlooked it in the wake of the Belliegħa’s arrival. Intrigued, she approached it cautiously, her wand at the ready. She examined the box, taking in its weathered appearance and the intricate carvings adorning its surface. It was a beautiful piece, though incredibly old.

It was decorated with an inscription:

Jekk inqabżu l-kjapp tajjeb, tista' taħsel mil-baħar għall-ġewwa nibqgħu bla ġenb.

Which, of course, meant nothing to Eve (but translates to something along the lines of 'If you press the right key, you may dive into the sea and stay without worry' ).

Passing her hand over the carving, she felt an odd ripple of energy beneath her fingertips. “So this is, indeed, not a standard chest,” she thought as she worried her bottom lip.

With a furrowed brow, she examined it by wand light, admiring the exquisite craftsmanship and appreciating the level of skill that must have gone into its creation. She traced her fingers lightly over the wooden panels, noting the intricate carvings and the beautiful inlays of different types of wood. However, her keen eye detected imperfections in the craftsmanship—a slight unevenness in the gaps between the inlaid panels. These were completely at odds with the rest of the box.

Curious, she lifted it carefully by the handles and brought it, gingerly, out into the sunlight for a better look. 

As it lay upon the sandy shore, upon closer inspection, Eve noticed subtle imperfections in the box's construction in many places. The gaps between the inlaid panels seemed slightly wider in certain areas, but each gap was uniform and polished like the rest. This was not the work of an amateur and instead hinted at intentional flaws rather than poor craftsmanship. The revelation struck her—this was not just your run-of-the-mill cursed chest, but a puzzle box! And this delighted her.

Many of her Ravenclaw friends received them (or something similar at least) as gifts from their families. She had an arrangement; when they had solved them, she would purchase them—they had galleons to buy Honey Dukes’ sweets and Eve amassed quite a collection of gorgeous puzzles. Designed to be both decorative and secretive, Eve knew this is where she would find the ring the client was after.

“I suppose the inscription gives me a clue about which places to press to gain entry,” she mumbled to herself. It didn't, but she wasn’t to know that.

Meticulously examining the carvings and the patterns in the wood, she searched for any clues or indications of a hidden mechanism. Noticing a strange dark green stain on the lip of some inlays, she cast Revelio and avoided at least a dozen more sinister traps laid within its carvings.

She knew that solving this puzzle would require patience, attention to detail, and a dose of intuition—all of which she had. It took more than an hour to identify ‘safe’ panels and make any headway with the device. Eve gently pressed on various sections of the box, testing different panels that appeared slightly looser than the rest. With each press and prod, she listened for any telltale clicks or subtle movements that might reveal a hidden compartment. 

After her discovery of a concealed button cleverly disguised, she made fast progress. Acting on this hunch, she pressed firmly, and a small compartment opened, revealing a tiny silver key with an oddly shaped post and bit. After a thorough search, she noticed a small indentation hidden within the inscription, perfectly sized for the key. With a gentle twist, the key turned, and another compartment revealed itself. Inside, she found a collection of intricately crafted miniature gears and cogs.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the beach, Eve found herself in the final stage of solving the puzzle box. The gentle lapping of waves against the shore provided a soothing soundtrack to her concentration. Eve's attention turned to the gears and cogs she had discovered and the protrusions in the box that her earlier efforts had created. Using her (limited) knowledge of mechanical devices, she carefully manipulated the pieces, aligning and attaching them in precise configurations. Click by click, the puzzle box responded, rewarding her efforts with subtle vibrations beneath her fingertips indicating her progress. After several moments due to shaking hands, all the gears clicked into place, and the puzzle box emitted a soft, enchanting chime.

Eve’s eyelids immediately began to droop. Its captivating notes seemed to possess an otherworldly quality, drawing her deeper into a hypnotic embrace. She felt drowsiness wash over her. Realising the perilous nature of her situation, Eve fought against the encroaching sleepiness. She knew that giving in to the lullaby would leave her vulnerable and at the mercy of the unknown. Summoning all her willpower, in between heavy-lidded blinks, she desperately searched for a way to counter the spell woven by the chime.

Her bleary gaze fell upon a small switch nestled among the gears, a glimmer of hope amidst the fog of drowsiness. With a surge of determination, she summoned her remaining strength, her hand trembling as she reached for it. Time seemed to slow as she struggled against the irresistible pull of sleep.

But fate had other plans. The exertion and strain finally took their toll, and Eve succumbed to the overwhelming fatigue. Her arm fell, her hand inadvertently flicking the switch before her consciousness slipped away.

Waking moments later to a mist of Wideye Potion on her face, Eve blinked away the drowsy fog in her mind, observing the mechanical puff squeeze of the atomiser. “Thank Merlin, for that stroke of luck!” She didn't know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t caught the switch as she winked out of consciousness.

As she gathered her bearings on the serene beach, a mixture of relief and wonder washed over her. She sat with the opened puzzle box on this secluded stretch of shore, and in the fading light examined its contents. Eve's eyes widened in awe as she peered inside. A handful of shimmering gold and silver coins were a glittering bed for a beautifully crafted locket and chain, an ornate Sapphire ring, and something else that seemed quite out of place— nestled among the treasures, she discovered a single small, worn child's shoe, summoning an ache of sorrow in her heart.

As a tear escaped the corner of her eye, she hastily wiped it away, sniffling and blinking rapidly as she gazed out at the crashing waves. Determined to fulfil her duty, she carefully placed the locket, coins, and ring into her satchel; these artefacts would be returned to Gringotts but the shoe remained clutched in Eve’s left hand.

Levitating the now empty puzzle box, Eve cast it into the depths of the sea far beyond the shelf so that no unwitting person may stumble upon it. Watching it disappear beneath the waves, she felt a sense of closure, knowing that the puzzle box had fulfilled its purpose and would rest undisturbed in the embrace of the ocean.

Climbing the cutting she had scrambled down upon her arrival, Eve reached the top and eyed the village in the distance. Following the Roman Catholic tradition she had observed in the village, she conjured two simple white crosses—one for the ring of women and one for the huddle of children. With reverence and care, she raised her wand again and excavated an opening in the limestone for each, ensuring that a shaft of light would illuminate their final resting places.

As Eve stood before the marked spots, she hoped that the villagers would take notice and honour those who had been lost. She prayed that these darlings, both women and children, would receive the burial they deserved, but knew that they would find peace in the light of the sun that would now reach them.

With one last solemn glance around, Eve whispered a quiet farewell to those below her and Disapparated.

Chapter Text

"And then they let me keep the rest! Can you believe it?" Eve exclaimed with a mixture of astonishment and delight. The family had generously paid for the retrieval of the ring, and the goblins had barely batted an eye at the pouch of coins she had included along with it.

"Perhaps they were unimpressed by the baby shoe," Eve remarked, a shadow of grief momentarily crossing her face.

Poppy turned away, hugging her arms tightly around herself, unable to bear the weight of the most harrowing details that Eve had shared. Eve had tried to spare her, knowing her gentle nature, but the truth had slipped out, and the sadness lingered in their thoughts.

In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Eve continued, "It ended up nearly doubling my payment for that assignment!"

Poppy's eyes widened with curiosity. "Oh, and what do you plan to do with it? If you say 'save it', I shall toss this bottle at you!"

Eve laughed and replied, "What's wrong with saving my coin?"

"Nothing! But you deserve to treat yourself, Evie."

"Well," Eve hesitated, contemplating her next words, "I have been thinking that my... accommodations are getting a bit too small."

Poppy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well now, changing that is a significant expense! Are you going to buy a house?"

"Not exactly," Eve replied enigmatically. "I have been saving more than just galleons. Moonstone, too."

Poppy's expression changed as understanding dawned on her. "So, you’ve managed it?" she asked hurriedly, the excitement growing on her face.

She recalled the conversations they had shared years ago about Eve's struggle with her Ancient Magic, how her power, unlike that of Professor Rackham and Isidora Morganach which seemed more versatile and conjuring in nature, was nothing but destructive.

During the quieter days in the shop, Eve had ventured through the Floos to visit the Map Room countless times, seeking additional training from the Keepers. She had immersed herself in Fig's Journals, a graduation gift from Sharp once he deemed her balanced and mature enough to read such material—because defending the repository was not proof enough—and trained diligently, extracting anything she could from Miriam’s research and Eleazar’s observations, honing her skills as best she could.

Eve's journey to harness her ability and successfully erect the vast stone structures that Morganach had trivialised, had been one of perseverance, dedication, and unyielding determination. Initially, her attempts at conjuring structures with her Ancient Magic had been mixed at best. 

Unpredictable bursts of power would send stones flying in all directions or cause them to crumble into piles of rubble. Following a particularly sharp projectile embedding itself just left of one of the enchanted canvases, protective barriers had to be erected in front of their portraits. But Rackham was patient, and she refused to be discouraged by her failure.

Gradually, her understanding of the intricate interplay between her Ancient Magic and the elemental forces of stone developed into tangible results. She learned to tap into the essence of the earth itself, drawing upon its strength and stability to lend solidity to her conjurations. Through countless hours of trial and error, she honed her control over her magic, achieving the finesse necessary to sculpt stone into intricate forms.

Her progress became evident as she conjured sturdy walls and columns that stood strong and resolute. With each success, her confidence grew, allowing her to push the boundaries of her abilities even further. She experimented with different architectural styles, conjuring walls embellished with ornate friezes or fluted pillars like those conjured by the Keepers that surrounded her in that very room.

While she had achieved mastery over many aspects of stone manipulation, there was still room for growth. Vaulted ceilings, with their complex arches and grand supports, required further attention and study. Undeterred, she studied fragments, plans and sketches of the Architect of Hogwarts. Much of it had been erroneously credited to him, Eve thought, but some of it had been exceptionally insightful. To others, his descriptions of ‘imbuing the stone as it is erected’ would mean little to anybody else, but to Eve, this was valuable information on timing and process.

Amidst her progress, Eve had accumulated a significant reserve of moonstone, a mystical gem known for its amplifying properties. This rare and potent material, when infused with her Ancient Magic, imbued her conjured structures with an ethereal glow and enhanced their durability. She had carefully collected the moonstone over time, treasuring each precious fragment as a catalyst for her magical creations.

Now, armed with her growing mastery over Ancient Magic, a wealth of moonstone, and the financial means she had diligently saved, Eve stood on the precipice of transforming all this into something she could show for it. She had found the perfect plot of land to serve as the foundation for her vision, with a few more assignments from Gringotts, she would be ready.

At some point during Eve’s discourse with Poppy, a presence made itself known in the room. It was Penny, the house elf, perched upon Eve's bed, nibbling at a small biscuit, her eyes fixed intently on the conversation unfolding before her.

“Penny asks if Miss Eve might consider making it a little larger,” came a small voice, startling Eve. “If it pleases her, Penny would like to stay by her friend's side.”

“Certainly, Penny! I could never imagine leaving you behind,” Eve exclaimed, appalled at the mere suggestion of abandonment. “I had sketched a room, about twice the size of your current quarters, and added a private washroom and sitting area too.”

“Oh, Miss, you spoil Penny,” she blushed, worriedly nibbling her lip, glancing up at Eve several times as if she longed to express something more.

Uncertain, Eve glanced at Poppy before she inquired, “If you were to contribute to the design, Penny, what additions would you consider for the plan?”

“Mmm, it isn’t for Penny to say…” she said shyly, yet Eve was certain there was something Penny did need to say. After a lengthy pause, Penny added nervously, “But Penny does wonder if there might be another small room, a spare perhaps?”

“Why, that is easily done, Penny. Of course, you can have one for each of your friends, if you so desire!” Eve laughed.

“Oh, it's not for friends , as such,” Penny said, grimacing at Eve's inquisitive gaze.

“You see, Miss Eve, Penny has a different intention, that is—She means to say, could Penny—” The poor elf struggled with her words, unable to find the right ones.

“Whatever it is you wish to ask, Penny, it shall be granted. You are a dear friend,” Eve assured her, noticing the welling tears in Penny's eyes.

“Penny wishes to start a family, Miss,” Eve was taken aback, her mind racing for an appropriate response.

“That is truly wonderful news, Penny,” she managed to say. “But, uh- how can I be of assistance?”

“Penny and Deek are both free elves...” Remembering the conversation about elves requiring permission, Eve's mouth formed a small 'o' as she grasped Penny's meaning.

Poppy shifted on the bed, positioning herself to face Penny more directly. “You have no Master, as you say, and therefore, you need not seek permission,” Poppy spoke gently.

Turning her lamp-like eyes to Poppy, Penny explained, “Miss Sweeting misunderstands Penny. The issue lies in the child being born out of service .”

”Out of service?” Eve repeated, a touch perplexed.

“For an elf to be born free is unheard of, Miss, and it would not be favourable for the child's upbringing without any tasks or duties. Penny wonders,” She continued, turning to Eve. “If you might consider accepting his service until he is of age.”

Eve leaned back, nodding slowly as she processed Penny's request.

“Could he not learn and grow without being In Service?” Poppy inquired.

Penny appeared alarmed at the suggestion, exclaiming, “Oh, that wouldn't do! An elf must feel useful and needed, especially when young! And Miss Eve is warm and gentle, Penny knows she will treat him with kindness!”

Eve swallowed, nodding with a gentle smile, attempting to assuage Penny's excitement. “I will gladly assist,”  Eve assured her, and before she could go on, Penny, overwhelmed by her emotions, burst into tears. 

“But!” Eve called over the violent sobbing, “I will not have your child tethered to indentured service without pay. One may feel required without being enslaved, Penny. Each week, until the day you determine his ‘education’ to be complete, I will deposit a stipend into an account at Gringotts. When you believe him to be mature enough to access it, he shall have the means to create a life for himself. And remember, your child will be as free as you are now from the very day he is born .”

With renewed wailing about feelings being "undeserving." Poppy, with a gentle smile, extended a comforting pat on the elf's shoulder, while Eve observed with deep sympathy in her eyes.

Calming down after a while, the elf stammered, "Penny won't be able to run the shop for some time and with Mr Gaunt..." She winced at the mention of his name. "Gone. Miss Eve will have nobody to help her."

"Don't you worry about that, Penny," Eve replied with a reassuring smile. "Everything will be taken care of."

"I'm sure you will want to give Deek the good news, Penny," Poppy chimed in. "But before that, we should indulge in a celebratory slice and tea! I’ve never tried them but I hear they are to die for."

"Sometimes, literally," offered Eve with a chuckle as she opened a box of Alihotsy-flavoured fudge, summoning a bezoar just in case, while Poppy poured tea for each of them.

***

Eve waved to a familiar face as she spotted him coming down the cobblestone lane, he had grown taller than six feet by the end of her seventh year at Hogwarts but somehow seemed to have grown again in the last fortnight. She could vividly recall giggling with Natsai and Poppy about how small and adorable he was back then—blushing at this, she mumbled something about the warm sun as he bowed and warmly shook her hand. There was a nervous excitement in his manner today, for today was a significant day. By early February, Eve was handing over the keys to her shop.

Fastidio hadn't been pleased at first. In a fit of frustration, he had immediately set about shredding all the scrolls stacked tidily in the bookshelf, until Eve explained what she had negotiated for him.

"Crossed Wands Duelling School," she said with a playful grin. “A steady stream of paying customers demanding challenges from as many mannequins as you can command.” This had successfully placated the poltergeist but he had demanded that Eve be permitted free entry whenever she wished to ‘play’, an arrangement Lucan Brattleby was only too happy to honour.

"Well, if it isn't Hogsmeade's newest proprietor!" Eve exclaimed enthusiastically as Lucan stooped to shake her hand, trying hard to hide his broad and excited smile.

"This is a dream come true. I never thought I would ever get this opportunity. I owe you, Eve. Anything you ever need, I'll do it!" Lucan expressed his gratitude.

Eve chuckled, dismissing his words. "Oh, don't be daft. I told you, I got the store at a discount myself, so I am happy to pass on that good fortune to a friend."

Lucan beamed, his dimples deepening, as his mop of dark brown curls bounced with his excited head shake of disbelief and joy.

Penny had found a temporary home with the Hogwarts house elves, and Eve was preparing to embark on a journey to visit Garreth in Egypt. With Penny's plans to raise a child and Eve's desire to acquire the land for their new home, the decision to sell the shop seemed like the most practical choice. Although it felt bittersweet to leave behind this significant chapter of her life, Eve knew that she was passing it on to capable hands, ensuring its future success (and the pleasure of her favourite spirit of chaos).

Handing the key to Lucan, Eve observed as he paused for a moment with the key in the lock. A wide grin spread across his face as he turned the key, and she followed him inside. Rolling up his sleeves, he confidently flipped open the lid of the chest—the not-so-secret entrance to the dungeon—and descended the ladder without a moment's hesitation. As Eve listened, she could hear Lucan and Fastidio engaged in an animated discussion below.

"We'll need to strike the right balance in the level of challenge," Lucan remarked, his voice filled with determination. "Our goal is to keep our customers engaged, thrilled, and alive , ensuring they return for more. Can you handle that?"

Fastidio let out a mischievous laugh. "Ha! Babysitting will be a breeze, but when do I get to have some real fun?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with a hint of madness.

Lucan's reply was swift and unwavering. "Any of the advanced class members," he said without hesitation. "We'll have to be cautious in the beginning, ensuring our customers don't end up in St Mungo's. But there will be those who seek a… darker, more exhilarating experience, if you catch my drift."

Shaking her head at Fastidio's maniacal laughter, Eve made her decision to leave them to their plans. With a smile of amusement on her face and a sense of contentment in her heart, she turned away from the burgeoning duelling school. Her mind now focused on Egypt and the imminent reunion with Garreth, a broad grin spread across her face.

***

My Dearest Poppy,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. The ink is still fresh on the page as I write to you from Cairo, a city with an energy like no other. The place is teeming with life, chaos, and an intensity of heat that I can hardly put into words. The streets are filled with vibrant colours, exotic scents, and the cacophony of unfamiliar languages and bustling activity. It is a sensory overload, unlike anything I have experienced before.

Arriving in Cairo was an adventure in itself. As the boat docked on the banks of the Nile, I was assaulted by the hot sun and dry wind as I disembarked amidst a sea of people, all dressed in gorgeous silks, cotton and linen in every colour (but more on fashions in a moment!). The clamour of carriages, the cries of street vendors, and the incessant honking of horns create a symphony of chaos that is both exhilarating and overwhelming.

The clothing one sees here is breathtaking! It is truly a feast for the senses to immerse oneself in the vibrant and diverse fashion culture of Egypt. The style in Cairo is a stunning blend of traditional and Western influences. Men wear loose-fitting robes called "galabiyas" or "djellabas" along with head coverings like fez or turban. Women don long, flowing dresses known as "thobes" or "zaras" with headscarves or veils. The colours range from earthy creams and browns to jewel-bright purples and reds. The patterns and designs reflect social status and regional affiliation, of which there is a diverse mix in this great city!

Away from the dazzling frenzy of the markets, there is a tranquil oasis that I have found great comfort in. Garreth, ever the thoughtful man, suggested I have accommodations near his work at the Egyptian Centre for Alchemical Studies and has rented a villa on the banks of this majestic river. To lay beneath the swaying date palms, it is a place of serene beauty and respite from the bustling streets. As I write this letter, I sit on the veranda of the villa, watching the gentle flow of the Nile, mesmerised by the dance of the sunlight on the water's surface.

He has suggested I stay a little longer, and Garreth's suggestion is not without merit—the ancient ruins, the grand temples, and the mysteries of the pyramids beckon to me. I find myself drawn to the possibility of staying longer, immersing myself in the rich history and culture that surrounds me.

Poppy, I share this with you because I think of you as a sister and I value your guidance. He has hinted, subtly, that I may perhaps prolong my stay indefinitely. Though things are going well, and it is beautiful here, I find myself longing for the familiar comforts of our beloved Hogwarts Valley already. If I deny this offer, would I inadvertently convey a message that I do not wish to pursue a future with him? For that is not the case! But the thought of settling so far from the green dales pains my heart. While the sands of Egypt may hold their allure, this is not my true home.

Therefore, I have made the decision to return to Scotland within the fortnight. If you have better advice, send it urgently! 

Know that I miss you dearly, and I eagerly anticipate our reunion. The return journey will be much faster than my voyage here, pleasant though it was.

With all my love,

Eve

Chapter Text

Belvina Black found herself sulking about her current circumstances. Being paired with a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin was undoubtedly an honour, but at the tender age of ten, her emotions oscillated between pouting over Ominis Gaunt’s abrupt departure and her own complete disinterest in the match. While most of her time was occupied by playing Nurse to the sick or injured, displaying uncharacteristic compassion within the family, it was clear that her caring demeanour had its limits.

A disturbing duplicity emerged in Belvina's behaviour, revealing itself when her "patients" were anything other than witches or wizards. Despite appearing distressed when Aunt Elladora began the tradition of beheading the elderly elves that could no longer efficiently service the family’s needs, it soon became apparent that her tears stemmed from the lack of ailing subjects for her to practise her healing skills on, rather than empathy for the creatures. While she outwardly displayed a caring demeanour and aspired to become a Healer, she carried deep-seated biases against anything she deemed inferior, especially Muggles—a result of the indoctrination she received from her family.

Belvina firmly believed in the superiority of wizards (and even magical creatures) over Muggles, holding unwavering convictions that they were undeserving of equal regard or respect. These beliefs were deeply ingrained, leaving no room for internal conflict or questioning. She fully embraced her family's biases, aligning herself with their prejudiced perspectives, and this was an integral part of her identity and a worldview that Ominis despised.

He knew that this striking dichotomy in her character was hardly her fault, but it was hard to view her as anything other than the fledgling little monster she was. Just before his departure from Gaunt Manor, he could recall his mother's misguided praise for Miss Black’s compassion. Attempting to appeal to Ominis’ anomalous sympathies, she would often wax lyrical about the girl's caring nature, even boasting about her grief over the mistreatment of house elves. His mother had evidently missed the true essence of these superficial acts of care.

While Belvina may have displayed a semblance of empathy, her concern for the well-being of her patients seemed rooted in her own self-satisfaction, rather than a genuine joy of relieving suffering. Even in his melancholic haze, Ominis could see that Belvina's compassion, if it could be called that, was selective and misguided. It was as if she viewed her acts of care as mere opportunities to showcase her own capabilities, rather than being altruistically motivated.

Beyond her disturbing janiform nature, Ominis considered the repulsive matter of Belvina's young age. He found it appalling that the family intended to formalise future arrangements at such an early stage, though he was assured there would be no rush to consummate the marriage. She was a child of ten, for Merlin’s sake, far too young for such vile considerations! 

Regardless, the weight of duty and the ingrained notions of preserving the pure-blood lineage overshadowed any personal desires Belvina Black might have had. Despite her betrothal, Belvina's youthful heart fancied a much younger man, though still older than she, whom she had encountered in Knockturn Alley during the summer. Though she did not yet know his name, he was the son of Caractacus Burke, the proprietor of Borgin and Burkes. In her naive innocence, Belvina had argued him as a potential alternative, as he too was a Pure-blood. However, her family's desires extended beyond simply preserving bloodlines—they viewed it as their duty to ensure the continuation of an ancient lineage.

It was Ursula, her mother, who interjected, her voice carrying an air of authority and conviction. "Belvina, does heritage mean nothing to you? There is more at stake than bloodline alone," she said, her eyes stern and unwavering. "The ancient and noble lineage of Salazar Slytherin is in peril, and it is our sacred duty to save it if we can. We cannot settle for alternatives, no matter how appealing they may seem."

Turning her eyes to her husband, Ursula's demeanour shifted. Seeing that he was not listening, but addressing him with fondness, she prompted sweetly. "You agree, Phineas, my love? There can be only the best for the Black family.”

Her husband, lost in his own thoughts, raised his eyebrows and nodded affirmatively, giving the vague appearance of agreement. This sort of detached manner was nothing new to Belvina. Her father seemed to avoid being at home as much as possible, often finding reasons to stay away, even during the holidays. Her mother would write to him often, but he would claim to have duties and responsibilities at Hogwarts that demanded his attention. She had grown accustomed to his absence, and gone were the days when she would sulk at the breakfast table when she learned he would not be joining them any time soon.

“But, Mama,” she whined, considering the portrait she had been shown. “His eyes are ever so strange.”

"Well, he has those...spectacles to make up for that defect—a rare technology that could be worth a great deal of money to the right people, but that is beside the point," Ursula retorted, directing her disdain at her daughter once more, apparently offended at her naivety. "If it were solely a matter of preserving the bloodline, then the boy, Herbert Burke, would indeed satisfy the family's needs," she explained, her tone laced with condescension. "However, the House of Black has greater aspirations, and they require your dowry. Aside from their near-royal bloodline, there is a chance to introduce the gift of Parseltongue into our esteemed lineage, a trait possessed exclusively by the Gaunt family, which is on the verge of extinction due to the eldest son's instability and current lack of heirs."

Belvina, though not fully comprehending the significance of her mother's words, obediently nodded in agreement, but her heart was pulsing rapidly— "Herbert, what a perfect name,” she sighed to herself. She had expressed these desires to her mother before, hoping to have her wishes acknowledged, but Ursula had dismissed them as irrelevant, emphasising the family's priorities over personal happiness.

Despite their eager readiness in pursuit of the union, the Black family was cautious. The Gaunts advised against making any overt move that could potentially drive him further away. They believed in a strategy of laying low, allowing time and circumstance to bring him to his senses. "Patience and subtle influence, coupled with the painful realisations that the Alatar girl has moved on, would be most effective," said Mrs Gaunt, a sly smirk playing across her bony features.

And they were quite correct. It was mid-December, Ominis' stomach was in constant knots, and conflict brewed within him. Absolved of her guilt, he was torn between the need to speak with Eve—to admit he had been terribly mistaken—and the fear of disrupting her newfound happiness. After witnessing her rush to embrace Weasley in the main square of the town, he made the decision to spend a miserable festive season alone, throwing himself into his work.

In truth, the greeting had been less exuberant than Ominis imagined, but his mind had a way of distorting reality, amplifying his worst fears and insecurities. The mere thought of Eve finding joy in another's arms ignited a fierce jealousy within him, his feelings of heartache and longing burned within. The memory of their painful parting haunted him, he cursed his uncontrollable rage inherited from his father and lamented the consequences.

Every waking moment, thoughts of Eve consumed him. Their separation left him restless and craving a distraction. He knew he had to find something to occupy his mind, to divert his thoughts from this constant ache and returning to work seemed like the only refuge.

Apparating within the grounds of Place de Furstemberg, in the 6th arrondissement of Paris, he strode to the centre square and gave a short cough. Ominis tapped his foot impatiently as the roots of nearby trees curled to encircle him, forming a cage-like structure. He felt the ground beneath him shift, and began his descent into the depths below.

Seated at his spotless desk a quarter of an hour later, Ominis let out a heavy sigh, his mind burdened by unrelenting thoughts of Eve. The rustling of papers was the only disruption to the suffocating silence in the Archives. Desperate for diversion, he reached for the file at the bottom of his neglected pile, a growing reminder of his recent preoccupation.

Ominis poured over the open file, an Avery family inquiry, his gaze skimming the pages with vague interest until something caught his eye—a copy of the Greengrass family tree nestled within its contents. It seemed an odd occurrence, and misfiling wasn’t unheard of, but either way, the connection demanded attention. 

The tree revealed little that wasn’t already common knowledge, except for a mark indicating that a female member of the Greengrass family had been stricken from the family record. By the date of the archive stamp, this would have occurred sometime before 1877, more than 19 years ago. Turning the tree over in his hands he sees a hastily scrawled note on the back: "Pure but disgraced = E. Fawley." It was a puzzling remark, leaving Ominis wondering about the link between the three families. What do the Fawleys have to do with the Greengrass family tree? And why is the Greengrass tree in the Avery file? His curiosity gnawed at him.

Shuffling through the sheaves of parchment for anything unusual, he was disappointed. Pursuing the only lead he had, Ominis then directed his attention to ‘E. Fawley’. His search for information yielded some intriguing results. He discovered that E. Fawley was actually Edgar Fawley, the older brother of Hector Fawley, a rising star in the British Ministry whom Ominis was familiar with. In Edgar's file, filtering through dull documents like his failed ministry application and a permit to construct a new barn on his land, Ominis stumbled upon a curious letter. It made a passing reference to a woman named Amary, who had been disowned as a result of what their “love has made”. It went on to speak of his concern for her well-being, lamenting the dulling of her golden hair having “lost its sheen as she suffers this accursed blood malediction”.

The mention of a blood malediction stirred a distant memory within Ominis. He recalled something about a blood feud, a conflict between a Greengrass woman and a slighted in-law over an heirloom—or was it an estate? The details eluded him. In any case, according to the letter, “Amary” was likely the woman struck from the Greengrass family tree, presumably due to some scandalous affair resulting in a child, but how does her story tie into the Averys? He followed his intuition, which often served him well.

Seeking the confirmation he needed, Ominis delved deeper, meticulously tracing the family lines. There, hidden within the older Avery records, he found a birth registry entry that named Amaryllis Greengrass as the second daughter of Acanthus Greengrass and Pandiona Greengrass (née Avery), b. 1857. That explained the Greengrass tree in the Avery file… It showed the intermarriage between the two families but, more importantly, it confirmed the existence of another daughter which, Ominis could assume from the other sources, had been cast out due to an illegitimate pregnancy.

Ominis had well and truly deviated from the original purpose of the Avery inquiry, but he paid that no mind. The pieces of this puzzle were starting to fit together and he was captivated by the story unravelling before him. The connection between Amaryllis Greengrass and the Avery family was now apparent, but what happened to her? The trail went cold, so Ominis refocused his attention on Edgar Fawley. He followed the breadcrumbs, uncovering some clues until he stumbled upon a newspaper clipping from the Daily Prophet:

Mysterious Disappearance: The Vanishment of Edgar Fawley

January 1881

In a scandal that left the Pure-Blood family reeling, Edgar Fawley's sudden disappearance continues to captivate readers. It was just over seven years ago when Fawley, a dashing gentleman of considerable charm, vanished from the midst of our community. Purportedly eloping with an unnamed maiden, their ill-fated journey culminated in tragedy—his beloved’s untimely demise during childbirth. The last sighting of Fawley was on the road from Wanstead Orphanage, in the London Borough of Redbridge, on 15 December 1874. Since then, his whereabouts have remained a mystery. The official inquiry, now closed, presumed him dead.

But the whispers persist, as relentless seekers of truth refuse to let the mystery fade. The quest for answers continues, driven by…

Ominis let the column trail off as it devolved into what was obviously sensationalised gossip.

Edgar Fawley, it seemed, had vanished some twenty-two years ago, after running away with (who Ominis assumed was) Amaryllis Greengrass. Fawley was last seen leaving (‘the road from Wanstead’) an orphanage on December 15 before disappearing without a trace, and he was presumed dead roughly seven years later.

December 15. The date lingered in Ominis' mind, teasing him with its significance. It was the key to a clue that was just out of reach. And he had yet more questions. Had the child survived when his lady died? Was that why Fawley was spotted near an orphanage, delivering it to their care that day? If so, what became of that child? Ominis could only assume it would have inherited strong magical ability, given its parentage, so did the child ever attend a wizarding school? Who did they grow to be? “So many questions!” He thought to himself. Leaving the archives, he strode purposefully towards Le Directoire.

The attendant summoned a wad of maps with a lazy flick of his wand and pushed the stack towards Ominis, "Les tables sont là-bas," the man drawled and turned away. Ominis might usually have had a bone to pick with the uninspired and inattentive worker, but today he couldn't care less. Driven by an insatiable thirst for answers, he eagerly laid out the documents and located the only orphanage in Wanstead, the ‘Infant Orphan Asylum’. He rose and buttoned his coat, a look of grim determination etched on his face. As he tossed the maps back across the counter, "Il est impoli!" he heard the attendant sniff, but Ominis didn’t look back.

***

Ominis stepped out onto the streets of Paris, the chilly air nipping at his cheeks. The gas lamps cast a warm glow against the pale blue moonlight. It was late, he had lost track of time, and quite successfully driven Eve from his mind. With each exhale, his breath materialised in wisps before dissipating into the night. 

Adjusting his collar to ward off the chill, he smoothed out any creases on his impeccably tailored coat. The fabric, a fine blend of wool and cashmere, provided both warmth and sophistication. He dipped the rim of his bowler hat, shielding him from the gusts of wind that rustled through the narrow alleys as his polished shoes clicked against the cobblestones, a subtle echo in the quiet streets.

Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs with the crisp winter air, steeling himself for the journey ahead. Getting himself to London efficiently enough was not a problem, but venturing out to Wanstead was unfamiliar territory. Ominis sighed at the thought of having to endure the deplorably slow and bumpy Muggle carriage ride overnight, but he had little choice.

Ominis, lacking any Muggle currency, patiently waited for an empty carriage to appear, hoping to find a driver he could charm—quite literally—into taking him to his destination without the need for payment. The carriages were infrequent at this time of night, leaving Ominis with no option but to settle for a humble hansom cab. It was a far cry from the luxurious carriages he treated himself to whenever the need arose, but beggars couldn't be choosers. With a resigned sigh, he hailed the worn-out cab and climbed inside, bracing himself for a rough and uncomfortable ride.

Heading northeast to the village, about eight miles out of London, Ominis listened to the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves as passed by rows of terraced houses, their windows dark. The carriage swayed gently with each measured step of the horse, and Ominis peered out the window, watching the cityscape gradually transform into the quiet countryside until there was too little light to see beyond the edge of the road.

He could feel the cart turn down winding lanes and pass between what might have been open fields, the biting winter air whipped his cheeks, leaving a rosy tint on his pale skin. The horse, though occasionally adopting a leisurely pace, maintained a respectable speed, its breath forming a misty cloud in the crisp night.

The distant silhouette of Wanstead gradually emerged, its charm and serenity contrasting with the hustle and bustle of London he had left behind. As the cab rolled into the village, Ominis requested the nearest stop to the orphanage. The journey, not as swift as he was used to, had allowed him time to reflect and prepare—the information he was after was no doubt highly confidential, if the Muggles even kept records at all. Stopping in front of the gates, he waved the driver off who looked momentarily confused, "Ain't there summat I'm meant ta do 'ere?" he murmured to himself, shaking his head as he jiggled the reins and turned back towards the city.

His timepiece indicated that the journey had taken less than an hour and a half, not quite the arduous journey Ominis had imagined. The clock's hands pointed to half past eleven, an unconventional hour for social calls but finding accommodations for the night would be a last resort.

He walked up the wide curving road and entered the foyer of the grand old orphanage. As he took off his hat, his eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the sight of peeling paint and threadbare carpets that told tales of better days long gone. The room was, unsurprisingly, empty. He approached the counter and rang a bell. A short while later, a bleary-eyed matron emerged from a back room, eyeing him suspiciously. The matron possessed a severe countenance weathered by time, marked with the lines of wisdom and experience. Her once-brown hair, now interwoven with threads of silver, was pulled into a low and tight bun at the nape of her neck, neatly arranged under a modest bonnet. She wore a long, dark-coloured dress that brushed the floor as she moved, almost hiding her worn leather shoes, with a well-fitted apron made of plain white cotton over the top. Absent of frills or excessive decoration, her clothes were sturdy and practical. After a long and awkward pause, she asked, "Have you got a babe?"

“No!” Surprised by the question, he quickly added, "But I'm here to inquire about one."

The woman's suspicious gaze intensified as she scrutinised him. "We aren't in the business of selling them!" she retorted sharply, her voice tinged with a touch of indignation.

Realising that the conversation was not going as he had hoped, he cleared his throat and drew breath in an attempt to reset the conversation, "I am in pursuit of information, madam, and I do hope that you might help me," he stated amiably and offered his most charming smile. He never quite comprehended the charm he possessed, but he had observed that people, most often women, though occasionally men as well, would bend to his will when he employed this particular tactic.

This woman, however, was not impressed. "Hmph! At this late hour, no, I don't think I will. Be off, and come back in the morning if your need is so great," she dismissed him brusquely.

His patience wearing thin, he nodded respectfully, concealing his frustration beneath a veneer of politeness. He waited until she turned away with an air of self-righteousness before discreetly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wand. Whispering Confundo under his breath, her eyes glazed, her mouth relaxed, and she stared about the room in a daze. Seizing the opportunity, he slipped past her down the hall. Walking as quietly as he could down the passage, he eventually came upon a heavy oak door. "Well, I doubt this is a broom cupboard," he muttered to himself as he gently pushed on it with his shoulder.

Behind the door was a grand study, presumably the head matron's office. He observed the wall of cabinetry behind the desk and judged it to be the institution's admission records. Finding the right file without a name would, under most circumstances, be a daunting task. But with a twirl of his wand, every drawer pertaining to December 15 slid gently open—just three in total.

The first two files were dated 1879 and 1884 respectively, too recent for this investigation. Pulling the third drawer wider, he saw it—an isolated file dated 15 December 1874. As Ominis reached out to retrieve it, he thought the folder seemed strangely light, empty even. Opening it up, a single slip of paper fluttered out, landing softly on the floor. With a frown, he retrieved it and read the two short lines of text:

Admitted—December 15, 1874. Father reports infant born on December 10, 1874. No surname provided.

Name Given—Evelyn Alatar.

Chapter Text

Eve winced, nursing a weeping eye and a split lip acquired during her recent, vigorous duelling session. Despite the injuries, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and exhilaration. Lucan's new venture had been a resounding success, and she was pleased to have another excuse (and easily accessible location) to really stretch her legs in the practice arena.

Leaning on the counter of the bustling duelling training room, with eager young witches and wizards waiting their turn, Eve engaged in an animated discussion with Lucan Brattleby. Eve's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she shared her expertise and showed Lucan the nuances of the stunning hex she had demonstrated just last week.

Lucan nodded, taking mental notes. "I'll have to try that next time. But what about that manoeuvre where you conjured a blinding flash? That was brilliant!"

Eve chuckled. "That's Lumos Solem with a bit of added flair. It's disorienting and gives you a chance to regroup. It is particularly effective against cave dwellers or anything that typically inhabits darker spaces. Just don't use it too often, or it becomes predictable."

As she leaned on the counter, engrossed in a conversation with Lucan about new moves and powerful spells, a soft flutter of wings caught her attention. A handsome great grey owl gracefully landed on the bench beside her, its intelligent eyes fixed on her. Gently, it pecked at her hand and held out its leg to indicate the letter attached.

"Poppy!" Eve exclaimed, recognizing the wax seal. She carefully untied it and dropped a silver coin into the owl’s money pouch before it flew off. As she unfolded the parchment, her heart quickened with anticipation, it had been almost two weeks since she left. “Sorry, Lucan, I’d better give this a read.”

Dearest Eve,

I am stuck in the Outer Hebrides dealing with a rather tricky situation involving a few troublesome hinkypunks. They've been congregating in the marshy areas, leading unsuspecting travellers astray and causing quite a ruckus. I must admit, it's been a real challenge to round these mischievous creatures up. Just yesterday, I nearly lost a Ministry intern to the bog as he foolishly followed them, said he’d ‘built up a rapport’ with one of them—as daft as a Doxy. Thankfully, I managed to rescue him in time, but it's been quite an eventful trip so far.

But enough about my hinkypunk woes; You mentioned that you've successfully purchased the land! Congratulations are in order, my dear. You can now set about erecting your palace and, of course, get to the real business—crafting the ocufili for Ominis. I agree, it's the right kind of message to send— no hard feelings and best wishes to moving on and all that…Though I know it must hurt. If you already have all the materials ready to go, and you've even scheduled a meeting with Kaal in just four days' time to discuss the silver forge, you will have some news for me by the time this letter reaches you. Splendid! I told Amit about what you’re crafting, I hope that’s okay.

I am delighted to hear of Penny’s exciting tidings too! Can you believe she's expecting? I must say, I've never seen an elf with child before, let alone a young elf. They are so rare, but it won't be long now—just three more months until we get to meet the little one! The nursery is going to be adorable.

As for the rest of your new home, I trust you'll start on the construction as soon as possible (you've never had any patience) but don't even think about decorating until I get there. Your taste is eclectic and I just know you won’t get the balance right, I can't let you mess it up in my absence.

All my love,

Poppy

Smiling, Eve carefully folded up the letter and stowed it away inside her coat pocket.

“Good news then?” Lucan asked, with a smile. Eve hadn’t realised, but he had been watching her face as it changed while she read. “I saw a few frowns in there…”

“Oh, yes," she mumbled, blushing slightly and tucking her hair behind her ear. Eve laughed, trying to hide her self-consciousness. "Unsure if sharing information with Amit was wise—But It’s rarely bad news with Poppy. She makes even her miserable missions sound like cuddling puffskeins.”

Lucan chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted response. "Well, that's a gift, isn't it? Not everyone can turn grim stories into fairy tales," he remarked, teasingly.

Eve smiled and nodded. "Indeed, Poppy knows how to keep spirits high-"

Their conversation was interrupted as a distant crash echoed out from the duelling dungeon below, followed by a loud cheer from another group of trainees. It was evident that Lucan's training sessions were in full swing, with magical spells flying in every direction.

“Better go see what that was,” he muttered apologetically, with only a look of mild concern on his face. “Perhaps you’ll join me at the Three Broomsticks tonight?” He added hopefully.

“I erm-, I‘m not sure…”

“It's not just me!” He said hurriedly, looking more concerned about her hesitation than about the possible chaos below. “A bunch of us will be there. If you’re free, join us!” And he dashed out of sight.

One corner of Eve's mouth curled into a smile. She thought back to their days as young students, and how Lucan might have had a bit of a crush on her. Ominis often teased her about how Lucan admired her. "Lucan Brattleby must have nearly wet himself when you won every crossed wands battle," Ominis would jest, and Eve couldn't help but laugh at the memory. She hadn’t tried to win his affection at any point during their long friendship, but Eve needed to make it clear that she was involved with someone. Pondering how to do that as gently as possible, she donned her coat and stepped out into the street. Spring seemed to have come early, with a gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. “Perfect weather for a jaunt up to my new plot of land!” She thought to herself, delightedly as she mounted her broom just outside the town limits and shot up the rise. Landing alongside the familiar tea party scene, she straightened the mandrakes posture and turned to gaze back at the castle. This place evoked complicated feelings for her, but there truly was no other view like it.

***

Ominis was on his way home after stopping at the fishmonger for some supplies for tea when he bumped into Amit outside Zonko’s. Ominis was never sure how he felt about the man; in school, he had always been a little vacant, never insensitive to others around him, just oblivious—couldn't read a room. And nothing much had changed since. But he was kind and well-meaning, as Eve had often said in his defence.

Stopping to exchange quick pleasantries, Ominis found himself being invited along to an informal reunion of sorts.

"Lucan Brattleby has pulled a whole bunch of people together, and most will be our classmates from Hogwarts. You should come along!" Amit said enthusiastically.

He hadn’t heard anything from Lucan about it, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to why. “Will Eve be there?”

"Oh, I do hope so! She has an invite, or so I understand," Amit replied thoughtfully. A mix of excitement and nervousness washed over Ominis. An informal reunion with old classmates sounded like an awful night, but the prospect of speaking with Eve again made his heart race. "She may wish to give you her gift! It might be ready."

Curious and surprised, Ominis asked, “Gift? What do you mean?”

Amit chuckled mischievously, "Well, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise! But I suppose the real surprise is yours. I heard the good news that you are starting a new family. Congratulations! Even more of a reason to join us tonight!"

Ominis felt his heart sink as he listened to Amit's words. He had an idea about what Amit was talking about—the arrangement between the Blacks and his family— but the mention of starting a family made his temper flare. He had not, and would not, accept any such arrangement, especially one that involved fathering a child.

Ominis fixed his gaze on Amit, his eyes narrowing with a mix of intensity and anger. "What, Thakkar, makes you think I would ever be eager to continue my family line?" he whispered in a low, dangerous tone that was somehow unsettling, unnerving, and alarming.

Amit swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Ominis's piercing stare. He stammered, "I-I didn't mean to assume, I must have misunderstood. I heard something about a new family, and I thought... Well, I thought it was odd actually,” Amit, regaining some of his obliviousness, continued babbling, unaware of the storm he had stirred within Ominis. "I thought you and Eve would have been an inseparable pair, but I am happy that you have found someone. Who is it, by the way?"

The silence that followed spoke volumes, or at least it would have to anyone besides Amit. Ominis' mind was racing with frustration and anger. "So they've just gone ahead and made the announcement without my consent!?" he seethed, thinking to himself.

"Oh, perhaps we didn't go to school with them? No matter, I am sure she is most deserving," Amit babbled on.

"No, Amit, you clearly don't understand," Ominis interjected sharply, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "There is no 'someone.’ This is a misunderstanding, and I won't tolerate any more assumptions or speculations about my personal life."

Amit blinked, finally beginning to grasp the gravity of his mistake. "I-I'm sorry, Ominis. I really didn't mean to pry or assume. I put two and two together when Poppy told me about the new spectacles-"

Ominis' eyes snapped up at the mention of the spectacles, his face hardening. "What are you talking about, Thakkar?" he said, a little more threateningly than he meant to, perhaps.

Amit's eyes widened, realising he had stumbled over yet another boundary. "I-I mean, Poppy only mentioned it. And it is a gift Eve is working on for you. I shouldn’t be ruining the surprise," he stammered, terrified by the murderous look on Ominis' face. "Just a wee something to help your children if they, uh, take after you, I suppose," Amit continued, nervously gesturing towards Ominis' Ocufili.

Ominis stood there for a moment, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from under him. His momentary delay to show politeness to Amit had resulted in the delivery of devastating news. There was no anger, no jaw clenching or muscles flexing as he ground his teeth. There was only shock and emptiness. He could feel himself falling away as he was left to grapple with the meaning of this ‘gift’.

"So that's it then?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, before internalising his thoughts. "She's found someone and now she's happy. She thinks I have done the same.”

“So, uh, will you be joining us tonight then?” Amit asked tentatively after a moment of silence.

The pain in his chest was unbearable, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't let Amit see how deeply he was affected. "No, Thakkar," he finally managed to say, his voice strained. "I…need some time alone."

Without waiting for a response, Ominis turned and walked away, his mind spinning. Part of him wanted to go after Eve, to demand an explanation, to correct this whole horrible misunderstanding, and fight for what they had. But another part of him knew that it was too late, Merlin knows he had said enough, and now she had moved on. And, what's more, she was happy for him! Thinking that he had found someone! How absurd. How could anyone ever match her?

He walked the streets, lost in his thoughts, trying to make sense of the tumult of emotions swirling within him. He couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and betrayal, the nagging regret for not having spoken up sooner and clarified everything with Eve. It was so easy to let misunderstandings fester and grow into something unrecognisable.

The news of Eve’s gift and what it symbolised gnawed at him. How could she think that he wanted to carry on his abhorrent family line, or that he had moved on from her? She was the one he loved, the one he had always loved, and he couldn't imagine a future without her. The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut – he had misjudged this entirely, he had assumed they would have time, but the sands had run out.

With each step, his heart grew heavier. He thought of all the memories they had shared, the laughter and the tears, the triumphs and the failures. They had been through so much together, and now she had slipped right out of his hands.

But deep down, he knew that it wasn't about him. It was about Eve and what she needed. There was only one thing he could do for her now, and that was to leave her be. He had been fooling himself to think he could ever make her happy. He, his family, all of it—they were a curse on wizard kind. He knew that he had to let her go, to give her the space she needed to be happy. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, but he knew it was the right thing.

The next thing he knew was that he was shivering. How long had he been sitting here? Where was here? Not that it mattered. Seated on a low bench in the shadow of a hedgerow, it seemed to leer and lurch at him, its gnarled branches twisting and weaving around his feet. He gazed at the ground, which appeared to be dancing and undulating beneath him. Realising that his feet were cold and wet, he tried to remove his socks to dry them, but discovered he was missing a shoe and his left hand was already full anyways. 

In it, he clutched an empty bottle, its label nearly impossible to decipher. He squinted, trying to steady his eyes, but the words "Evershade Elixir" were the only ones he could make out. The rest was a blur of tiny letters, jumping around as he attempted to read them. Frustrated, he gave up quickly, only to be distracted by the glint of a gold watch on his wrist. "Gold? I never wear gold," he mumbled to himself, puzzled. He looked around, hoping to find the owner of the watch, but there was no one else in sight.

Confusion swirled in his mind as he tried to piece together the events that had led him to this strange and disoriented state. His memories were like fragments of a broken mirror, reflecting disjointed images: a stag head, no wait—it was a hog’s head. The tavern! Yes, he had been at the Hog’s Head Inn earlier, but the details were hazy. He recalled an odd gentleman, or perhaps an old lady. With a beard, yes, definitely a bearded lady—selling items out of her coat, but it was a blur. The clinking of glass, the potion came from her. She had so many different bottles!

His vision swam again, and the ruffling of feathers nearby caught his ear. His head lolled about as he chased the source of the sound—a raven. It clicked its beak at him and croaked as if taunting him. Frowning deeply at its rudeness, he tried to stand to shoo it away from him. It hopped back a few paces and ruffled its feathers, seemingly amused by his poor attempt. The raven cocked its head to the side, studying him. With a burst of frustration, he launched himself at it, but his unsteady balance sent him sprawling onto the ground, eating a mouthful of dirt for his efforts. The bird perched atop a guidepost nearby and continued to click away at him, mocking him, Ominis thought.

Lifting his head, he saw that he was in a lane. He tried to stand again but, twice, fell upon his knees, and he found he was content to crawl. It seemed easier than walking, and he wondered why he didn't always travel this way. For the life of him, he couldn't think of a good reason. As his mind was less occupied with worrying over balance, he tried again to gather his thoughts, but they floated about in his suspiciously lightheaded state. He felt a sense of unease creeping over him. The blackout had left him with a jumbled mess of memories—something about blind children and pyramids?—but it was no use. Worse yet, he couldn't make sense of how he had ended up in this peculiar situation. The raven cawed at him irritably. He clutched at one thought: he needed to find his way to a place of familiarity, as this corvid was really getting on his nerves.

Wiping the hair from his damp forehead, he noticed he was just a few feet away from a sparse bramble. He gripped it for support as he pulled himself up, and he thought he now knew why he didn't often crawl about the place, his knees were quite sore. The brambles were ice cold under his fingertips. It took a moment to register; these were bars —iron bars of a gate! He rattled them a little and found that the raven above didn't like it very much. He shook it some more, delighting in the annoyed clicking of the bird. He rattled and shook until he thought he may have pulled the fence down, but it turns out the gates had simply swung open, and he had been dragged to the edge of the wide road along with it.

His face in the dirt once again, he vaguely thought he should perhaps rest here a while. But a small pair of hands had his shoulders, and he was being shaken. “No, please, I shall swing open like that gate,” he mumbled incoherently.

“He’s delirious. Get him inside,” said a woman's voice, but it didn't offer him any comfort. He didn't want to see this woman but he couldn’t recall why or, come to think of it, who she even was. Ominis stirred to resist but was surprised to find that the ground was passing silently beneath him. 

“Oh, much better than crawling,” he commented, strangely amused as he was levitated inside, guided by some unseen hand.

The woman only tutted in reply.

Chapter Text

Ominis lay tangled in his sheets, drenched in a feverish sweat, as he battled the insidious and mind-addling effects of that undoubtedly illicit potion. In the throes of his fever dream, he murmured unintelligibly. With every word, he winced, as though burnt by them.

"Too late... too late," he mumbled, his voice sorrowful. His subconscious struggled to make sense of the situation, haunted by the feeling that some crucial moment had passed him by.

"Must -move on," he whispered desperately as if trying to convince himself. The turmoil in his mind reflected in his restless movements, his body in spasms.

"-not interfere with…her life," he repeated again and again with conviction, his sleep-talking betraying a deep sense of determination. To his onlookers, the words sounded like a promise—a solemn oath to stay away, no matter the cost.

His fevered breaths quickened, and he tossed and turned. It was as if his body was purging his subconscious, as well as the horrid potion. Throughout the night, his sleep was disturbed by these fragmented mutterings, ceasing only when he felt the cool application of a wet towel on his forehead; a withered and weary house-elf tended to him diligently. The towel, its cool, soothing sensation, seemed to ease his restlessness. Turning over, Ominis opened his eyes to see the ancient-looking elf blinking down at him.

"Not yet, Master must rest until morning," the house-elf said in a hushed, respectful tone, "you is needing sleep, sir. Grimel is here to take care of you."

Ominis tried to speak, but his voice was weak and barely audible. "Grimel?" he croaked, trying to remember where he had heard that name before.

"Yes, young Master Gaunt," Grimel replied, his voice thin but warmed by an affection that Ominis couldn’t recall at present. "Grimel is here to help, always here to help. Mistress asked Grimel to look after you, and Grimel is honoured to do so."

The odd emphasis on Mistress tugged at strings in Ominis’ mind. At that moment, a woman swathed in black velvet and a dark lace veil swept into the room. She put down a small bottle and glared at the elf. She didn't say a word and Omins couldn't focus his bleary eyes to get a good look at her. The room around him still seemed to swim and rock uncomfortably. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead, murmuring something about ‘a foolish purchase’.

The house-elf shifted beside him and hesitated before reaching for the bottle. The woman gave a stern nod and made to leave, pausing at the threshold to ensure the elf administered the concoction she had delivered. Satisfied, she left.

***

A week drifted by, or perhaps mere days. Surely, the potion shouldn't haunt his mind this persistently—a fog he couldn’t dispel. It incensed him; he knew his recovery lagged unnaturally. His thoughts eluded him, and words jumbled around his ears, some unwelcome and disconcerting.

"Did she truly share your sentiments?"

“Reaching above her station is all I will say-”

“She couldn’t have cared that much…”

He vehemently shook his head. This voice wasn't his own, but whose was it?

Frowning, Ominis looked about. Had Grimel looked in on him this morning? He couldn’t recall. The elf was reluctant each time, but he would always visit in the morning and deliver a tincture to aid Ominis’ recovery. Why would he be reluctant? "Perhaps he's aware of its wretched taste," Ominis mused aloud.

With a sigh, he shifted his weight, easing his legs over the edge of the bed in preparation to rise. Cracking open a window could disperse the fog that clouded his mind. He stood up, his movements slow but deliberate. Just as he rested his hands on the window sill after swinging the battens open, he heard the click of a lock behind him.

He turned to see a tall, slender woman stepping through with a heavy brass key in hand.

“Ah, you’re awake. I feared you were comatose,” she remarked, her tone cutting yet strangely courteous.

"Mother," Ominis blurted, his mouth agape. He quickly realised how foolish he looked and closed it. As the fresh air flooded in, so too did some memories of recent days. Waking in cold sweats, gasping for air as though smothered by this mind-fog, and the unwelcome words—that voice in his mind, it was hers ! 

"Where is that cursed elf!" she hissed. "You have missed your tonic today."

A certain desperation in her voice caught Ominis’ attention. "No, but I do feel slightly better-" he began.

"That's because it's doing its job. Now, here, drink it," she thrust a small vial into his hand.

Cringing at the off-putting odour and a growing suspicion of his mother’s intentions, he braced himself. He reasoned that his newfound paranoia might well be baseless as his mind was, undoubtedly, in an unusual state at that moment. With a resigned sigh, he uncorked the vial and brought it to his lips. The taste was as unpleasant as the smell, but he managed to down the liquid in one gulp. Shuddering, he sank back onto the edge of the bed.

An uncomfortable and lingering hush settled in the room, underscoring the inherent distance between Ominis and his mother. It had always seemed there was little to discuss and even less to share, every exchange he could remember was stiff and ceremonious at best. The moment stretched on, painfully long. After what felt like an age, she seemed about to break the silence but abruptly changed her mind. Instead, she moved to a nearby side table and began fiddling with a doily. Ominis grasped for something, anything at all, to fill the awkward silence when she finally spoke.

"I suppose I should- I mean to say, I think an apology is in order," she murmured softly, the words almost sounding as though they were forced from her.

Caught off guard by this uncharacteristic admission, Ominis began to rise but was hit with a wave of dizziness, forcing him to slump back onto the bed.

"I am…sorry," she said, her words accompanied by a deep inhalation. "Sorry for the way events have unfolded."

Ominis was taken aback. "Sorry? That's quite uncommon," he thought. "Could it be that she's finally softening? With Father's illness and Marvolo's evident instability, she worries for the only heir who isn't entirely mad, I’d wager."

Her lips were a thin line as she pressed on, "I acknowledge that our earlier uh- intervention was ill-advised, my son. Nonetheless, I cannot help but wonder... If I had not meddled, then... no, it's best not to dwell on that now."

Perplexed by her uncharacteristic contrition, Ominis' curiosity was piqued. "No, I insist, what is it?" It was an unusual attempt at an apology, admittedly, yet it had his attention. "Please, speak."

"Well," she uttered softly, taking a seat with an air of grace at the end of the bed. "Did she truly love you? If she had, I cannot fathom how she could have moved on so swiftly."

Her words struck him hard, and he resented the truth he found in them. "Swiftly? Was a year swift?" Ominis thought to himself, a mixture of confusion and dismay clouding his expression. "I would never have been able to move on from her, try as I might." 

As a heavy sigh escaped him, he turned his gaze toward the floor, a sense of defeat washing over him. At the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a fleeting hint of a smirk on his mother's lips. But when she turned to leave, her demeanour was stern and serious. "A Gaunt deserves better," she stated, her words resolute as she exited the room.

***

The potion was administered in smaller doses each day. He swam in and out of consciousness and each time he came-to a part of him missed the oblivion. Ominis was caught in a spiralling contemplation of his perceived shortcomings. His waking moments were shadowed as spiteful self-loathing crept over him, and his days were now saturated with an unhealthy dose of introspection. 

On a bright and chilly morning, he mustered the courage to step outside. The crisp morning air momentarily invigorated him, relieving the weight that had burdened his chest. However, this respite was short-lived. His mother, observing him from her vantage point in the conservatory, spotted this brief excursion and promptly had him escorted back indoors. She feigned concern for his fragility, using the poor excuse of the late winter's air, which fanned the flames of a growing suspicion: his enforced confinement. Dissolving into self-pity once more, he considered it. He had nowhere else to be. It made little difference whether he was here or elsewhere, he reasoned. So, what does it truly matter?

As for his frailty, Ominis felt fine for the most part aside from constant drowsiness and depressed mood. Though naturally lean, he was usually strong, but his recent seclusion had taken its toll, he would admit. His skin was sallow and what little muscle he had was wasting. The momentary invigoration he had felt outdoors evaporated once ensconced in the comfort of his pillows, and his sour demeanour returned with a vengeance. He could sense an insidious malaise that permeated the very walls, an intangible force leeching his joy. But again, joy had never stuck around long in his life.

Interrupted only by intermittent visits from his mother, Ominis resigned himself to his miserable isolation. With each visit she unashamedly pushed her own agenda whilst he stared vacantly out the window, only distantly aware of the new buds and shoots that appeared as the snows thawed. 

Spruiking the Black marriage proposal once more, Ominis was now so despondent that he was on the brink of acquiescing to his mother's request. Two points had punctuated the white noise of his mind: if he were to accept the Black engagement, it would show Eve that he would never interfere with her happiness, and—for the first time in his life—his mother appeared to be concerned for his future. She cared for him, in her own strange way, it seemed and he found little reason to disappoint her now.

Shortly after these thoughts began to coalesce, he confessed his change of mind to Grimel in a moment of uncharacteristic openness. The old house elf had always been his confidant as a child, and Ominis felt he could air his new idea without setting anything immediately in motion. "Grimel, I've been thinking," Ominis began, his voice almost a whisper as he leaned against the windowsill.

Grimel's large, watery eyes regarded him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Master Ominis is thinking, is he? Should Grimel leave, sir?"

Ominis hesitated, the words caught in his throat for a moment. "No, no it’s just that- I think shall go ahead with the wedding," he admitted, his voice laden with a resigned acceptance. There was a shuffling sound out in the hall that went unnoticed as Grimel's ears perked up in surprise, his wrinkled face showing a rare expression of dismay. 

"A wedding, Master says. Which one, Grimel does wonder,” Feigning a dull curiosity, though his look of concern betrayed him.

“The only one on offer to me,” Ominis said as his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned.

“You must forgive, Grimel. He is old and forgetful. He remembers words from Master’s sickbed…”

“My sickbed? What was it I said?”

“Oh, many mutterings of Miss Eve. But if she is not the one for Master, then—,” The elf faltered. “Is Master Ominis quite sure?"

Ominis clenched his jaw at the mention of ‘Miss Eve’. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Yes, I am sure. It's become clear to me that this is the best course of action. Eve... she is happy now, far better off. And perhaps this engagement can keep my mother satisfied and out of my affairs and, more importantly, away from Eve."

Grimel squinted, trying his best to follow along. "Master Ominis wants to keep his mother out of his affairs? That is not... unusual, sir."

Again, there was a sound in the hall but again, it was covered by a soft scoffing from Ominis. Ominis turned with a faint smile, tinged with a hint of irony. "Indeed, Grimel. But desperate times call for desperate measures, don't they?"

The elf's ears drooped, and his wrinkled face showed signs of deep concern. "Master Ominis, Grimel has served you since you were but a young child. And Grimel has always known you to be strong-willed, to follow your own path."

Appreciating the effort required for the creature to politely raise his concern, Ominis sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Grimel, you've seen the turmoil this has caused. Eve deserves happiness, and I will not stand in her way. What other path is there?"

"Grimel understands this but Master Ominis must also be happy," a silent plea in the house elf’s words.

Ominis let out a bitter laugh, a sharp sound that cut through the air. "Happiness, Grimel? I was never meant for happiness. My life has been a series of obligations and burdens. What other purpose do I serve but to fulfil the expectations placed upon me?"

Grimel's watery eyes held a mixture of sadness and, despite fearing he was about to step beyond the line, he said, "Master Ominis deserves a life of his own choosing."

Ominis turned to Grimel, surprised at the wisdom in it. Before he could respond, his mother's voice cut through the moment. Neither one had heard her enter. Having eavesdropped in the hall, she had chosen her moment to dispense of the elf, his meddling may undo weeks of work.

"He has made a choice," his mother said, her tone cool and measured. “Now, out!”

Grimel, usually obedient and too terrified to refuse, summoned his courage to defy her. Before making a quick escape, he turned back to give Ominis a pleading look. “Master doesn’t need any more poison,” he said, capping the vial in his hand, then disappeared down the stairs.

His mother's eyes flashed with rage, and the room descended into a tense silence. 

“Poison?” Ominis asked as he straightened, his back stiff as he faced his mother. The delay in their morning talk meant that the normal dose had been delayed and he could feel his mind clearing.

“The decrepit fool means potion,” she snapped back, her voice dripping with disdain.

The sickening confirmation dawned on Ominis. The fog that clouded his mind, the doubts and negative thoughts that plagued him, the unwanted chastising in his ears—it was her doing. 

She had kept him sedated all this time. The room seemed to spin around him as he grappled with the implications. Betrayal, violation, and anger surged through him in equal measure. How dare she manipulate his mind; twisting his thoughts to serve her own agenda?

Mistaking his silence for acceptance, his mother's next words were poorly chosen. “You have made the right decision.”

Ominis felt something inside him snap. All the pent-up frustration, the feelings of being trapped, surged to the surface. He could no longer hold it in. “And what decision is it, exactly, that I have made?” his voice rising to something just shy of a bellow, shaking with a mix of incredulity and fury. “I had no part to play in any decision !”

At that moment, something changed within him. The rage, the indignation, it all merged into a seething force that consumed him. His mother's face twisted with a mixture of outrage and terror as she felt her plan unravel.

And then, without another word, Ominis raised his wand. The air crackled with tension as spells erupted from both sides. His mother was no stranger to wandwork, especially of the malicious kind. The room became a battleground, a titanic clash of magic and wills. Bookshelves toppled, glass shattered, and flames roared to life. It was chaos. 

He could hear the roaring of flames, or the roar of his own voices as he hurled hex after jinx across the library. It was a scene of utter destruction. Ominis felt a strange thrill of satisfaction and horror as he duelled his own mother, their spells colliding in explosions of light and smoke. After years of disdain and disgust, the cliff face that was their difference in opinion slid down in an avalanche of raw attack.

Finally, with a powerful surge, Ominis managed to break through his mother's defence. His spell struck her shoulder and she staggered, falling headlong under a toppling shelf. But as he raised his wand for what could be the final blow, he hesitated.

He realised that as much as he despised her actions, he couldn't bring himself to truly harm her. This was the woman that brought him into this world. It had been a miserable experience for most of his time, but there were a few shining moments and special people that made it worthwhile. For that, at least, he must be grateful. With a final, intense glare, he fled from the room and out of the front doors.

With a crack, Grimel appeared beside him, his face filled with worry. "Master Ominis is injured."

"I will be fine," Ominis muttered, heaving under the strain and exhaustion. He tried to inspect the wound to his stomach but the Ocufili were damaged. He was reduced to tunnel vision.  "We need to leave."

Grimel nodded and grasped Ominis’ hand in his tiny fingers. They disappeared into the night, leaving behind the aftermath of their clash.

Apparating to the Sallow’s doorstep, Grimel and Ominis lurched inside. Grimel remembered this place, it had always been a haven for the young Master. After the momentary shock and confused shouting died away, Sebastian was scratching a hasty message into the back of an odd pendant. 

The message was brief but urgent:

"You'd better come, quick—S.S."

Chapter Text

Eve absentmindedly picked at her food as Garreth recounted his day. A colleague's error had forced the closure of one of the labs, prompting an early return home for him. The young woman responsible for the breach seemed to be, according to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, flickering in and out of existence, her voice reduced to a mere echo. "A very troubling situation," Garreth remarked loudly. "Mostly because my notebooks were in there, and I can't have them until everything has been decontaminated."

"Mmm," Eve responded, a non-commital grunt as she distractedly played with the chain around her neck.

"Of course, I can't be sure what they were even working on," he continued. "But it was clearly some higher clearance stuff."

"Must have been," Eve said idly, slipping her fingers under the chain to relieve some mild discomfort. This heat, it’s stifling , she thought to herself. 

"Feeling hot, dear?" Garreth asked, eyeing her necklace jealously—not because he wanted one, but because of who had gifted it to her. "You should take that off. Likely giving you sand rash... plenty of that about."

She shot him a reproachful look across the table, but Garreth had resumed his griping about his inconsiderate coworker. "- so unfair because I have been with the Centre for far longer than her!" he complained loudly.

Eve was frowning now and looking quite distressed. Garreth thought this was a suitable response and ploughed on. “And if she was good enough to earn a promotion, then why, I ask, is half the building shut down because of her mistakes!?”

Eve could hardly bear it, the pendant she wore now felt as though it was burning her skin. Ignoring Garreth's continued complaints, she pushed her chair back from the table and fled to the bathroom mirror, clawing at the burning itch around her neck. Peering into the mirror, she found no rash. Instead, she beheld the small disc of gold stamped with a depiction of the goddess Eirene cradling the infant Ploutos. Though he rarely commented, Eve could tell it irritated Garreth. He misunderstood it and taken its likeness as a sort of maternal symbol. But the goddesses' role in greek mythology was to bring peace and harmony; to promote reconciliation and forgiveness among humans and gods alike. It was a gift from Sebastian, many years ago, a symbol of what Eve meant to him and a commentary on the forgiveness he sought after the incident with his uncle.

But now, it felt hot, as if it had been left in the sun all day, nearly scorching the sensitive skin around her collarbone. Eve took it off and turned it over in her hand. She knew this piece better than her own face. Countless times she had studied it, considered it, held it—for comfort more often than not, but there was something different. Around the rim of the back face, tiny letters were etched in a very familiar hand. 

“It’s Ominis. He’s hurt. You’d better come, quick” - S.S.

Sebastian had enchanted it! A protean charm, perhaps? 

Remarkable—but now is not the time! Sebastian was reaching out, urgently.

“Come quick,” but where? There were only three places of great significance to all three in this plea: the Undercroft, the Crypt, and Feldcroft. Since graduating, they no longer had access to the Undercroft, and the Crypt was a ghastly place that none of them would ever wish to visit again. Which only left Feldcroft—the only place offering a scrap of comfort, despite the abundant pain and misery there too.

Closing her fist around the pendant, it now felt quite cool. The burning message had been relayed. Her eyes darted around the room, seeing nothing in particular. She hadn't heard from Sebastian in how long? A year and a half? Perhaps more. Their relationship had been strained since that awful relic had cast its shadow over them. Although she loved him like a brother, they were better off apart. Sebastian and Eve brought out the worst in each other—his hunger for forbidden power and her thirst for risk-taking.

Barely a minute had passed since she left the table. Her instincts took over, she was no stranger to thinking on her feet. She thrust her wand towards a shelf of books and flicked it haphazardly, sending them soaring into an open satchel on a floor pillow. She grabbed the heaviest coat she could find and tucked it under her arm. It would be much colder where she was headed, but there was no time to change out of the loose cottons she wore for Egyptian climes.

She scooped up the bag, just as Garreth had made it to the doorway to see why she had rushed off just as he was getting to the crux of his story.

“Something has happened, and Ominis is injured,” she said without looking up. “Badly, I fear. I must go to him.”

This statement was unexpected. As a rule, they didn't mention Ominis Gaunt. Not for any specific reason, but Garreth could see it was still painful for Eve. Though dulled with time, the mention of his name still brought a sort of tension to her smooth features.

He, himself, took no joy in recalling the man who had hurt her, despite having given Garreth this chance with Eve—for without Ominis’ mistake Garreth would never have known his current happiness.

As the silence stretched on, she raised her eyes. She swept over the freckles splayed across the bridge of his nose, his red locks tumbling down about his face and finally into his eyes. 

Eve knew, even now, she felt for the man who had hurt her. Garreth knew it too.

This might just be the moment she slips back to him, but what kind of man would I be to stop her?  

“Will you come back to me?” He asked, simply and softly.

Eve had been puffing up her chest, ready to argue her case and telling him off for trying to stop her. Her expression of rising indignation melted away instantly at his words, and a warmth spread through her chest. 

“Nothing could keep me away.”

And with that, he pulled her into a hard embrace, it was brief but spoke volumes.

He released her and made for the anteroom. “Take this with you,” He called as he scooped up a handful of vials— wiggenweld, Blood Replenishers, Muggle smelling salts, Essence of Dittany, and Murtlap too—and dumped them into a medic bag. He thrust it into her arms as she reached the threshold and gently turned her around, pushing her back towards her satchel. 

“It’s full of supplies. I don’t know what injuries he’s got but something in there should help. I’d be more familiar with the potions, but you’ve had more than enough experience in tinctures and salves. My presence may- erm- upset him. Now, go.”

She grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face to hers, tangling her fingers in his hair as she kissed him. Like the hug, it was hard and fast. “You will worry, but I will be okay,” she said.

Stepping back, the scene around her warped and twisted, swirling in on itself as time and space folded together. With a crack, she was gone.

***

It was dark and foggy, with only the heavy footsteps of pacing and frantic spellcasting, accompanied by urgent encouragement and reassurances emanating from the only house illuminated by candlelight. Eve's eyes darted wildly as she shot forward towards the Sallow house. The curious gazes of neighbours peering through curtains followed her, wondering about the commotion.

Barely more than five minutes had passed since she discovered the urgent message on her pendant. By the sounds emanating from the house, Ominis was still conscious. In those final strides before reaching the door, she reflected on Garreth's quick acceptance of the situation and his thoughtful provision of supplies. There was no spite, no distrust—it was the first time their relationship had been tested, and his response was surprisingly endearing.

She rapped on the door and was pulled inside almost immediately. "Thank Merlin, you’ve come. I wasn't sure you would."

"How dare you!" She spat at Sebastian, throwing herself onto her knees beside Ominis’ quivering and alarmingly pale body. Sticky red liquid pooled about his waist. Desperately plunging her hand into her satchel and extracting the medic bag, she hissed, “You may be a brute, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to save your sorry backside.”

With a swift motion, she popped open the clasp, revealing an array of ingredients at her disposal.

“Well, It isn’t really me who needs saving,” Sebastian offered in a brave attempt at a casual tone. “Not this time.’

With a sidelong glance, she took a moment to steady her heartbeat and breathing.

She needed to assess Ominis's condition. His skin was grey, he was sweating, and there was the noticeable loss of blood.

Stop the bleeding . She whipped out a cloth and some smoking, purplish liquid. “Easy now,” she said bracingly, cleaning the cut with a dab of purple liquid that smoked and stung. She then tapped his ribs in several places with her wand, and the torn skin knitted itself instantly. The pool of blood was no longer advancing across the floor; the bleeding had stopped.

Next, burns—these would be causing him extreme pain. Soothe them. Scooping her hand into a large jar, Eve extracted a handful of what looked like bright orange clay. She smeared this oozing salve across the patch of exposed skin on his chest where his clothing had singed away. It had no effect. Watching in horror, as the skin faintly sizzled beneath the orange paste.

“It isn’t working,” Eve said, stricken. “Did you hear the incantation, Ominis?”

“No,” he gasped through gritted teeth. “ I got too close to her, it was- like a ring of black fire—.”

Eve immediately began rummaging around in the ingredients bag. “This was dark magic,” she said with a second furtive glance at Sebastian. “Similar to fiendfyre.”

As Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair, a look of great distress upon his features, Eve delicately extracted what looked like tiny silver threads from a bottle and laid them on a side table, murmuring to herself about the benefits of unicorn hair. She directed her wand at the orange salve, Evanesco , she thought. It vanished, and she hurriedly set about applying a solution from a bottle labelled ‘Murtlap Essence’ to the now visible and inflamed skin. 

There was a moment of tension as she pressed gently at the wound with a clean cloth, but instead of wincing, Ominis let out a small sigh of relief, and Eve watched as his muscles relaxed.

“Thank Merlin!” she exclaimed, closing her eyes for just a moment as she placed a shaking hand over her heart. But she knew he was not yet out of the woods.

Sebastian dropped to his knees beside his friend and, knowing he wasn’t going to be in Eve’s way, he offered his help. Passing the Murtlap Essence to Sebastian, he spent a few minutes fussing over every cut and graze he could reach. Satisfied that Ominis was now outwardly returned to normal, he looked at Eve. “How did you know to use the unicorn hair? Actually…,” He paused considering something. “How did you know it was fiendfyre?”

“It wasn’t fiendfyre,” Eve retorted, a little more harshly than was necessary. “Just similar. And anyone with a halfway decent knowledge of magical creatures knows that little trick, the hair is particularly effective against dark magic wounds.” 

Ominis had been quite still and his breathing was shallow but steady. His eyes closed and face slack.

“It’s taken a lot out of him,” she said gravely, observing Ominis. “We are in for a long and sleepless wait.”

Chapter Text

Sebastian and Eve remained vigilant throughout the night, stirring only when the afternoon sun pierced through the gap in the curtains. As the first rays of light danced across the room, Eve lifted her head to find Ominis peering at her from his spot on the floor. They had decided not to disturb him, providing only a blanket and pillow for comfort.

"It seems I made it through the night," Ominis murmured, prompting Eve to spring from her armchair and rush to his side.

"But only just," she retorted playfully, though a wave of genuine relief washed over her at the sight of his stabilising condition. "The colour is returning to your cheeks," she said kindly.

As Eve moved to fetch some water, Ominis reached out and grasped her wrist, causing her to freeze. His touch was cold, as it always seemed to be.

"Will you sit with me for a moment? I have something to tell you," he whispered. "I may not get another chance."

Eve rolled her eyes, gently freeing her wrist from his grasp before kneeling beside him. “I told you, you’re recovering. We have all the time in the world togeth-” she broke off.

For a fleeting moment, a hopeful glimmer flickered in Ominis' eyes. Not wanting to mislead him she quickly added, “Garreth will be most worried, but I can spare a little more time before I return. Go ahead, Ominis.”

Ominis' expression darkened once more, which Eve regretted but to lie was worse. After a moment, Ominis had chosen his words and began to speak.

He told Eve of his work in the genealogy department; of how he had traced a dozen leads and visited, in person, a muggle establishment to confirm details. Eve had yet to learn where this was leading. 

What did a work story have to do with her, and surely now was not the right moment to tell it? 

He spoke of letters, faded news articles, and of scribbled notes on old family trees. Nearing the end of his tale, Eve’s brow was furrowed, listening intently. Ominis hesitated. One never knows how news like this might be received… The room, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, seemed to hold its breath.

"Eve," Ominis began again, his voice barely above a whisper yet piercing through the silence, "there's something about your past you ought to know."

Eve gazed fixedly into his milky-white eyes, her face a reflection of curiosity and uncertainty. Swallowing hard and turning her ear to him, she was both scared and intrigued. Ominis steeled himself, the words heavy on his tongue.

"You once told me that your mother died in childbirth, and your father perished in a mining accident," Ominis continued, each word carefully measured. "But that's not entirely true.”

Unsure if he was accusing her of lying or not, Eve sat up a little straighter. This was, in fact, the entirety of her knowledge about her family. She had long assumed that the circumstances of her parents' deaths indicated they were Muggles, as magic would surely have saved them otherwise, but her blood status and origins were as good as guesswork. She looked affronted but remained silent, prompting Ominis to reluctantly break the awkward pause.

“You see, your mother was- well, she was a…Greengrass,” he said as delicately as he could manage and winced as Eve narrowed her eyes at the name. “And,” believing it was better to get this over with, he continued, “your grandmother, an Avery.” Sucking air through his teeth he ploughed on, there was nothing for it, “and your father was Mr Edgar Fawley”.

The effect was instant. Her jaw was clenched, muscles twitching as she ground her teeth to dust. All three names were of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, ancient pureblood lines, and all ran with circles that any reputable witch or wizard would otherwise run from . The colour had drained from Eve’s face, wearing an undecided mix of disbelief and fury, she rocked backwards on her heels as though attempting to distance herself from his words.

Still, she said nothing and the minutes wore on. Her eyes searched Ominis’ face, looking for any hint of a bad joke she knew she would not find. Shaking her head as though this might make it all go away, Ominis sighed and rose onto his elbows, “It gets worse, I’m afraid.”

***

“The bastard gave me up!?” Eve shrieked as Sebastian, who had been pretending to sleep for some time as he listened to this unfold, nearly jumped out of his chair. Ominis, on the other hand, had expected an eruption, and only flinched.

“Dumped me and disappeared into the night, did he?” Eve's rage continued unabated. “A mining accident—ha! And my mother dying in childbirth? No magic to save her, I suppose? Not even the Twenty-Eights could excuse an illegitimate child, even if it was filled with their revolting ‘precious’ blood,” she seethed.  

"Quite, they were, in a way, on the run," Ominis explained, attempting to soothe the situation. "To be in the family way, out of wedlock was a dreadful disgrace in those times. But it seems your father was a man of, at least, some small amount of honour as he stood by your mother."

This earned him a dirty scowl from Eve. "Did he now?" she spat.

Again, an awful silence settled in the room. Ominis had never seen her like this, and to his horror, her fury seemed directed at him. He regretted just one thing more than invoking Eve’s fury in this present moment—even a fleeting memory of that awful night brought on an ache deep in his chest.

It was not, of course, his fault, and Eve bit her tongue savagely as she reminded herself not to shoot the messenger.

"Who else knows about this?" she demanded.

Ominis shifted uncomfortably and stared at the ceiling. Settling his eyes on Eve again, he swallowed and mumbled, "Sebastian."

She huffed in reply. Of course, if he were to confide in anyone else, it would be Sebastian. "You will tell no one else."

It was not a request; it was a command. Ominis wasn't surprised by this. He had presumed she would, in time, want to seek more information and he would be there to help her. But when he mentioned this, her only comment was, "Get back in touch with a bunch of horrid pureblood supremacists that turned my mother out of their home and struck her from the family records? Or stop in for a spot of morning tea with the beasts that labelled my father pure but disgraced ? I think not!"

She turned to leave the house, making for the Floo flame.

"Whoa-oh. Hold up," Sebastian caught her arm as she shielded her eyes from the last of the setting sun's rays. She huffed annoyedly but didn't resist him either. "This is heavy news. You need to talk."

"There's nothing to say."

“Great! That's even easier. We can just sit and finish off a bottle of wine then,” he said brightly.

She bestowed another of her glowering scowls, this time upon Sebastian, and protested that she was not in the mood for wine.

"Good!" he exclaimed as he ducked into the house and emerged moments later holding two tumblers and a bottle of fire whiskey. "Off we go then!"

He's persistent, I'll give him that , she thought as Sebastian offered his arm. They wandered off across the vale in silence and came to sit under a broad oak. Pouring two glasses, he raised his, "A toast: to orphans." 

Eve supposed she might have been offended by this if she were a sensitive person, but instead, she clinked her glass to his, "To orphans!" and downed the glass in one go.

***

Eve strolled north through Hogsmeade, the familiar sight of Tomes and Scrolls passing by on her right. She had traversed these winding paths countless times over the years, her feet seemingly choosing their way through bustling crowds. Her thoughts, however, were absorbed by something far more pressing. Although the village exuded its usual charm, her preoccupation dulled her awareness of the quaint shops and lively chatter around her.

She caught snippets of conversations as she slipped by huddles of witches and wizards, taking a well-earned gossip break before continuing about their day. A middle-aged witch with a cob-web spangled hat remarked to her companions, "If it wasn't for the cost of living, I'd be going on holiday." To which her friends muttered sympathetically.

Further along, a wizard with a perpetually exasperated expression grumbled, to nobody in particular, "I've been cleaning so much lately; I feel like a house-elf. How do I get one?"

Weeks had passed, and Eve, somewhat reluctantly, eased into the truth of her dark heritage. It perhaps explained why she was at least a little curious—eager, even—to have helped Sebastian in his various forays into dark magic.

She had waited a few days before telling Garreth about her parentage. She had half expected him to shrug it off with remarks like "What does it matter? It's who you are now that counts," but instead, he looked glum.

"So I'm accidentally continuing a pure-blooded heritage. Great," he had muttered.

Eve was completely caught off guard by this reaction from Garreth and was aghast. She let out a surprised laugh, not expecting such a response.

"Oh, what a wretched bother. I am terribly sorry to disappoint you," Eve scoffed.

Only later did the implications of this comment truly register. He did not hesitate in his duty to continue the Weasley line and, what's more, he was confident that she would play a role in it. Eve was unsure how she felt about this. Children, in her view, were agreeable enough, yet she took greater pleasure in the ability to return them to their caregivers when they grew too upset or bothersome. This would be a discussion for some other time…

"No, I mean... I liked your 'unknown' blood status. It was edgy. Kept people guessing. And well, now that I know that the greatest witch of our generation belongs to the Sacred -," he snorted and broke off, catching sight of Eve’s warning expression.

"Oh well," he said after a pause, with a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "At least it explains the Slytherin streak in you."

At this, he doubled over as Eve's elbow caught him hard in the ribs, both laughing.

Eve emerged from her reverie, finding herself before a small, timeworn stone cottage nestled on the edge of town. It was familiar and flooded her with memories—good and bad. She remembered how she had first come to own the house when a mad witch had attempted to end her life in a cursed dungeon beneath her old shop; and then of happier moments of whiksey-fuelled laughter and dancing by the fire.

Her chest tightened as she wrung her hands. Anticipation, trepidation, and anxiety were old companions, but the heavy-hearted dismay settling upon her was both unfamiliar and unwelcome. This was not a conversation she wished to have, but she knew she must.

Entering the cottage, she looked upon a man she knew better than any other, yet she barely recognised him.

The toll of recent events had made him thin, his features were drawn—strained—and there was an unsurprising weariness in his countenance, after the injuries (physical and otherwise) sustained during the duel with his mother just weeks ago.

He welcomed her with a forced smile, and they exchanged pleasantries. Both knew this moment was inevitable, yet neither wanted to take part in it.

“That view never gets old, does it?” Eve remarked, attempting to break the tension that lingered in the room.

Ominis remained silent, his pearly eyes studied the floor, only half hearing her. “I thought things might be different,” he finally spoke, his voice heavy. “After all, it had turned out to be one ghastly manipulation after another. When left alone, we were…You and I were…perfect together, Evie.”

“Perhaps we were, in the beginning. But the reality is that things weren't perfect in the end. We were tested. And we failed,” Eve replied as firmly as she could, struggling against the tightening in her throat.

“But we are here now, together," he pleaded, desperation evident in his voice.

"Yes, we are here," Eve agreed, her tone softening slightly, "But we are not the same people as we were a year ago. Very recently, you nearly killed your mother in defence of your own life. And me? I am burdened by a certain self-loathing I cannot escape because of my parentage! Yet, I am conflicted by curiosity and a yearning to understand it all.”

She paused, settling on the real crux of the matter. “And most of all, we now know that you do not trust me."

He moved to stand before her, his eyes gazing imploringly into Eve’s. "Don't be like that. Of course, I trust you," Ominis protested, sad but defiant. "We have been through so much together, we share so many secrets, our own and the secrets of others dear to us."

There were, after all, only three people in the world who knew what had truly transpired that fateful night in the crypt. Despite Eve's later assurances, Ominis couldn't shake the nagging doubt about Anne's fate. His brow furrowed at the dark thought. The idea that her pain had simply dissipated after Rookwood's demise had initially brought him comfort, but that was a child’s belief—a curse so potent as hers would not simply fade away.

“I will go to my grave with those secrets, Ominis. But I must live my life until that day. I am sorry, Ominis,” she uttered, her palms gently pressing against his chest as she began to pull away. “Garreth has given me something that you could not—his faith.”

Ominis crumpled. Though it pained her to admit, she knew it to be true. Garreth had provided help, not hindrance, the night she had decided to go to Ominis. He took her at her word, a harder thing to do than most can imagine.

“I simply cannot love without trust, Ominis,” she whispered, tears tracing a path down her cheeks as her lashes fluttered closed. “And you did not trust me, so I cannot love you.” Without casting a backward glance, she made her way to the door, pausing only briefly to catch his breathless whisper that followed her out.

“I shall never love another.”