Venom & Velvet

by lynndiavol

Summary:

Ominis Gaunt. The blind heir of Slytherin. A name steeped in venom, whispers, and the suffocating weight of his family's legacy.

To Velvette, the new seventh-year at Hogwarts, none of this mattered. With a lineage as mysterious as her arrival -parents born as Squibs but tied, it is said, to Rowena Ravenclaw herself- she wasn't here to worship purebloods or play by anyone's rules.

But rules were something Ominis lived by. A leash to keep the Gaunt darkness at bay. Yet the moment her quiet defiance crossed his path, her presence unraveled the very restraints holding him back.

Velvette sees what others don't. The cracks beneath his pristine mask and the venomous hunger in his unseeing gaze. This is not a story of heroes. This is a tale of seduction, defiance, and the perilous cost of wanting what should never be yours.

Chapter 1

Venom & Velvet

~an Ominis Gaunt dark romance~

Prologue

Pale as the bones keeping her skeletal form afloat, the serpent's scales glistened with a spectral sheen, rippling like molten silver as it moved. It coiled deliberately, starting at her feet— anchoring her there like unyielding stone.

Higher it climbed, its path unhindered; a slow, silken suffocation. Her body betrayed her, rooted and rigid, as the coils tightened with cruel intent. When it reached her neck, the world sucummed to stillness. Breathing escaped her. Stolen by the grip of the serpent's cold embrace.

Shadows bled into her vision, smearing the edges of reality until all that remained was its pale luminescence and the silence of her own ruin.

She surfaced from the darkness with a jagged inhale, her hands clawing at her throat as though the memory lingered there. The room sat quiet, indifferent to her terror, but the serpent's icy imprint clung to her skin— a ghostly reminder of something far from a mere dream.

Some marks were not meant to fade.

 

 

Notes:

Welcome to the start of something so dark and sinister that I feel I must warn you about the road you're traveling down. If dark romance is not your forte, turn back now. This novel borders on anti-HEA. If that didn't make you click away, welcome. Perhaps the darkness is where you feel safest.

With that said... Happy reading.

(follow me on Tumblr/Tiktok for updates @lynndiavol)

Chapter 2

Cursed as the sun to rise yet another day, Velvette felt her own burden to rise to the occasion. With a heavy groan, she peeled herself from bed, eyeing the drab uniform she now had to wear day after day. Gone were her beloved fashions, replaced by stiff robes and conformity. Each limb she slid into the scratchy fabric felt like another tether to a life she hadn't agreed to.

School? Fine. Other students? Tolerable. Tests? Bearable. But uniforms?

Dragging herself in front of the mirror, she stood there, lip curling into an involuntary sneer. The sight of herself dressed like a perfect Hogwarts student was almost laughable. No wonder her uncle had never made it past his third year. She could feel the rebellion in her veins already.

One year. That's all she needed to get through. 

Her parents had been denied this birthright, however. The Hogwarts experience had been dangled in front of them and cruelly snatched away, and here she was, living it for them.

They'd had their robes picked out since birth, having each come from a long line of Ravenclaws. It was assumed that every offspring would, in turn, be a Ravenclaw. That's why, even before she got sorted, she adorned the midnight blue associated with the house.

Presumptuous, she thought, her gaze flicking toward the crest on her chest.

'Squibs.' The word echoed in her mind, one of the first she'd learned about wizarding society. 'Muggles', being a close second. Squibs were the children of witches and wizards who never came into their magical abilities. Whereas muggles were those with no magic at all. Her parents had lived in that liminal space, cast out from the wizarding world and yet still haunted by its whispers. It was a cruel irony, being born into a pureblood lineage only to be denied its gifts. 

It bewildered her almost as much as the idea of flying on a broomstick did.

"Velvette! You must hurry if we're to catch the train!"

Her mother's voice cut through her musings. 

"Coming!" she called back, though she didn't move immediately. Instead, she wrestled the last few relics of her individuality into her luggage: books from her muggle studies, such trivial items wouldn't be welcome at Hogwarts yet she dared someone to rip them from her hands.

Her father's lessons rang out: A broadened mind should never be shunned.

With one last glance at the room she was leaving behind, she snapped her trunk shut.

From downstairs, her mother's fretting continued. Velvette muttered under her breath, "Coming... coming..." as she shoved some essentials for the train ride into a separate bag.

"Mumbling is unbecoming of a Ravenclaw," came a wry voice from the hallway. She swung her door open to find her uncle leaning casually against the frame, the Hogwarts supply list dangling from his hand. She caught sight of it just before he slipped it into his pocket.

He gave a theatrical cough to distract her. "Ready?"

Her heart sank. "You're accompanying me, not them." It was not a question, merely a shocking realization.

"Mm... It seems so."

No explanation was needed. The answer obvious. "I understand," she said, shrugging as if it didn't sting. "They don't want to relive the pain of not going themselves."

Finneas smirked. "Perceptive little witch. Keep that sharp mind of yours— it'll serve you well in your final year. Speaking of sharp minds, I've sent an owl to my dear old friend, Professor Hawthorne. He'll keep an eye on you once you're sorted. He's Head of Ravenclaw House. Now, I don't doubt that your homeschooling has served you well, but the professors at Hogwarts will challenge you to apply what you've learned. Casting the spells is much different than practicing the wand motions and incantations."

Velvette raised an eyebrow, almost offended. "I know it will be different. Auntie Mags has let me practice them on her estate." She caught the flare of his eyes and had to backtrack, "Some. Minor spells. Like Lumos. Please don't scold her."

He mumbled something about having a stern talk with his sister, to which Vel immediately chastised him. "Oh, I thought mumbling was... Mm, what was it exactly? 'Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw'?"

He fully ignored her quip, "Come on, give me your trunk. We've got two stops to make before Kings Cross." Without another word, he fetched the suitcase and began hauling it downstairs in step behind her. 

She hated the feeling that began to gnaw at her once she spotted her parents at the bottom of the narrow steps. They looked ready to call the whole thing off. Yet this was always the promise made to their families. Being the sole child in recent years from the Nightingale and Prince families thus far, she had a duty to solidify her place in the wizarding world. 

"Remember to write as soon as you're settled," Her mother, Adelaide, urged. A tremble in her voice. "And don't let anyone make you feel less than what you are."

Velvette nodded; the lump in her throat made speaking impossible. Her father leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"We're proud of you, Vel," Landon stammered, trying to be strong for both the women he adored. "Don't let them dull your moonlight."

Finneas dropped the suitcase, its weight making the ground tremble. "Right, Addie, Landon, don't worry yourselves too much. I'll keep an eye on her until she's on the train. You have my word. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "Professor Hawthorne will see her after the sorting ceremony. She'll be in good hands."

Landon tightened his jaw at the mention of Hawthorne, a gesture that Velvette did not miss or mistake. Before she had a chance to ask him why he didn't like the guy, her mother spoke.

"Thank you, Finneas. But do make sure she doesn't miss the train. Please." Addie gave him a tight smile, the worry in her eyes unmistakable.

"As if I'd let that happen," Finneas quipped. "You ready, kid?"

Vel nodded, head down to hide the tears welling in the pits of her eyesockets until it felt like they may burst from the pressure. She lunged forward, swinging an arm around each parent and pulling them closer. They returned the hug, wrapping their arms around her as if she may evaporate. 

Growing uncomfortable by the horrendous display of affection, her uncle began tapping his foot.  Having never married, never had kids, and certainly never an interest in the former, Finneas clung to his dutiful job as an auror. It was rare to catch him in a moment of genuine warmth.

Her father pulled away first, placing a hand on the nape of her neck to get a good look at her. "Go make us proud."

"Expect nothing less." Vel winked. 

As the last of the goodbyes were muttered, her uncle held the carriage door open. After climbing inside, Velvette hardened herself internally, reminding herself that this was to placate their families. She never considered them her own; having been shunned by them until they learned that she was a witch. Now she merely tolerated them.

"Seems someone didn't read their list properly." Finneas tapped the parchment in his hand. Damned that list, she hadn't a clue what half of it meant. He skimmed it. "You know, last-minute shopping is a Nightingale family specialty. I remember one year when I bought all my books the morning of the train ride and just made it onboard with a minute to spare."

She shifted in her seat, unaccustomed to his small talk and attempts to bond. "I know Mags asked you to be here today because she couldn't. You don't have to pretend anymore."

"I'm not..." He slumped back in his seat. "I'm not pretending. If our family has made—"

"Your family." She corrected.

"Fine, then. If my family has made you feel that way, you're entirely mistaken. You'll see soon enough that they never wrote you off." When confusion flickered across her face, he let out an exasperated groan. "Ah, I see your parents conveniently forgot to mention that the holiday arrangements were part of the deal, didn't they?"

"Seems so," she muttered, clicking her tongue in frustration. She resigned herself to staring out the window for the rest of the ride, watching as the bustling streets of London gave way to quieter, more peculiar alleyways.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of a shack-like building tucked between two unassuming facades, Velvette's expectations for the grandeur of Diagon Alley crumbled. The structure leaned precariously, as though it were perpetually caught in a losing battle against gravity. A faded sign above the door gave her little insight into what the store was, as the paint peeled like forgotten wallpaper.

"This is it?" Velvette asked skeptically, stepping out of the car and eyeing the crooked doorway. She tugged her cloak tighter, the brisk wind biting at her face.

Her uncle, already halfway to the entrance, turned with an amused smirk. "What were you expecting? Gleaming towers and golden gates?"

She hesitated, and then followed suit. As they entered, a wave of musty air greeted her. A tiny bell jingled overhead, though no shopkeeper appeared to greet them.

"Your parents ever mention floo powder in their teachings?" Finneas asked, pulling a small satchel from his coat pocket. It looked so plain —worn leather cinched by a string of twine— yet it hummed with an energy that made her uneasy.

"Flu powder?" She repeated, thinking it had something to do with being sickly.

Finneas chuckled, shaking his head. "Of course not. Squibs wouldn't need it, now, would they? But you—" He pointed a finger at her, his expression softening in rare amusement. "You're in for a treat. First time's always disorienting."

She raised a brow. "What do you mean first time?"

Without answering, he handed her the satchel, motioning toward a fireplace set against the far wall. It was more ornate than anything else in the shop, its intricate carvings of serpents and vines twisting up the mantle. "Stand in the middle."

"You're not serious," Velvette muttered.

"As serious as the sorting hat," he quipped. "Stand in the fireplace, grab a pinch of powder, and say the name of the store we're traveling to, Pippins Potions. Speak clearly, or you'll end up Merlin-knows-where. Ready?"

"Not really," she admitted, clutching the pouch tightly. The whole thing felt absurd.

"Too bad," he retorted with a grin, nudging her toward the fireplace.

With a reluctant sigh, Velvette stepped inside, her boots scraping against the soot-covered floor. The faint smell of ash and something earthy filled her nostrils. "And if I don't end up where I'm supposed to?"

"Then I'll see you in a week," Finneas teased, though there was a hint of truth in his tone.

"Very comforting," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she pinched the fine powder between her fingers.

"Say it loud and clear," Finneas instructed, crossing his arms. "Pippins Potions, got it?"

Velvette swallowed back the nerves clouding her resolve, feeling both ridiculous and petrified. "Pippins Potions," she half-shouted, her voice faltering slightly at the end before tossing the powder at her feet.

The flames erupted around her in an instant, turning a brilliant emerald green. The world around her dissolved into a blur of swirling light as she felt herself spinning, weightless, through what could only be described as a magical vortex of time and space. It felt as though she was being pulled in every direction at once and yet she stayed intact. Before she could process the sensation, the spinning slowed, and the green flames flickered out.

Velvette stumbled forward, barely catching herself on the edge of a wooden counter. She blinked, her surroundings coming into focus. The shop was dimly lit and smelled sharply of herbs and something acrid. Rows of jars filled with curious substances lined the walls, their contents bubbling, glowing, or simply waiting ominously.

"Well done," her uncle's voice called from behind her. She whirled around to find him stepping out of the fireplace as casually as if he'd taken a stroll through a park. "No limbs missing. I'd call that a success."

Velvette glared at him, still catching her breath. "I hate magic," she muttered, though her eyes betrayed the fascination creeping in as she surveyed her surroundings.

Finneas smirked. "You'll get used to it. You can't imagine how inconvenient travel was before floo powder got invented."

"Oh, I can imagine." Vel rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to remind him that she'd grown up amongst muggles her entire life. Their ways of life were very much her own. Attending Hogwarts for one short semester would not have her forgetting that.

Though no one approached to assist them, Finneas strode to the desk and retrieved a neatly bundled sack placed atop it. He opened it to inspect the contents with a quick glance, contently nodded, and retied the knot securely.

"I made arrangements ahead of time to avoid any delays," he explained. "Looks like Parry managed to gather almost everything on the list. If anything is missing, you can request it from your professors. Now, one more stop."

Diagon Alley was nothing like Velvette had imagined. The narrow street twisted and turned, flanked by crooked buildings that loomed over her. The cobblestones beneath her feet were uneven, the cracks filled with the grime of decades. She had expected wonder, a sense of magic in the air. Instead, it felt suffocating, heavy with disdain for those who didn't belong.

Her eyes darted to the shop signs. Ollivanders. Flourish and Blotts. Madam Malkin's.

As they weaved through the crowds, she noticed the subtle glances from witches and wizards passing by. Their gazes lingered a moment too long, as if they could sense the squib blood in her veins. It wasn't overt, but the air was charged with a quiet superiority, an unspoken belief that they were better than the non-magical world.

"Don't mind them," Finneas said, catching her staring at a particularly haughty-looking group outside Madam Malkin's. "They think their robes make them royalty. Bunch of tossers, really."

Velvette smirked despite herself. "Charming crowd."

"You'll get used to it," he said with a shrug. "Let's get what we need and get out of here. If you've been practicing with Magdalain, then you must have been using a spare wand. That will simply not do for your time at Hogwarts..."

Their final stop: Ollivanders. The moment Velvette stepped inside, the air shifted. It felt... alive. Wands lined the walls in neat stacks, and the faint hum of magic filled the room.

"Ah, Finneas!" a voice called, light and jovial, as the wandmaker emerged from the dim shadows of the back room. "Don't tell me you've gone and broken another wand."

Finneas's posture stiffened as his face flushed slightly. "No, not this time," he muttered, clearing his throat. "I'm here on behalf of my niece."

"Another wand?" Velvette turned to her uncle with a sly grin. 

Just as she readied to taunt him some more, something in the corner of her vision caught her wandering gaze— a faint glint of light reflecting off a dusty, forgotten shelf behind the counter. Her curiosity stirred, and her feet carried her forward without a second thought. A wand box sat there, wedged awkwardly amongst the others. Its edges were scuffed and crumpled, likely discarded and neglected for years.

She felt it before she even touched it. A calloused whisper, soft but insistent, brushing against her mind like a thread of silk. It called to her, drawing her hand closer to the battered box. She reached out, fingertips just brushing the edge—

"No! Not that wand," Gerbold's voice rang out, sharp and insistent. He shot forward, placing himself between Velvette and the shelf. His usually warm expression had hardened into something unreadable. "That wand was meant to be destroyed long ago."

Velvette pulled her hand back, startled by the sudden intensity. "Destroyed? Why would anyone destroy a wand?"

Finneas stepped up beside her, his hand settling protectively on her shoulder. His gaze flicked to Gerbold, then to the box. "What's the story behind it?" He sternly inquired. "And why would you still have it if it was supposed to be destroyed?"

Gerbold hesitated, glancing between the two of them. "It's... complicated," he admitted reluctantly. "That wand once belonged to a wizard who was... deeply unworthy of it."

"What does that mean?" Velvette pressed.

The wandmaker's expression darkened. "The wizard who wielded it performed magic so vile, the wand itself began to take on his darkness. It has a will of its own now— a hunger for pain and destruction. It whispers to those who touch it, tempting them, urging them toward ruin. When its master fell, we tried to destroy it, but..." He shook his head, his voice trailing off. "It wouldn't burn, nor would it shatter. So, I hid it away. Better forgotten than unleashed. It's not meant to be on this shelf amongst the others, it must be a mixup."

Velvette's gaze lingered on the wand box, her stomach twisting. "It called to me," she murmured, almost to herself.

"Of course it did," Gerbold stated grimly. "That's exactly why it must remain locked away."

But something had shifted in Velvette. The whisper still lingered, faint but insistent, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the wand hadn't called to her by accident.

"Enough of that," Finneas said, his hand tightening on her shoulder. "We're here for her proper wand and I trust that Gerbold will pair you with a fine match."

Gerbold nodded eagerly, ready to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Right. Let's see..." He turned and began scanning the shelves, his hands already pulling down potential matches. "Ah! I have the one right here... Hold this one and give it a wave."

Velvette nodded, but her attention wasn't fully on the wand in front of her. Her eyes kept darting back to the shelf where the battered box sat, tucked away in the shadows. The whisper was still there, tugging at the edges of her mind, growing louder, more incessant. Nonetheless, she took the wand handed to her with a forced smile. A subtle flick of her wrist sent a stream of golden sparks shooting from the tip.

"Hmm, we could do better with..." The shopkeeper handed her another wand, seamlessly taking the other one and placing it back into its box. "This one is hazelwood, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches— sturdy and precise. I have a feeling this one will sing for you."

Velvette took the wand, and as soon as her fingers wrapped around it, she felt a surge of energy. A flick of her wrist unleashed a shimmering swirl of sparks, brighter and more vivid than the ones before.

"Perfect," Gerbold said with a wide grin. "A fine match, indeed."

As Finneas and Gerbold became engrossed in their conversation about wand care and finalized the sale, she fidgeted with her new wand over by the door. Flourishing it nonchalantly without putting any thought into the magic behind it. She tuned in and out to their conversation as she imagined the spells she'd cast.

"—and if she's anything like her uncle, we'll know exactly where to look," Finneas joked with a grin. The wandmaker chuckled, though the sound lacked any real enthusiasm, more out of politeness than amusement.

"Of course, of course... Anything for the Nightingale family." Gerbold replied absently, his quill scratching across the ledger as he jotted down notes.

 

Notes:

A/N: I won't be throwing too many Hogwarts Legacy references in here for fear of sounding cliche, but I couldn't help myself! (did you spot the reference?)

Chapter 3

Finneas interrupted her half-hearted wand waving with, "Looks like you're all set. Let's get moving before the train decides to leave without you."

Velvette gave the wand in her hand one last playful flick, sighing as she tucked it away. As they stepped out of Ollivanders and into the bustling street, something across the way caught her eye. Her face lit up, and she turned to Finneas with a hopeful look.

He sighed heavily, already bracing for the request. "Two books," he said, raising a hand to cut off her inevitable argument. "No more. And make it quick. I'll be right here." He leaned against a nearby lamppost and withdrew a strange candy from his pocket, popping it into his mouth with little fanfare.

Velvette practically skipped into Flourish and Blotts, her anticipation bubbling over as the scent of aged parchment and ink hit her like a warm embrace. The towering shelves loomed high above her, each crammed with volumes that seemed to hum with stories waiting to be told. She ran her fingers across the spines, the cool, textured covers grounding her in the moment. Here, in the world of books, she found a rare calm that drowned out the noise of her nerves.

But even in this haven, she couldn't escape the weight of judgment. A shopkeeper's assistant hovered nearby, his eyes cold and calculating. He didn't speak, but his presence said enough. She was being watched. To him, she wasn't a student; she was a squib-raised pretender, fumbling through a world she didn't belong in.

The moment soured, and with a frustrated snap, she slammed the book in her hands shut, shoving it back onto the shelf. Looks like she'd be leaving with no books...

"Don't mind Pen. He's harmless, even with a wand."

The voice startled her. Turning sharply, Velvette saw the back of a boy who had slipped into the aisle unnoticed. He moved with a quiet confidence, sliding a book onto the shelf as though he belonged to the space in a way she never could.

It wasn't until he turned to face her that the air shifted. At first glance, he was striking in the way an old portrait might be— elegant, and a bit unsettling. His hair was a pale, ashen blond, neatly combed back as if he'd stepped out of another era, and his features were sharp and aristocratic, his high cheekbones catching the faint light from a nearby lamp. 

It was his eyes that made her breath hitch. They were pale, almost silvery, with a clouded quality that gave them an otherworldly sheen. They didn't quite meet hers, instead staring past her as if seeing through the shelves, through the walls— through her. His wand rested lightly in his hand, its tip glowing with a faint red light, which he aimed unerringly in her direction. Despite its casual angle, the way he held it was deliberate, precise, like a duelist waiting to strike.

She stiffened. "Was that... a joke?"

The boy tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "You tell me. You seemed like you needed saving— from Pen or the books, I wasn't sure which."

Velvette's heart hammered as she tried to make sense of him. There was something unsettling about his presence, not just his gaze —or lack thereof— but the air around him. Like he carried shadows wherever he went.

She finally managed a hesitant, "Who are you?"

Instead of answering, he adjusted the wand in his hand, its light dimming ever so slightly. "Better hurry," he said, nodding toward the door. "You're late for something, aren't you?"

Velvette blinked, realization striking her like a bolt of lightning. "The train!"

Without waiting for a response, she dashed past him, her heart hammering in her chest. But as she reached the door, she couldn't resist glancing back. He stood where she'd left him, his sightless eyes following her departure as if he could see more than she ever would.

Shaking off the unsettling sensation, Velvette stepped out into the bustling street, her heart still racing as she made her way toward where her uncle waited. She was out of breath from the short run, but there was something else... A fluttering in her chest that wouldn't settle. Like she had narrowly escaped something dangerous.

Finneas raised an eyebrow as she skidded to a stop beside him. "So many books that it took your breath away?" he teased, his expression unchanging as he glanced toward the shop she'd come from.

Velvette didn't answer immediately, still caught up in the encounter. Instead, she simply shook her head. "I think... I think I just met another student." 

"That's great! You can sit next to them on the train ride, which we really need to get to. Pronto."

"Right," she said, her voice barely a whisper as they continued down the cobblestone street. 

Traveling by floo powder a second time in one day, the pair made it back to Pippins Potions and to a hidden closet in King's Cross Station in no time. They blended in with the muggles who bustled about, oblivious to the magic that had just transported them.

Weaving through the crowds, they reached the familiar brick pillar her parents had described so many times in such vivid detail that she felt she could have picked it out from the others blindfolded. 

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Her uncle, with a slight nod toward it, confirmed her suspicion. "There it is, all you need to do is walk into the center without hesitation."

Velvette paused for just a moment, her eyes tracing the passageway. Her parents had watched their own siblings vanish through the magical barrier year after year, never once stepping foot on the platform that now beckoned her forth. It was an unspoken ache. But now... it was her turn. And they weren't here to witness it.

"Ready?" Finneas's voice broke through her thoughts, the question directed more at himself than her. He'd dropped out his third year because the guilt of leaving his brother behind had haunted him in every hall, in every classroom. 

"Ready as I can be..." She did not hesitate, walking towards the bricks knowing what came next. 

In one swift motion, she propelled herself toward the barrier, feeling a sudden wave of panic rise in her chest. Before she could second guess her actions, she collided with the solid, unyielding wall—

Except it wasn't solid at all.

Instead of bouncing off the cold stone, Velvette felt herself pass straight through it. The world tilted for a brief moment; the sounds of the bustling station, the distant clanking of trains, and the hurried footsteps of muggles all faded into a muffled silence. Before she knew it, she emerged —almost stumbling— onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

The first thing she noticed was the difference in the atmosphere— the weight of magic in the air, thick and palpable. The noise was immediate and overwhelming: the sound of steam hissing from the Hogwarts Express' engine, the excited chatter of students, the shrill cries of owls perched on luggage racks, and the farewells of parents calling to their children. All around her, witches and wizards moved with practiced ease, as though this were a world they had always belonged to.

The Hogwarts Express gleamed in the sunlight, its brass and scarlet paint gleaming with unparalleled grandeur. The great train sat on the tracks like a sleeping beast, its powerful steam engine billowing clouds of mist into the air. The sound of its whistle pierced the noise, signaling that its departure was imminent. 

It felt like stepping into a dream.

Everywhere she looked, students with parents and family members were laughing, bidding final farewells, and gathering their belongings. Reminding her of the presence this moment lacked.

"Go on, Vel. The train won't wait forever," Finneas said, his voice cutting through her reverie.

Velvette turned to look at him, her gaze trailing up to his face. The resemblance to her father was uncanny— both shared the same thick, jet-black hair that trademarked the Nightingale family. She mirrored that trait, but her features softened where theirs were sharp, her delicate face and high cheekbones a gift from her mother's side. 'More regal', her parents always said. 

Finneas's expression softened as he reached out and adjusted the collar of her robes. "You're going to be fine. Better than fine," he added, though his usual tone of sarcasm was absent. "And I'll see you during the holiday break."

Velvette rolled her eyes. "You act like I'm off to war. It's just school."

"Just school," he echoed. "Sure. And the Forbidden Forest is just a bunch of trees. Go on now. Your parents would kill me if I let you miss the train."

The final whistle pierced the air, reverberating through the platform like a beckoning call. Taking a steady breath, she stepped forward and climbed aboard, relieved that her larger suitcase had already been stowed in the undercarriage.

As she shifted through the cabins, attempting to find an empty seat, the scent of worn leather reminded her of home. Of the chair her father sat in. She wiped those memories clean, worried that dwelling on home would make her somber. Instead she focused on the now. 

The train was alive with activity— students bustling about, laughter and chatter echoing in the narrow corridor. Owls hooted from their cages, their wings ruffling against the bars as excited students shuffled past. She had to press against the wall a few times to allow others to walk past, already knowing where they'd sit for this journey.

Velvette turned to the window, her eyes scanning the platform for Finneas. He was leaning casually against a lamppost, arms crossed, his dark hair catching the sunlight. When their eyes met, he gave her a subtle nod, and she raised her hand in a small wave. He didn't wave back, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile, enough to tell her he was watching her every step.

The whistle blew again, louder this time, signaling the train's departure. Velvette felt the floor beneath her shift slightly as the engine roared to life. She hurried to find an empty compartment, her nerves buzzing as the platform began to slide past the window. Parents swarmed closer, waving and blowing kisses at the departing train.

As the train picked up speed, the crowded station gave way to sprawling green fields. Just in time before the train hit full speed, she found a spot to settle in. A compartment that held only one other student, with a robe adorning the sapphire-hued crest of the Ravenclaw house. 

"Can I... May I sit across you?" Vel forced out the awkward question.

The girl chortled, "Of course! There's no assigned seating, don't be silly."

As she settled in, the Ravenclaw introduced herself as Meredith Grim. A seventh-year student, just like Velvette. Meredith, as it turned out, had a refreshing openness about her. Despite being born to two magical parents, she explained with pride that her family tree was interwoven with squibs and muggles for generations.

"Some pureblood families think it's a curse," Meredith said, rolling her eyes. "But I think it makes us stronger, don't you?"

Vel nodded in earnest, a smile tugging at her lips. A more perfect seat could not have been chosen.

They joked about the absurdities of pureblood superiority, shared passionate opinions about the need for greater acceptance of muggle-born witches and wizards at Hogwarts, and even delved into the inner workings of the Ministry of Magic. Meredith was as sharp as she was kind, and her lively conversation eased Velvette's nerves.

But just as their debate about the misuse of magical law enforcement hit its peak, a knock at the compartment door interrupted them.

Both girls turned to see who it was. Standing there, framed by the corridor's dim lighting, was a figure pale as parchment with an air of quiet intensity, and the boy's silvery-blind eyes seemed to peer right through them.

"Do you mind keeping your debate a few octaves lower?" he asked in a voice as soft as it was unsettling. His wand tapped lightly against his leg, and despite his polite tone, there was a distinct gravity about him that filled the small space.

"Oops, sorry!" Meredith giggled, obviously enthralled by his presence. 

Whereas Vel kept silent, not wishing to keep him lingering here a moment longer.

He turned toward her suddenly, his sightless gaze unsettling. "I recognize you," he mused, his voice certain. "We met, haven't we?"

"Mhm... briefly," she admitted, "At the bookstore."

"Word of caution; best to keep to yourself, you already stirred up quite the discussion in the Slytherin cabin. A few passerbys overheard your... rather passionate chat. I fear your beliefs are unpopular amongst many attending Hogwarts. Goodevening." He tapped the frame of the door before sliding it shut and departing before either girl had the chance to respond.

Vel sank back in her seat, "Gosh, did you see his eyes? Like... silver pools."

"That's Ominis."

"That's what I thought about them!" She exclaimed.

Meredith held back a chortle, "No... that's his name, Ominis Gaunt."

Vel grimaced, her nose crinkling. "Oh, what a horrid name. His parents must love him."

"Be careful, his family holds a lot of ties to the school. Especially with the current Headmaster. They practically placed him on that pedestal to use and puppeteer." Doing as heeded, Meredith kept her voice low and they continued in that manner until they reached the castle. Practically whispering certain words that might spark controversy among their peers.

The train hissed to a halt, and there was a clamor of students racing to get off. The two girls fell silent, merging into the flow of students as they disembarked. Outside the station, the cool night air nipped at their faces. Lanterns bobbed along the darkened path as students gathered into groups they belonged to. By age. By house. By status.

"We'll be taking the carriages," Meredith said, motioning toward a line of ornate, horseless vehicles waiting along the path. Velvette's eyes widened slightly, her mind racing to process the sight.

"Are they—"

"Pulled by Thestrals," Meredith whispered, answering the unspoken question. "Be glad that you can't see them."

She couldn't. Yet her parents told her stories about the winged creatures that could be seen only by those who have witnessed death. This answered the question she's always had that pets and plants don't count.

Velvette clutched the strap of her bag tightly as they climbed into a carriage shared with four other students. No one spoke much during the short journey, the looming silhouette of Hogwarts demanding every ounce of their attention. It grew larger and more magnificent as every moment passed, its spires reaching into the star-speckled sky like fingers clutching at the heavens.

When the carriage stopped, the group spilled out onto the cobblestone courtyard. A stern-looking professor stood at the main entrance, his voice ringing out over the crowd. "New students, including transfers, are to proceed directly to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. Everyone else, to your designated house tables until the ceremony concludes. I expect the same consideration for your younger peers that you were awarded on your first day at Hogwarts."

"Good luck," Meredith nudged her newfound friend. "I'll save you a seat if you wind up in Ravenclaw!"

"And if I'm not?"

"We'll still have classes together! Stop worrying so much, it's like ingrained into you."

Velvette hummed in agreement before following the line of other new students gathering at the professor's instruction. They were led through towering corridors, the ceilings impossibly high and adorned with moving tapestries and paintings that whispered as they passed. She couldn't ignore that she was the oldest one amongst them.

As they reached the towering doors to the Great Hall, they swung open with a grand flourish, revealing a vast room aglow with floating candles and a starry ceiling that mirrored the night sky outside. Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, filled with students whose chatter died down as the newcomers entered and proceeded down the center length of the hall. 

At the front of the room sat the Sorting Hat on a wooden stool, its weathered brim twisting as if alive. The Headmaster, a cold man with calculating eyes, stood behind a grand podium. His voice cut through the silence, welcoming the new arrivals with a rehearsed warmth that felt more political than genuine. When he concluded, and the first student ushered forth to sit beneath the hat, it hit her...

The Sorting Ceremony had begun.

Chapter 4

"Hufflepuff!"

Polite cheers echoed from the house table as the newest member was welcomed with claps and smiles.

The next name was called.

"Slytherin!"

This time, the applause was sharper, tinged with pride that felt almost territorial.

Velvette watched as the Sorting Hat continued its work, the air of anticipation thickening with each announcement.

"Gryffindor!"

The hall erupted. The Gryffindor table cheered with unmatched enthusiasm, even drawing applause from a few professors. Velvette couldn't help but glance at the head table, where one or two professors smiled indulgently at the display.

Beside her, a younger student fidgeted nervously, their whispers barely audible. "What if it puts me in the wrong house? Do you think it knows what it's doing?"

Velvette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Did it really matter? The houses were all just different banners and crests, weren't they? Four sides of the same coin, marked by arbitrary qualities. Yet, she couldn't deny the air of importance woven into the ceremony.

Then, her name was called.

"Velvette Nightingale."

The murmurs fell silent.

Velvette took a steadying breath and stepped forward. She could feel each set of eyes in the room fixed on her. Taller than the first-years yet still a newcomer, she couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place. Her feet carried her to the stool almost on instinct, the more time passed, the less she knew what transpired. When she sat, the Sorting Hat was placed on her head instantly.

"Hmm..."

The voice whispered directly into her mind, smooth and deliberate.

"You're not easy to place, are you?"

Her heart skipped a beat. It was speaking out loud. Everyone heard this.

The hat chuckled softly. "Ah, I see now. You want to make them proud. Your parents. You carry their hopes like a banner, don't you? Clever... yes, clever indeed. Perhaps too much so for Ravenclaw. But Slytherin..."

She inched forward on the seat, ready to leap off of it and run out of the room if it placed her anywhere but Ravenclaw. Her chest tightened as she felt the decision forming in the hat's mind.

"Knowledge, wisdom... a path to live up to their expectations. Very well, Ravenclaw!"

The word rang out, and the hall burst into polite applause from the Ravenclaw table. Velvette exhaled deeply as the hat was lifted from her head. Sliding off the stool, she made her way toward the sea of blue, relief settling her tense shoulders.

"Well done," a Ravenclaw prefect said as they motioned her to an empty seat. She sat down, her thoughts racing as the ceremony continued.

The applause for the next student barely registered in her ears. Velvette's gaze wandered to the other tables— Gryffindor's liveliness, Hufflepuff's warmth, and Slytherin's cunning pride. A small part of her wondered how differently things might have gone if the hat hadn't sensed her hesitation.

After the ceremony concluded, an array of food appeared before the students, an almost magical feast spread across the long tables. The clamor of cutlery and excited chatter of students as they dove in with the fervor of vultures only made her stomach churn. Vel felt sick. Too sick to even watch the display of gluttony.

She couldn't stay. The weight of the Sorting Hat's words still lingered, twisting inside her like a coiled serpent. The laughter and cheers around her felt too loud, too overwhelming.

Vel twirled her legs over the bench, earning a few glances from her new housemates, and slipped away from the Ravenclaw table. She made her way toward a small door at the back of the Great Hall, hoping it led to a bathroom or some secluded spot where she could breathe.

The moment she stepped through the door, the noise disappeared. Silence wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Glad that the rest of the castle was seemingly abandoned at this hour, she braced herself against the cool stone wall. Breathing heavily, she clutched at the front of her robes, pulling at the fabric to loosen it. The tightness in her chest refused to ease.

"Miss Nightingale?"

Vel turned pointedly to see a tall figure approaching from the shadows, his robes billowing slightly as he walked. He moved with a quiet authority that made her heart race for a different reason entirely.

"I saw you leave in quite a hurry," the man said, stopping a few paces away. "Is everything all right?"

"Are you... A prefect?"

He straightened, a little flattered. "Sorry, I assumed your uncle would have shared pictures of his time at Hogwarts. No... I'm his friend, Harlan Hawthrone, although for your sake you should stick to Professor Hawthrone so your classmates don't grow jealous." With an innocent wink, he stood there after his introduction, giving her time to size him up.

He was much younger than she had imagined. Her uncle's mention of a friend had conjured an image of someone older, grizzled, with spectacles and a graying beard. But this man...

His sharp features were softened by warm hazel eyes that regarded her with concern. His dark auburn hair was swept back in a way that made him look effortlessly polished, and the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at his lips, as if he were used to disarming people with charm alone.

"I... uh..." Vel stammered, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Though trying to put her at ease, he explained in depth. "Finneas told me to keep an eye out for you. I'm the current Head of Ravenclaw House and your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

"You're the friend?" Vel blurted before she could stop herself.

He chuckled softly. "Not quite what you were expecting?"

"Not... exactly," she admitted, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

"Well, I assure you, I take my responsibilities very seriously," Hawthorne said with mock gravity, though his eyes twinkled. He gestured down the corridor. "Come. I'll guide you to the Ravenclaw common room. It's easy to get lost on your first night, and I'd rather not have you wandering the castle until dawn. It seems nothing can convince you to rejoin the main hall?"

"Pick your battles wisely," she joked, following in step beside him as he guided her to the common room. 

As they walked, Hawthorne glanced down at her. "It's always a lot to take in— the ceremony, the feast, the sheer size of this place. Don't let it overwhelm you."

"I thought I'd be more ready," she admitted. "But everything feels... heavier than I imagined."

"That's perfectly normal," he reassured her. "Hogwarts has a way of feeling enormous at first, but give it time. Soon, you'll know its corridors like the back of your hand. And as a Ravenclaw, I expect you'll pick up the layout quicker than most."

When they reached a spiraling staircase, he stopped and turned to her. "Now, the entrance to the common room is at the top of this staircase. No passwords here. Instead, the door will pose a riddle. Answer it correctly, and you're in."

"A riddle?" Vel asked, raising a brow.

Hawthorne nodded. "It's a tradition. Challenging, but I find it suits Ravenclaw well. Let's see if tonight's riddle is kind to you."

They climbed the steps, and Velvette found herself standing before a tall, arched door with a bronze knocker shaped like an eagle.

Before she could ask what to do, the eagle's beak moved, and a smooth voice spoke: "I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?"

Velvette stared at the door, her mind racing. Beside her, Hawthorne watched patiently, making no move to help.

Finally, the answer clicked, "A map."

The door swung open with a creak, revealing the Ravenclaw common room— a breathtaking space filled with soft blue and silver tones, high arched windows, and shelves of books lining the walls.

"Well done," Hawthorne said, clearly impressed. "Welcome home, Miss Nightingale."

Velvette stepped inside, her earlier nerves easing just slightly as she took in her new surroundings. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she belonged here. The door opened, literally and metaphorically. 

"Wait. Do I get a schedule or... a map?"

"A schedule, yes. As for a map... Allow your classmates to be that for you. I fear you're much like your uncle and reckless abandon will lead you to think you can do everything by yourself. Don't be like Finneas, please. You'll make friends here. I hear you already have one."

She tilted her head, "Oh, keeping eyes on me even from the train?"

"From or before, it does not matter."

Before? She shrieked internally whilst blushing externally.

"Ha... Just like your uncle. Goodnight, Miss Nightingale."

He vanished down the spiral staircase before she could muster a word of farewell, leaving her alone in the eerily quiet common room. Velvette decided to make herself comfortable as she meandered to a small table in the center of the room, where a solitary piece of parchment lay, its edges slightly curled.

Room assignments. 

Her eyes skimmed over the list, stopping when she found her name. She was assigned to share a room with two other seventh-years. The surnames didn't ring any bells —no immediate danger, no familial warnings— and so, with a sigh of relief, she headed up to her new quarters to claim a bed for herself.

The room was just as empty as the rest of the castle, the only sound being the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet. She chose a bed by the window, the soft shine of the moon still filtering through the glass. Before settling in, she dragged her trunk over and began unpacking what she'd need for the next day. She then slipped beneath the covers, sinking into the warmth of the bed, her thoughts swirling in the blissful solitude. 

It didn't take long for the weight of exhaustion to pull her under. Her body, too tired from the day's events, surrendered to sleep instantaneously.

When she eventually awoke, the room was still barren, save for the faint rustling of the wind outside the window. She blinked, disoriented, her mind slow to process the change in light. The sun was high in the sky now, its rays spilling across the floor. Panic surged in her chest as she glanced at the time on the clock above the door.

Potions class!

She scrambled out of bed, the sheets tangling around her legs as she hurriedly dressed. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep and the weight of the missed time pressed heavily on her. A glance around the room revealed that she was alone— the others had long since gone. She noticed their trunks were fully unpacked and beds made. With a curse under her breath, she grabbed her bag and rushed out, her footsteps echoing down the hall as she raced to avoid the wrath of whatever professor awaited her.

"Shoot, shoot—" In her panicked state, she missed the last step of spiraling stairs and used her core strength to pull herself upright before she fell onto her rear. 

Some students busying themselves with gossip spotted her and pointed, laughing at her frantic state. "Look! Nice save!"

She sneered at them and readjusted herself so that her robe fell properly. Brushing the hair from her face, she walked with fervent grace to her first class. Running would only draw more attention that she did not want.

When she entered the classroom —after asking about five students how to get there— a vacant seat in the back awaited her. Silently, she produced her notebook and quill from her bag and dove into the lesson with the same focus she applied to everything else.

The class passed in a blur, and as other students began to pack up, she took that as her cue to do the same. She was just about to slip out of the room when a familiar voice called out to her.

"Hey, Vel! Wait up!" Meredith's voice rang out cheerfully as she weaved through the departing students, her smile widening as she neared. "What's the rush? Want to walk to DADA together?"

"Umm, I have Defense Against the... Ah. DADA is the abbreviation. Clever." Tongue in cheek, she crammed her notebook into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Sure, let's walk."

There was something magnetic about Meredith's energy. Velvette couldn't help but feel her apprehension melt away, her day transforming from misery into something resembling normalcy. They strolled through the courtyard where students clustered together— some buried in books, others practicing spells or swapping exaggerated tales of summer exploits. It wasn't the rigid, suffocating environment Vel had feared.

"You should have a break after this class," Meredith prattled on, her voice as chipper as a bird's. "And I didn't see you at breakfast! You've got to try the scones—oh, they're divine! If we time it just right, we can probably swipe a couple before—"

Vel's attention shifted sharply as a familiar figure emerged, his striking silhouette impossible to ignore. Ominis Gaunt entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom ahead of them, confidence marring the air around him. Flanked by two Slytherin boys, he walked with an air of disinterest as his companions chattered animatedly, casting conjuring spells in an effort to entertain one another.

Vel's gaze lingered and Meredith, no stranger to the charm of Slytherin men, caught the look and nudged her friend toward a seat on the opposite side of the room.

"Let's sit here," Meredith said, dropping into a chair and tugging Vel down beside her. "Far away from the snake pit to avoid any venom."

"Don't be ridiculous, no one can be that evil." The look on her friend's knowing face told her otherwise. 

The classroom fell quiet as Professor Hawthorne strode in, his youthful demeanor offset by the commanding presence he carried with him. Sharp eyes scanned the room, pausing momentarily when they landed on Velvette. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, but he said nothing, setting his satchel down and turning to the class.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began, his voice smooth and steady. "Defense Against the Dark Arts is not just about knowing spells; it's about understanding how to stay alive in the face of danger. Today, we'll start with defensive postures and wand techniques. The goal isn't flashy spellwork— it's precision and control."

As the lesson progressed, Professor Hawthorne demonstrated a simple disarming charm, explaining the nuances of its execution. Velvette watched attentively, trying to absorb every word. Hawthorne's teaching style was engaging, almost conversational, and he had a way of making even the most mundane instructions feel vital.

When the lesson ended, Hawthorne called out over the noise of students packing their bags. "Miss Nightingale, a moment of your time, please."

Vel hesitated mid-step, glancing over her shoulder toward the professor's desk before motioning for Meredith to follow. The filing out of students created a low murmur that gradually faded, leaving a stillness in the room. She approached Hawthorne's desk slowly, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she tried to steady her nerves.

"You're new here, so I'll make this simple," Hawthorne began, leaning forward slightly as he rested his hands on the desk. "Defense magic isn't something you can master on your own. You'll need a partner— someone skilled enough to push you and keep you on your toes."

Vel's stomach knotted at his words. The idea of practicing one-on-one with another student —someone likely far more experienced— was not the confidence boost she needed on her first day. 

"Do you... have someone in mind, Professor?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

"I was considering—"

"I'll do it!" Meredith cut in, her voice ringing out like a bell as she darted to Vel's side. Her bright enthusiasm filled the room, chasing away the lingering silence. "Who better to help a friend than a friend, right?" 

Hawthorne's lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Meredith," his tone taking on a dry edge, "didn't you fail two of your four Defense exams last year?"

Meredith's confident smile faltered. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she stammered, "Well, I—uh—those were flukes! Complete flukes! I've improved so much since then, I promise!"

The professor regarded her for a moment, his amusement barely concealed. "I'm sure you have," he replied, his tone laced with irony. "No, I have someone else in mind. In fact, I asked them last night at dinner."

Before Vel mustered a protest, Hawthorne's gaze shifted with purposeful precision, settling on Ominis, who lingered near the doorway as if anticipating his name.

"Mr. Gaunt," Hawthorne called and Ominis's posture straightened, his head tilting slightly forward in acknowledgment before he began to stride towards them. His steps were deliberate and betrayed none of his inner thoughts on this ordeal.

"Ready to honor your commitment and assist Miss Nightingale with her practice? I believe your experience will be of benefit," Hawthorne said, his expression unyielding as he gestured between the two students. It left no room for debate.

Ominis exhaled softly, a near-imperceptible sign of resignation. "If you think it's best, Professor," he replied, his words carefully composed.

Vel froze as he stopped in front of her, the gap between them narrowing until she realized how tall he was. His presence commanding; an air of self-assuredness that made her unsure whether to feel intimidated or annoyed.

"This should be... enlightening," Ominis remarked, voice laced with a subtle bite of sarcasm. His pale eyes, though unseeing, seemed to pierce through her. A faint smirk ghosted across his face as he added, "Try to keep up, Ravenclaw."

Standing nearby, Meredith made an exaggerated show of crossing her arms, her lips twisting into a dramatic pout. "He's insufferable," she muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, then gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth as Vel suppressed a laugh, biting her lower lip to keep it at bay.

"Miss Nightingale. Miss Grim." Hawthorne's voice sliced through the moment, sharp and final. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for that blatant display of disrespect. I will not tolerate such behavior in my classroom. Now, I understand you have a brief break before your next lessons... no better time to practice."

He turned toward the doorway leading to his study, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away. "And Miss Grim, your presence will not be required. Kindly ensure the door is firmly shut on your way out. It has a habit of swinging open with the draft."

The room fell silent as the three students stood there, each processing the professor's decree. Vel glanced at Meredith, whose defiance had dimmed into a muttered grumble about unfairness.

"I'm going before I cost us even more points," Meredith huffed as she stomped toward the door. She paused, hesitating as if to offer some final word of encouragement, but instead closed the door with a decisive thud, leaving Vel alone with Ominis.

They stood in awkward stillness for a moment, each silently debating how to escape this unwanted arrangement. Finally, Vel let out a resigned sigh, drawing her wand from her bag.

"Well," she said, raising a brow at him, "shall we get this over with?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, the crimson light of his wand casting a faint glow across his sharp features. "Shall we?" 

Notes:

A/N: If you like listening to music while reading, I made a playlist for this fanfic that fits the vibe of the story. I listen to it while writing and thought I may as well share: Venom & Velvet Playlist

 

Chapter 5

Vel folded her arms, her wand balanced lightly in her fingers as she fixed Ominis with a pointed look. "Fine, let's get this over with. Though I tend to learn better from books than... arrogant, posh boys."

Ominis tilted his head, his expression sharpening as he tossed his wand from one hand to the other, the ominous red glow dancing across his features. "Posh, am I? Is that really what you think of me?"

"And arrogant," she shot back with a glare. "Don't forget that part."

He stroked his chin in mock contemplation. "Interesting. You come from a pureblood family not all that different from mine. So what does that make you, Miss Nightingale? An arrogant, posh girl?"

Her grip on her wand tightened, the playful tone dissipating as she squared her shoulders. The memory of the disarming spell she'd witnessed in class earlier resurfaced; the motions and incantation replaying vividly in her mind. With a swift flick of her wand, she summoned her nerve and declared, "Expelliarmus!"

The effect was instantaneous. Ominis's wand shot from his hand and clattered against the floor near the far corner of the classroom. Both of them stood frozen for a heartbeat, surprise flickering across their faces. Vel let out an incredulous laugh, practically bouncing on her toes. 

"I did it! My first real spell!"

Ominis turned toward the sound of the impact, his brow knitting in frustration as he knelt and began patting the floor, searching. For the first time, his blindness seemed to hinder him. Vel's initial glee gave way to a pang of guilt, and she quickly moved to his side.

"Here," she murmured, plucking the wand from the ground and placing it gently in his hand. Her fingers lingered against his. Realization dawned, "You... you can't see without it, can you?"

Ominis paused, a flicker of shame crossing over him. "No," he admitted at last. "I use it to navigate."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't know."

"Obviously," he replied curtly, snatching the wand from her grasp.

Vel sighed, stepping back as he stood and dusted off his robes. "You don't have to be such a—"

"A what?" he interrupted, daring her to continue.

"Never mind," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Ominis's lips curled into a faint smirk, the glint of amusement returning to his pale eyes. "You only managed that because I wasn't expecting it. Don't let it go to your head. Now I know better than to underestimate you." He tilted his head toward her, wand at the ready. "Try again."

Grinding her teeth, Vel gripped her wand tightly and raised it. "Expel—"

"Flipendo!" Ominis barked, his spell striking her mid-incantation. She yelped as the force sent her tumbling backward in a whirlwind, her back colliding with a towering bookcase. A cascade of books tumbled to the floor around her, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

She groaned, pushing herself upright as she shot him an indignant glare. "That's not fair! I don't even know that spell!"

Ominis twirled his wand casually. "Well," he drawled, "now you do."

Vel bristled but swallowed her frustration. She knew he was baiting her, trying to get under her skin. Instead of snapping back, she focused on the task at hand. I can do this, she told herself. Just focus.

She began to circle him, her steps measured. 

"Circling me, are you?" he remarked, tilting his head slightly as if tracking her. "Bold. But predictable. You'll have to do better than that."

Vel tightened her grip on her wand and stopped suddenly, taking aim. "Expelliarmus!" she shouted, her voice clear and confident.

The spell shot through the air like a bolt of lightning, but Ominis reacted instantly. With a flick of his wand, he parried the attack, sending the beam of light ricocheting harmlessly into a stack of books.

"Better," he admitted, his tone faintly approving. "But still too slow. You hesitate right before casting."

Vel ground her teeth. "I'm just getting started."

"Good," he replied, stepping forward with an almost predatory grace. "Because so am I. This is one you'll learn in Charms class, but for the sake of practice... Levioso!"

Instead of casting the jinx on Velvette, he aimed it at the pile of books scattered around her feet and rose them into the air, angling them at her with obvious intent. 

"This isn't teaching, this is bullying. Don't you dare harm those innocent books."

He sent one of the books hurtling forward, the edge just grazing her cheek before it clattered harmlessly to the floor. "Defend yourself. Hawthrone mentioned you were homeschooled by your parents, did they teach you nothing? Or, let me guess, you know all about herbology."

Vel's cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Fine," she snapped, gripping her wand tighter. She focused on the remaining books, trying to remember the incantation for a shield charm. Her lips parted, but hesitation froze the words in her throat.

Ominis arched a brow, sensing her hesitation even without seeing it. "You don't even know Protego, do you?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "What kind of Ravenclaw are you? I thought knowledge was your forte."

Her temper flared, overriding her nerves. "Meredith was right, you are insufferable," she spat, and just as he readied to unleash the remaining books at her, she shouted, "Protego!"

To her surprise, the spell worked— albeit shakily. A faint, shimmering barrier formed around her just in time for the onslaught of books to ricochet off. The shield flickered before dropping completely. If she hadn't raised it in time...

Vel glared at him, her chest heaving. "If this is your idea of helping, remind me never to ask for your assistance again."

"You didn't ask, our dear Professor did." His smirk faded into something colder. "And you don't need help. You need a miracle. No one in this world is going to coddle you, Velvette— not your professors, not your classmates, and certainly not me."

 She bristled, refusing to let him see how deeply his words cut. "I don't need anyone to coddle me. But there's a difference between a mentor and a sadist, Gaunt."

Ominis tilted his head, considering her for a moment. The red glow of his wand dimmed slightly, softening the predatory edge of his stance. 

"Fine," she muttered, adjusting her pose, wand at the ready. "If you want to play dirty, then let's play."

"Careful, Miss Nightingale," he warned in a teasing manner. "You might be biting off more than you can chew."

And with that, their duel continued, the room filling with flashes of light and the crackling of spells as they tested each other's limits. Despite her nerves, Vel couldn't help the exhilaration that crept into her stand-offish demeanor. For the first time, she felt like she was truly practicing magic. Not just in her aunt's garden or under her parent's scrutinizing supervision.

Each day after Defense Against the Dark Arts, they practiced in the room right when it emptied and up until they needed to race to their next class. Never speaking or engaging outside of these four walls. All that she'd learned in the first week could hardly make up for the six years of lessons she missed out on, but between Ominis, Meredith, and all her professors... She may just make it through the year without falling too much behind.

As Professor Hawthorne wrapped up the day's lesson and issues assignments for the weekend, Ominis wasted no time. The moment the bell rang, he was out the door, moving with a swift, effortless grace. Velvette couldn't shake the feeling of being dismissed, the abruptness of his departure leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She had assumed he'd relish the weekend's break, but it stung to see that their dueling session seemed to matter so little to him. 

Fueled by frustration, she stormed out of the classroom, brushing past her fellow students as they navigated the ever-changing staircases. Her eyes never left Ominis' back as he descended the stairs, his blonde hair gleaming under the dim light, a stark contrast to the sea of Slytherins in green-accented robes. 

She knew better than to shout after him; it would only make him quicken his pace. Instead, she opted for stealth, tailing him in silence and staying just out of sight.

But her plan was thwarted when someone purposefully bumped into her and teased, "Hey, Ravenclaw! You lost?"

She turned to find one of the boys who had been hanging around Ominis at dinner, practically talking his ear off.

"Not lost," Velvette retorted smoothly. "Just looking for a friend who went this way."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mock amusement. "A friend, huh? Don't think you're going to find many of those this far into the castle. Muggle sympathizers tend to end up in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Certainly not in Slytherin."

Grunts of agreement and low chuckles echoed around her as three more boys emerged from the shadows, circling her like vultures. They were clearly looking for trouble, their eyes gleaming with the kind of predatory amusement that Velvette had seen all too many times before.

She stood tall, not showing any sign of backing down, though the odds were stacked against her. Her fingers brushed against the wand in her pocket, but she hesitated, her week of basic training feeling woefully inadequate against this threat.

"Go on," one of them sneered. "Draw it. That'd make it fair game for us to teach you a proper lesson, the Slytherin way."

Another chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery. "What are you even doing here, anyway? Aren't your parents squibs? Must be humiliating for them to have a disgrace like you fumbling through a world they can't even belong to. Not even fit to scrub the floors in the Ministry. Your parents serve as nothing more than a reminder of failure— proof that even magic can make mistakes."

Velvette's face burned, her emotions churning. She took a deliberate step forward, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them. "Don't you dare talk about my family."

The boy leaned in smugly, daring her to act, but before she even realized what she was doing, her free hand darted up. She placed her index finger firmly in the center of his forehead, grimacing as she imagined clawing into the very root of his brain.

Time froze.

Before she knew what happened, a chill rushed through her, and a thin, silvery thread of mist emerged from where her finger touched him, curling into the air like smoke and attaching to her hand. She pulled back instinctively, flicking her wrist, and the thread dissolved into nothingness.

The boy stumbled back, his eyes wide with a sudden clarity. He stared down at Velvette, his face twisting in a mixture of shame and regret. His friends exuding utter confusion as he turned to them, his voice trembling. "No, no—she's... she's right. I've been wrong about everything. About muggles, squibs— it's all rubbish. Leave her alone. Just... bugger off."

The others hesitated, clearly unnerved. One muttered something under his breath, but they obeyed, retreating toward their common room. Another one cast a lingering glance at Velvette before vanishing down the corridor.

Nearby students turned their heads, their murmurs of curiosity and fear rippling through the crowd. Velvette stood frozen, her wand still clutched tightly in her pocket. She had no idea what she had just done.

A familiar voice broke through the din, low and controlled. "Come with me. Now."

Ominis.

Before she could react, he grabbed her hand —almost painfully so— and pulled her away from the growing crowd. He didn't say another word as he led her through a series of unfamiliar passages, the castle's twisting staircases and shadowed halls disorienting her even more than the incident that had just occurred.

Tears blurred her vision, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep up. "Ominis, where are we going? Are you... are you taking me to a professor? Are you turning me in?"

He didn't respond.

Her heart sank further with each step. What had she done? What was that? And why hadn't Ominis stepped in earlier if he was there?

Finally, they stopped in front of what appeared to be an intricate armoire. Ominis tapped his wand against it in a precise sequence, and as the gears on the front of began to shift, the doors clinked open to reveal a hidden passageway.

"Inside," he whispered curtly, ushering her through.

Velvette stepped into the cool chamber, her breath catching as the room's isolation pressed in around her. It was clear this was a place meant for secrets, a haven known to only a few. Ominis finally released her hand, stepping back and turning toward her. His expression was unreadable, but his pale eyes bore into her.

Almost accusatory, he questioned her, "What did you do?" 

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now. "I—I don't know! I didn't mean to do anything. He just... I just wanted him to stop, and then that happened!"

Ominis crossed his arms, his posture rigid. "That wasn't normal magic, Velvette. Whatever you did, it scared them. It scared me. So I'm going to ask you again— what did you do?"

"I don't know!" she cried, her voice cracking. "I didn't even think, I just... he was saying such awful things, and I—"

She broke off, her hands trembling as she tried to wipe her face. 

"You're lucky I pulled you out of there," he muttered. "If anyone figures out what just happened, it won't just be you answering questions. They'll want a demonstration. The ministry will use you and exploit you for this gift, you can't ever do it again."

His words carried a strange undercurrent of protectiveness. He could have left her to fend for herself, to face the consequences of whatever strange power had just manifested. But he hadn't.

"Why didn't you step in..." She hated herself for asking the second the words left her lips. Being saved was something reserved for damsels in the stories she read. Not real life. She turned her head away, "Nevermind, forget I asked."

"Vel..." The single syllable fell from his lips with a softness that startled them both. For the first time, he'd slipped and called her by the nickname he'd overheard that Hufflepuff give her. "I should have intervened, and for that I'm sorry. I wanted to see how your lessons were paying off."

"It was a test?" The words cracked like brittle ice. "Did you—did you make them corner me?"

"No!" He protested, stepping closer, hands half-raised in defense.

Her voice cracked on the next words, "I was scared, Ominis. I—I was so scared."

Her knees gave out as though the confession itself drained the last of her strength. She sank to the stone floor, pulling her arms up to hide her face, her sleeves clutched tightly in her hands. The fabric bunched and dampened under the steady stream of tears she desperately tried to muffle, but they came anyway, wracking her small frame with silent sobs.

Ominis stood rooted to the spot, his chest tightening. He didn't need sight to feel the depth of her anguish. His hand hovered uselessly at his side, fingers twitching as though to reach for her, though he'd never dare.

"Vel..." he tried again, softer this time. He knelt beside her, unsure if she would even hear him through the storm of grief. "I didn't plan any of this. I would never do that to you."

For a long moment, the only sound was her uneven breathing, the quiet echoes of her sorrow filling the vast emptiness of the Undercroft. Ominis clenched his jaw and looked away, though his unseeing eyes couldn't escape the image of her broken form. He gripped his wand tighter and it illuminated the room with a red glow, encircling her form so he could truly see her. It provided him a glimpse of how beautiful she was, even while crying.

He reached out, absentmindedly, and took a lock of her hair into his hand, drawing it down the length until it ended. To distract them both, he changed the topic, "You have very long hair... What color is it?"

She sniffled before raising her head to speak. "Black... Like my parent's." 

"Ah, I should have guessed... Now tell me, what color are your eyes?"

"Ominis..." Her voice wavered, uncertain, as she glanced at him.

"Humor me." He urged softly, "Please."

Her fingers brushed away the lingering tears on her cheek. There was something about the way he asked, so boyish and oddly soothing, that she relented.

"They're nothing special," she murmured, lowering her gaze. "Just a dark brown... like my mother's."

"Nothing special." He scoffed, running a hand through his own disheleved hair. That's when she noticed how franticly he had dragged her away from that situation; to the point that it rustled his nerves too. Now they both began to calm down, asking silly minor questions back and forth, learning little of value in the process. A perfect distraction. 

In the shorter half of the hour, Vel discovered pieces of Ominis she hadn't expected. His favorite animal was the Thestral— a revelation she dared not probe further, reluctant to unearth the story of how he came to see them. His favorite food, to her surprise, was chocolate fondants, hinting at a secret sweet tooth hidden beneath his composed exterior. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts, he confessed, made him feel strong, capable, and in control. And, perhaps most fascinating of all, he played the piano—a skill she imagined required a touch of soul, something she now realized he possessed in abundance.

The exchange of little, fruitless questions eased them both. She tread carefully, sharing with him only what he'd share with her and never going to in depth into an answer. When the clock in the room chimed and pulled them back into reality, both their heads shot up. The haze of momentary frendship dissipated and he picked himself off from the floor, knowing that if he held out a hand to assist her, she'd likely slap it away.

She righted herself and rubbed the back of her neck, almost embarassed to admit she had no clue where in the castle they were. "I have Charms next..." 

Ominis picked up on her unspoken dilemma, "Go to the end of the hall, turn left and then you should know where you are. Try to enjoy your weekend and... stay out of trouble. And one more thing— don't you dare breathe a word about this place to anyone. It's a family secret and I'd like to keep it that way."

Vel nodded, "I won't tell a soul."

As she stepped away, her heart still pounding from the events of the day, she stole one last glance at him. He didn't have to comfort her or bring her to this place for privacy, yet he did so without hardly knowing her. A smile touched the corner of her lip and she exited the secret room the way they came, leaving first so they were not seen together. 

Vel walked briskly toward Charms, whispers chased her through the hall, the news of what she'd done to the Slytherin boy traveling fast. What had she done? What had Ominis seen in her that he didn't recoil, that he still trusted her?

The faint sound of a piano's haunting melody played in her head as she turned the corner, half-convinced she'd left more behind in the Undercroft than just Ominis and a secret.

 

Chapter 6

The dining hall buzzed with a relaxed energy unique to the weekends. Without designated meal times, students came and went at their leisure. The smell of freshly baked bread and aromatic stews filled the grand room. An occasional chill blowing through as students opened the great oak doors to come and go to Hogsmeade, leaving a trail of muddy boot prints in their wake.

"Want to sit in the bleachers and watch the Quidditch tryouts?" Meredith suggested, propping her chin on her palm as she floated another idea to fill the slow, meandering hours of their Sunday. The day felt endless, and for reasons Vel couldn't articulate, she desperately wished it were Monday already.

Vel twirled her spoon in the bowl of soup she'd barely touched and mused, "Quidditch tryouts? Ehh..." She lacked enthusiasm, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Meredith huffed dramatically, pushing herself up from the table. "You're being no fun today."

Vel snapped out of her reverie, feeling guilty at how she treated her friend. She reached out, catching Meredith's sleeve before she could leave. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. That does sound fun. I guess I'm just... off today."

The Hufflepuff wiggled her brows suggestively. "Could it have something to do with a certain blonde-haired Slytherin?"

Vel stiffened, her cheeks warming, and her eyes darted around to ensure no one overheard. The room was still bustling with students enjoying their meals or nursing cups of pumpkin juice, but Vel wasn't taking chances. 

"Shh, keep your voice down," she hissed.

The cheeky grin that settled on her friend's face made Vel want to smack her. "It is! I knew it! Slytherin boys are the best kissers—"

An authoritative voice cut through Meredith's gleeful teasing. "That is quite enough, Miss Grim."

Both girls froze, Meredith paling as they turned to see Professor Hawthrone standing behind her, looking distinctly unimpressed. "More than some would care to know, myself included," he continued dryly. "Perhaps if you devoted as much energy to your studies as you do to... social pursuits, you might pass more than half your exams this year."

Vel clamped her hands over her mouth to suppress a laugh as Meredith turned beet red. Slowly, Meredith stepped aside to let the professor through, her mortification radiating like heat from her skin.

Hawthrone's sharp gaze landed on Velvette, who had thus far managed to remain silent. "And how are you faring, Miss Nightingale? I plan to check in with your uncle soon and would like to report that you're settling in... assuming that's the case."

Vel straightened her posture, hoping her smile masked her unease. If he'd heard about the rumors circling the school, he didn't let on. "It's been an adjustment," she admitted. "But my professors have been incredibly helpful. Potions is a bit of a struggle, but I'm determined to improve."

Hawthrone nodded, his expression giving little away. "And are you making friends? Engaging in the school's activities?"

"Yes, Professor," Vel replied quickly, eager to please. "In fact, we were just about to head to the Quidditch pitch to cheer on our house teams. Right, Meredith?"

Meredith blinked in confusion at first, but then caught the pointed tone in Vel's voice. "Oh! Yes, absolutely. We were just on our way."

Hawthrone stepped aside, freeing the aisle for them to pass. "Well, don't let me stop your fun. Carry on."

As they hurried toward the doors, Meredith whispered, "Next time I open my big mouth, you have permission to jinx me with a silencing spell."

"Deal, just teach me the spell." Vel replied once they were definitely out of earshot. Stepping out into the crisp late-summer air, she felt ready to lose herself in the roar of the Quidditch stands. It'd be a good way to pass the time.

With a bounce in their stride, Vel and Meredith reached the stands in no time, the cheers from the pitch growing louder with every step. The sun beamed down, warm but not oppressive, as a light breeze wove through the air, carrying the faint scent of a coming Autumn. The balance beckoned everyone outdoors and the bleachers were nearly full as if a real game was happening.

They managed to spot a cluster of Meredith's Hufflepuff friends, a group of girls who, at first glance, could have been mistaken for sisters. They shared the same giddy smiles, light brown hair with soft curls, and an air of effortless camaraderie. Even Meredith looked like she could be a close relative to them. To Vel's relief, they accepted her immediately, pulling her into their sisterhood without hesitation.

One of the girls, whose name Vel couldn't keep straight despite introductions, took it upon herself to braid Vel's hair. Her fingers weaving deftly through the silky strands. Vel usually found her long hair a nuisance, something her family insisted she keep uncut as if length equated to pride. Yet now, with the sun on her face and the girl's light touch transforming the unruly waves into a loose French braid, she felt... Pretty. A few strands were left out to frame her face, softening her sharp features.

The girls around her gossiped, their chatter flowing as freely as the breeze. They cheered enthusiastically whenever a hopeful recruit in Hufflepuff colors soared through the air on their broom, their voices harmonizing like a choir of sunshine and youth.

But Vel found herself drifting. She smiled and cheered at all the right moments, but her mind wandered far from the Quidditch tryouts. Her gaze settled on the pitch below, where players looped and spun with ease, their movements crisp and fluid. She caught herself replaying moments— darker ones. Ominis's face flickered across her thoughts like a shadow cast by firelight. It always lingered, as if written in the margins of her memory.

"You're miles away, aren't you?" Meredith's voice broke through, startling Vel from her daydreams. Meredith smirked knowingly, nudging her in the side.

Brushing a stray hair from her face, she came up with a likely excuse, "Just thinking that I have to send my parents an owl. How would I do so?"

Meredith leaned a bit forward and pointed at a tall structure to their left. "That's the Owlery, there's a bunch of perches ready to take any letter you may have. Just be sure to thank them for their hardwork."

Vel laughed, "I'll be sure to do so. Thanks." 

When she began to rise, the group of Hufflepuff girls erupted into playful protests, urging her to stay. The sense of belonging almost made her complacent, a reminder of how rare it was to feel included. But deep down, she knew her attention had been elsewhere, her thoughts far removed from their lighthearted conversation. It wasn't fair to linger when she couldn't fully engage.

With a soft smile, she offered up a quick excuse about sending a letter to her parents and they relented. As Vel stepped away, their chatter resumed behind her. Carefully navigating the steep descent from the bleachers, she took each step with deliberate care. 

When her feet touched the freshly cut grass, she made a hasty decision. Without thinking —or even caring— about who watched her, she removed her black, heeled loafers and held them back her fingers as she made her way back to the castle. The smell of earth and trampled greenery grounded her, making her feel connected to nature. 

A group of Ravenclaw students stood in the path, their vibrant blue-and-black scarves swaying in the breeze. When they noticed her, they parted like a wave, stepping aside hurriedly.

Vel paused mid-step, her eyes narrowing at their reaction. For a fleeting moment, she considered saying something —confronting their quiet judgments— but decided against it. Instead, she walked through their group and ignored their avoidance tactics.

Let them think whatever they will. 

If they wanted to see her as a threat, then so be it.

Who was she to label what happened to that Slytherin boy as a one time mistake? Her reaction had been swift and deliberate, a visceral response to his cruel slander against her family. Retaliation, plain and simple. A quiet thought lingered, unshakable. If her magical prowess had been sharper, more refined... She could have done far worse.

Thankfully, Slytherins were notorious for keeping their defeats private, and none had reported her. Still, she couldn't shake the certainty that whispers of the incident had reached the ears of a few professors. Lost in the swirl of what had happened and the possibilities of what might have, she hardly noticed her own steps until she found herself pushing open the door to the Ravenclaw common room and tripping over the threshold. Pausing there, she glanced around the main floor, a flush of self-consciousness rising as she ensured no one had seen her distracted stumble. 

"Do you Ravenclaws really think you're so clever that a simple riddle is all that guards your sanctuary?" Ominis emerged from behind a pillar, leaning casually against it as though he owned the space. His tone dripped with mockery. "I thought it might be you, skulking around indoors while everyone else enjoys the sunshine. Only fitting to find you here, hiding away. Alone."

"Ominis, please," she sighed, already weary of his games. "I don't have time for this."

"What excuse did you spin for your little group of Hufflepuff admirers?" he asked, rolling something small and glinting between his fingers, its metallic sheen catching the faint light. Then he pondering in a mocking tone, "Wait, let me guess. You told them you were homesick and needed to send an owl to your parents?"

Her stomach tightened. "How did you..." She stopped herself, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she threatened, "You shouldn't even be here. If I tell a prefect, you'll lose house points. Maybe even detention."

"You could try," he replied smoothly, barely concealing his amusement. "But you won't. Just like I could spill the secret of your little gift to the Headmaster, then we'll see who has the last laugh."

"Are you seriously threatening me?" Heat began to rise in her words just as it crawled up her back and up her neck.

He shrugged, twirling the object deftly in his fingers. "You started it with your empty threats. I'm merely returning the favor."

Whatever he toyed with in his hands pulled her focus, despite her irritation. "What is that thing you're holding?"

"Curious, are we?" With a lazy flourish, he held it up, the golden surface gleaming. "It's the golden snitch."

The cocky grin he wore made her want to knock it right off his face. She became flustered; appalled by his thievery. 

"They need that for the seeker tryouts..." Then it dawned on her. "You were there, but I didn't see you."

Ominis somehow became even more smug, "Were you looking for me?"

"No! Now you seriously need to leave, people are going to think that I invited you up here and I'll never hear the end of it. I'll drop out if that happens." She pointed towards the door and then dropped her arm, wondering if he could even see the gesture through his wand.

"Ouch, more empty threats. That stings a little," Ominis quipped, rubbing his chest with exaggerated flair, right above where his heart would be. 

If he had one, she thought wryly. The mocking smile lingered on his lips as he straightened from his casual lean and began to close the distance between them.

With his all-seeing wand guiding him, he stopped mere inches away, the space between them vanishing. She stiffened as he raised the wand and used it to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"If you knew the things people said about you..." His voice dropped to a whisper— was it pity, a warning, or something darker?

"Ominis, please." She forced a steadiness that didn't resonate. "I can take care of myself. Slander doesn't bother me— I've dealt with it all my life, even from my own family. It's nothing new."

"No, it's not like that." His expression tightened, and she watched as his jaw clenched, the muscles straining. Thin veins appeared faintly along his neck, his composure fracturing in a way she'd never seen. Whatever storm brewed inside him, it was too powerful for his usual mask of sarcasm to hide. "They... Just watch your back. Don't travel alone. Don't get lost between classes. And for Merlin's sake, don't leave the castle at night."

The weight in his voice anchored her to the spot.

Her breath hitched, and for once, she didn't have a retort. "What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated, the grip on his wand tightening until his knuckles whitened. Finally, he shook his head, stepping back abruptly as though retreating from an invisible line he dared not cross.

"Forget it," he muttered, his tone cold once more, resigned. "Just take care of yourself."

Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and strode out of the common room, leaving her alone in the heavy silence he'd created. 

Head still reeling from that cryptic warning, she retreated to her chambers, surely this earned her a good nap. Maybe she'd sleep through dinner and it'd be a new week when she awoke. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.

Tossing her shoes under her bunk, she rid herself of the oppressive robes in one fluid motion and sank onto her comforter. The familiar scent of lavender sachets tucked into her pillowcase offered a fleeting comfort, but it did little to calm the whirlwind in her chest.

She stared up at the canopy of her bed, tracing the intricate carvings of ivy along the posts. Her mind wandered, imagining the week ahead— the challenges in Potions, the complexities of Charms, and the endless stares and whispers she was growing far too accustomed to. 

Would it ever get easier?

The murmur of voices from the common room broke through the barrier of her door as other Ravenclaws returned. Vel turned over, tugging the blankets up to her chin and cocooning herself beneath their weight. The muffled noise from outside her room faded into the background, and she began to drift.

Just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, a sharp, sibilant sound cut through the call of sleep— a faint, unsettling hiss from the wall near her bed. She froze, her breath hitching as her ears strained to catch it again. But the sound was gone, swallowed by the low hum of magic that always seemed to permeate the castle.

She shook her head, telling herself it was nothing. Perhaps just the wind snaking through the old stones, or a trick of her tired mind. Pulling the blanket over her face, she let the darkness take her.

This time, in order to ensure she wouldn't oversleep, a mechanical toad sat on her bedside table, enchanted with a waking spell she'd learned earlier in the week. If her sleep stretched on too long, the toad would leap from its perch and rattle her awake. 

Her roommates loved it. 

Satisfied that she'd be up in time to catch breakfast before class, Vel surrendered to the pull of exhaustion, her breathing slowing as she sank deeper into sleep. Unbeknownst to her, the faint hiss whispered again, slithering through the wall like an unwelcome visitor.

Chapter 7

Another morning to tally on the metaphorical wall in her prison cell, also known as her 'bedroom' in the Ravenclaw wing. She groaned as she fumbled with the croaking frog, wishing that there was more hours in the night to sleep. Languidly, she dressed for the day and then hurried to the Great Hall, remembering how Meredith said something about there being blueberry and banana pancakes on Mondays. 

Sliding into her usual seat, she set her bag down beside her with a soft thud and began filling her plate with a stack of mixed pancakes, before drenching them in syrup. Meredith came in a heartbeat later, surprised to see Vel awake and present. 

Meredith sat, instantly sliding a plate of chocolate croissants in front of her. "You're going to want to eat something substantial," Meredith spoke while chewing her first bite, a trait that Vel loathed yet found to be adorable when Meredith did it. "Big day ahead."

Vel cut into her pancakes before asking, "And why is that? It's only Monday."

Meredith leaned in conspiratorially. "Haven't you heard? Everyone's talking about you."

Vel froze mid-cut, remembering Ominis' warning the night prior. "Talking about me? What about me?"

"Oh, you know, just that you might be descended from Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Why didn't you tell me? Best friends tell eachother these things!" She slapped Vel's arm and then rubbed it, muttering an apology.

She'd barely begun to settle into her new life here, and already she was being dragged into some rumor mill. "Where did that even come from?"

Meredith shrugged, "Someone overheard Professor Hawthrone in the staff room, apparently. Now, it's all over the school. People are already comparing you to—"

"Ominis," Vel finished bitterly, sinking into the bench as she suddenly felt the stares from students who passed.

Meredith gave a small nod. "Well, yes. He's Salazar Slytherin's descendant, and now you're supposedly Ravenclaw's. Everyone's saying it's only a matter of time before you two—"

Vel shot her a look, and Meredith quickly held up her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. But you've got to admit, it's kind of neat. If it's true."

Vel didn't answer right away. She absently worked on her stack of pancakes, her appetite vanishing as snippets of nearby conversations floated toward her. Students at the surrounding tables whispered and glanced in her direction, their words just loud enough to carry.

"Her family's probably lying to give her more of an advantage."

"She doesn't even look like a Ravenclaw heir. Unless you count the black hair."

"Imagine being tied to the founders— how insufferable would she be?"

Her ears burned, and she set her fork down, no longer hungry. Beside her, Meredith shifted awkwardly, sensing her discomfort.

"It'll blow over," Meredith assured while being unsure of that statement herself.

Rumors like this didn't fade. They lingered, fanned by curiosity and malice alike.

Vel forced herself to stand, plastering on a neutral expression even as her mind raced. House rivalries were an old tradition at Hogwarts, but now they'd placed her uncomfortably in the center of it. She had to find Ominis and squash this before he got wind of it. If he thought she fueled this to benefit her... He'd never train with her again. 

Potions class passed in the blink of an eye. Vel found herself completely absorbed in the intricacies of the lesson and relished when it ended because it meant she could confront Ominis. Hoping to catch him before Defense class began, she practically ran there but slowed when the door came into view; doing her best to look presentable when she arrived and not like she just ran half the length of the school to get here early.

A quick comb with her fingers was all it took to tame the thick strands, though a small part of her couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Not that it mattered. Ominis couldn't see her hair, anyway.

She shook the thought from her mind. Why would it matter if he could?

When he entered the classroom, Ominis headed straight for his usual spot, not once glancing in her direction. She clung onto the hope that he wasn't feeling animosity towards her for the sudden attention of the entire student body. Or, at least the seventh-years.

The class proceeded uneventfully, and when it finally ended, Vel grabbed her bag and lingered back as she would on the days they trained afterwards. Ominis walked briskly towards the door, not bothering to look back, purposefully avoiding her. For a fleeting moment, she considered leaving him be since he clearly did not want to face her. 

And then that feeling faded. 

She slipped into the corridor just behind him, careful to keep her footsteps light, hoping not to be noticed. His pathing felt familiar. It wasn't until he rounded the corner and walked deeper into the winding maze of hallways that she realized where he was going— the same place he'd dragged her to that day; the secret room.

He disappeared inside, leaving the door ajar. To her, it meant that he wanted to talk, even if he didn't wish to be seen with her. 

Vel took a deep breath and slipped inside, gingerly closing the door behind her entry. The dim lighting made it difficult to see where he stood; arms crossed and foot tapping the floor. 

"You really do have a habit of following me," his voice dry instead of the mocking she'd grown to tolerate.

As her foot crossed the threshold, the sconces lining the walls flickered to life, their flames casting an unsteady golden glow across the room. Vel jumped at the sudden illumination, unable to remember if that happened the first time he brought her here.

Now fully visible, the space revealed itself in layers, each detail more curious than the last. Crates upon crates were haphazardly stacked against the walls, their wooden surfaces covered with a faint sheen of dust. Cobwebs clung to the corners, evidence of neglect and disuse. Every surface seemed cloaked in a fine, undisturbed layer of gray, save for the tracks they had made through it during their previous visit.

Her gaze drifted to the focal point of the room: a grandiose mirror mounted on the back wall. Its ornate, blackened frame curled with intricate carvings, an impeccable craftsmanship even with the passage of time. The mirror's surface seemed darker than it should have been, as though it reflected not light but shadows, giving the impression of a depth she couldn't quite fathom.

The furnishings were sparse. A singular velvet loveseat sat off-center, its ruby fabric and black trim felt oddly out of place in the barren room; worn but still regal. It brought back memories she hadn't visited in years— her grandmother's sitting room, where a similar set had been arranged with meticulous care. She could almost feel the texture of the upholstery enveloping her as she sank into it all those long-ago summers.

There was an undeniable air of significance here, as though the room itself held importance, waiting for something —or someone— to disturb its quiet.

Vel stepped further inside, the soft scuff of her shoes on the floorboards the only sound. Not wanting to break the spell, she whispered knowing he'd hear, "Is this where you come to hide from the rest of the world?" 

"Not to hide." He denied the easiest of answers and settled for the truth, "To think. To remember. And sometimes, to be alone."

Curiousity overpowered her unease, and she decided to make herself comfortable for the long conversation they needed to have. Settling into the loveseat, the fabric felt exactly how she imagined. Most would think it'd be scratchy, but fine velvet never was. 

She latched onto something he'd said moments prior and revisted it now, "To remember what, exactly?"

Hesitating, he lowered himself onto the only seat in the room beside her. His wand remained in hand, its tip coming to rest lightly atop her knee. She had crossed her legs, and though her first instinct was to inch away, she held her ground.

"Fragments," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. "Fragments of what my family once was. Here, surrounded by their relics, I can aspire to understand them. To grasp what they stood for— what they could have been. But their past... it always falls short of their present."

Without thinking, she placed a hand over his, the subtle gesture offering reassurance. The tension he carried around lessened, and he drew in a breath before continuing, his words tinged with bitterness. "They were once noble. Once respected. And now? Bullies, every one of them— exploiting people, wielding blackmail as casually as wands, using money to manipulate and control." He paused before tacking on, "You'd hate to know the plans they have for the current Headmaster."

A chill settled over her despite the warmth of the sconces' light. "Plans? What do you mean?"

Ominis pinched hise nose. "It's better you don't know. The less you're involved, the safer you'll be."

She wasn't satisfied with his answer, but the warning in his voice held her tongue. The mirror at the far end reflected their forms and, briefly, she could almost see the ghosts of his ancestors standing behind him, their watchful eyes filled with judgment.

"I can't escape it." He glanced down at their hands, hers still resting over his, and added quietly, "You don't know what it's like, carrying a name like mine. It follows you everywhere. It defines you before you even get a chance to speak."

She leaned back slightly, "Don't assume to know the cost of having my name, especially with the parents being... Who they are."

He scoffed, "People will forget about your parents being squibs and this ridiculous notion that you share a bloodline with Rowena Ravenclaw by the end of the month. Believe me. Newcomers seldom make history in these halls."

She withdrew her hand sharply, stung by his harshness. "It's not a competition who has the worst lineage. I was sympathizing with you. Our struggles may not be exactly the same, but they all tie back to a past that we can't control."

"I know, I know." He reached for her hand, pulling it back into his lap. It anchored him to have her there and not for the reason most girls wished to cozy up to him. "I'm sorry, Vel. My serpent tongue slips and forgets whose friend or foe. Forgive my outburst. Please."

The pleading way in which he reasoned with her made her stay and hear him out. Not without warning him of her conditions, "Speak to me like that again and I'll leave this place, and never return. Hawthrone will find someone else for me to pratice with, maybe Meredith will have to suffice since she's never rude to me."

"Would it be rude of me to remind you that Meredith can hardly muster a counter-curse before falling flat on her arse?" That familiar mockery returned, making her feel somewhat at ease.

Vel pressed her lips tight, "No... It'd be rude to tell her that to her face, however."

He feigned a gasp, "I'd never."

"Yeah, right." She tried withdrawing her hand, feeling clammy in the middle of her palms despite the aridness in the room. He held fast, unrelenting. 

Despite his narrow shoulders, thin wrists, and aristocratic frailty that masked his true nature, Ominis possessed a strength that defied appearances. That dominance showed itself now as he clasped her hand and pulled her forward with an unyielding grip. Her knees found purchase on the loveseat, and she instinctively shot out her free hand to brace against the backrest, her body hovering precariously close to his. 

"Ominis!" Her wide, mahogany eyes locked onto his, startled by his audacity.

"Stop fussing and just..." he murmured, laced with an undertone of command. "Come here."

Before she could protest further, he reached behind himself, his long fingers finding her wrist and with one fluid motion, he guided her arm to his front, pulling her closer. The position forced her to bend into him, her breath catching as her balance wavered. It was a precarious game of restraint, her stomach muscles taut as she resisted fully collapsing into his lap.

She held her position, determined not to give him the satisfaction. 

"You're impossible, Gaunt!"

"And yet, here you are," he countered smoothly.

The mirror behind them amplified the scene, its polished surface reflecting their entangled forms in a tableau of unspoken desire. She trembled, ever so slightly, and he felt it.

"Still trying to stay in control, Velvette?" He teased as he took both her wrists into one hand just to run a finger across her cheek with his free hand, testing the limits of her resolve. "Or will you admit that you don't hate this as much as you want to?"

Her mouth opened to retort, but no words came. What could she say? That she despised the way he always managed to unravel her composure? That his misplaced confidence was infuriating and still... intoxicating?

Thinking on her toes — since that's the only limb she had control of — Vel noticed that Ominis had carelessly let his wand drop into his lap. The perfect escape plan crystallized in her mind. With a calculated move, she relaxed her upper body, leaning into him until her chest brushed against his.

The unexpected closeness worked. His grip faltered, his breath hitching just enough for her to wrench one hand free. Without hesitation, she snatched up his wand, holding it triumphantly as she darted off the loveseat with surprising agility.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, pointing the wand at him with a victorious smirk.

Her triumph was short-lived. The wand buzzed violently in her grip, like holding an angry hornet. Before she could drop it, a sudden burst of energy erupted from the wand, sending her hurtling backwards. She hit the back wall with a resounding thud, the wind knocked clean out of her.

"Vel!" Ominis bolted to her side, his expression somewhere between horror and guilt as he snatched the wand from her trembling fingers. It buzzed one last time before falling silent, obedient in his grasp. "You weren't supposed to do that! I— Damn it, I just wanted to see how you'd react to... to..." He ran a hand through his pale hair, his words faltering. "Unwanted advances. I didn't think— Merlin, are you alright?"

He extended a hand to help her up and Vel batted it away, getting to her feet on her own, grimacing as pain radiated throughout her back. 

"You're an idiot," she rasped, glaring up at him. "Stop using me as a pawn in these idiotic games you concoct all in your own mind! For someone who supposedly doesn't care about other people's feelings, you're awfully invested in testing mine."

Ominis flinched at her words. "It wasn't like that. I just... I don't know. I wanted to know if you'd push me away. If you'd fight back. Most girls wouldn't."

She rubbed her wrist where his grip had been, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "What, is this some twisted experiment to confirm I'm not like the others looking to use you for status?"

He hesitated, looking away. The silence stretched between them, laden with words unsaid.

Ashamed, he confessed, "Maybe I just wanted to know if you trusted me enough to let me close... or if you'd rather run."

Vel stared at him, her irritation wavering. "And what's your verdict?"

Ominis didn't answer, his gaze drifting to the wand in his hand as if it held the truth he couldn't articulate. It guided him his entirely life, flying from the shelf in Ollivanders shop at the age of five. Years before most witches and wizards got their first wands. It sensed her genuine anger towards him and reacted, protecting him against an unforeseen danger. 

She snapped him out of his daze, knowing precisely the road his mind traveled down. "You were toying with me, I had to defend myself."

"Not everything is a game." The space between his eyebrows creased and his downcast gaze clouded more than ever before, the universes in those orbs spinning violently. 

"But with you it is!" She screamed, insisting that she was the one wronged in this case. 

They'd never admit that they both teetered on the edge of something unspoken. Neither had the courage —or perhaps the reckless abandon— to lay bare the emotions they kept locked behind carefully constructed facades. If the line between lust and hatred was razor-thin, they paraded across it with no safety net.

"You're smarter than this, Miss Nightingale." He stared through her humanly apparition and straight into her soul. Knowing exactly where to sink his fangs, he bit down, "You put on this façade, but deep down, you're as fragile as glass. The moment someone truly challenges you, you shatter."

The felt smaller now. Shrinking in size only in her minds eye.

"I can't..." Her voice cracked as she hurried to where her bag lay discarded, her fingers trembling while scooping up quills and trinkets she hadn't realized spilled out. "I don't ever want to see you again. You confuse me more than anyone else in this school. It's cruel, what you're doing. Do you know that?"

She didn't wait for an answer. The words lingered as she fled, her robe swishing sharply against the floor. The door slammed behind her, the echo bouncing off the walls in accusation.

Ominis stood, the room larger now without her in it. He clenched his wand in his hand, the warmth of its wood grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled. Confuse her? Was she the blind one, that she didn't see how she unraveled him too?

The firelight flickered against the dusty crates and forgotten tokens of his family's adventures, casting shadows that mockingly danced around him. The Gaunt name, once revered and now feared, loomed over him like a specter, dictating every choice, every word, every carefully measured interaction.

"She's right," he murmured to no one, his voice flat. "It is cruel."

Cruelty was second nature now, as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. What would she have him do? Pretend to be someone else? He cursed at the reflection of himself in the mirror that he could not see and for a fleeting moment, he thought of smashing it, of letting the glass shatter and the pieces fall where they may.

But he didn't. He simply stood there until the flickering sconces dimmed, leaving him alone with the dark.

 

Chapter 8

Nearly two full days passed in a monotonous blur, the hours stitched together by uneventful lectures and the mechanical repetition of routine. Ominis moved through the corridors like a shadow, his polished shoes clicking against the stone floors. He answered professors only when directly addressed, and even then, his words were clipped and devoid of their usual smoothness.

The Great Hall felt hollow without her. 

Every scrape of a fork on a plate or hum of chatter around the long tables grated on his nerves. Word spread quickly that she had taken ill, or so she claimed. He knew better. Although, her absence allowed the chance for the nonsensical rumor of her lineage to die down. 

Ominis had spent those two days consuming his meals in the common room, avoiding the gazes of his housemates and their unspoken questions. And it was beginning to gnaw at him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

On the morning of the third day, he trudged through the castle corridors, aimlessly between classes. His wand guided him, sweeping deftly before him to warn of obstacles. Somewhere behind him, a group of Ravenclaw students chattered about an upcoming exam, their voices fading as they turned a corner.

That was when he heard it— a chirpy sing-song voice ringing out amidst the noise of the corridor. "I'll be there a little late, I've got to take this dinner tray up to Vel," said the bubbly Hufflepuff girl he couldn't help but despise. Not for her personality or lack thereof, but for the irritating way she had latched onto Velvette from the very first day.

His steps slowed. The wand in his hand tipped slightly as he turned his head toward the sound of her voice. The girl was quick on her feet, her laughter mingling with her friends' as they weaved through the castle's shifting staircases. Ominis picked up his pace, his robes billowing behind him as he closed the distance. When she broke rank from her friends to turn towards the Ravenclaw, he seized his chance to intercept her.

"Wait!" He called out, voice sharper than intended.

The girl turned to look over her shoulder, and upon spotting him, her eyes widened in alarm. She squeaked, and hurried ahead with the food upon the tray wobbling precariously. 

He cursed under his breath and pushed forward, navigating the labyrinth of stairwells. She darted onto a shifting staircase just as the one he was on began to swing away. He clenched his jaw, calling out after her.

"Is she actually sick, or is she pretending?" His voice echoed against the high ceilings, drawing the attention of passing students. He could feel the weight of their stares, their murmurs prickling at the edges of his mind, but he didn't care.

The Hufflepuff girl didn't answer. She only glanced back once, her lips pressed into a tight line, and continued upward. As he reached the top of the staircase, he nearly ran into Meredith as she stood there, tray in hand, her expression softened to one of pity.

"She's fine," Meredith offered before he could verbally assault her. "Physically, at least. But I think you know why she's not showing her face."

Ominis opened his mouth to respond, but Meredith held up a hand to stop him. She stepped closer, pressing the tray into his hands.

"I've done all I can to help her," she said, voice hushed to keep from other students overhearing. "But it's not me she needs to hear from. It's you. So, if you care at all, go and make it right."

His fingers curling around the edge of the tray and she gave him a pointed look before brushing past, descending the stairs without another word. 

Navigating toward the tower, he hurriedly muttered the riddle's answer, the bronze door swinging open with an almost imperceptible groan. He stepped inside, expecting to find no one there but as soon as his polished boots touched the floor of the Ravenclaw common room, his wand thrummed faintly in his hand, sending out a subtle pulse of magic. The enchantment worked instinctively, an extension of his senses, creating a map of the room in his mind. The domed ceiling of the common room stretched high above him, lined with bookshelves and scattered furniture, but it wasn't the architecture his wand lingered on.

The pulse rebounded softly, pinging against a figure near the far window. A slight shift— someone sitting, perhaps turning a page in a book. The energy reflected back to him in fragmented detail: the outline of a chair, a knee bent just over its arm, and the faintest rustle of fabric.

Ominis stiffened, narrowing his focus. He couldn't see the person in the traditional sense, but his wand painted enough of a picture for him to know they'd turned toward him now. He felt the weight of their gaze, their presence blooming brighter in the magical echolocation as they moved slightly. 

"Who's there?" They called softly, leaning forward in their chair. A Ravenclaw girl, likely a year younger than him, stared at him wide-eyed. "Hey, you can't be in here."

"Relax," he feigned a smile, lowering his wand slightly but keeping it poised. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to deliver this to someone."

The girl hesitated, glancing nervously at the door in hopes someone else would come and make this decision for her. "If someone sees—"

"They won't," he interrupted while reaching into his pocket to produce a small vial filled with shimmering silver liquid. "An ounce of Felix Felicis. Yours, if you let me pass without telling anyone."

After a moment's hesitation, she got up the chair and sauntered over, snatching the vial from him. She headed to her own room after warning, "Be quick."

Ominis seized the chance, his wand already guiding him towards Velvette. His heart raced when he reached the top landing and stopped outside a locked door.

"Vel?" There was no response. "I've brought you something to eat. Meredith told me—" He stopped himself, sighing in frustration. "Please, just... let me in so I can explain."

Still no answer. Was she sleeping?

Unlikely.

Frustration and unease mingled within him as he gripped his wand tighter. With a whispered "Alohomora," he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was dim and illuminated only by the faint glow of his wand. Books were scattered across the desk, their pages marked with hurried notes. On the bedside table sat a half-empty glass, evidence of her recent presence. And on the bed, a lump under the covers shifted ever so slightly— she was there.

"Vel." Ominis' voice softened as he set the tray down on the desk and took a single step closer. "I didn't mean to upset you. What I said and did... it wasn't fair. It was cruel, you were right."

He could see her chest rise and fall under the covers, and though she remained motionless and silent, so he pressed further, "I don't want to be the reason you're hiding up here. Please... just talk to me."

For a moment, Ominis feared she wouldn't respond at all. The silence stretched; suffocating him. Then the covers shifted, and her voice, hoarse and raw from crying, broke through the stillness.

"Why are you here, Ominis?"

"To apologize, Velvette."

The sheets lowered an inch, just enough for her wary eyes to peer over the edge. "Then get on with it."

He exhaled a slow breath, collecting his thoughts. "I needed to know that I could trust you. Every time I've opened up to someone in the past, I regretted it. They've used me. Betrayed me. So... I'm sorry for how I tested you, but I'm not sorry for doing it. It was the only way I knew how."

Her brow furrowed, and the blanket slipped further as she sat up, adjusting her pillow against the headboard to lean back on it. "That's the worst apology I've ever heard."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he heard her moving about, it meant he still had a chance to make this right. "Maybe I'm just terrible at apologies."

Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down at the foot of her bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Velvette said nothing, only watching him with wary curiosity.

"I feel compelled to tell you why this matters so much to me," Without waiting for her to agree to the impromptu story time, he began, "I had a friend once. A good friend. At least, I thought he was. We grew up together, and for a time, I thought we shared the same dream. To be different than our families. He... was in Slytherin, too."

"We shared everything. Secrets. Ambitions. Even spells." His voice faltered, and his fingers fidgeted with his wand. "But somewhere along the way, he... changed. I didn't see it happening at first, but when I did, it was too late. He started dabbling in things he shouldn't have. Dark magic. Unforgivable things."

He felt the subtle shift of her weight as she leaned forward, wanting to comfort him but hesitating.

"He used the Killing Curse on his own uncle." Ominis said, the words dropping like stones into the quiet room. At her appalled silence, he mumbled bitterly, "I trust I don't need to explain what that does. They caught him, of course. It didn't take long. He wasn't as clever as he thought he was. And now, he's in Azkaban, rotting away in a cell because of choices he made that destroyed not only his life, but the lives of everyone who trusted him."

Anchoring himself back to the present with a deep breath, he fought to remind himself that it was two years ago and that nothing could change what happened. "That's why trust isn't something I give freely. Not anymore. Because when it's broken, there's no going back."

Vel plucked at her comforter, twisting the frayed edges between her fingers. "And you thought I... Would what?"

He turned his face toward her, his pale eyes unguarded; searching to understand her in ways not even his wand could help. "I don't know. But I had to be sure."

Velvette leaned back against the pillow, letting Ominis' words settle over her like the weight of a leaden quilt. Now her mind churned with questions she wasn't sure she had the right to ask.

He wasn't looking at her— his sightless stare fixed somewhere far beyond the room; reliving the memories he'd just recounted. She wanted to reach out, to tell him it wasn't normal to live in such a state of mistrust. But her mother's voice whispered from the recesses of her mind, a lesson from years ago when she had been too curious for her own good.

'People are like books, Vel. You can't just skip to the most interesting chapters. You have to let them turn the pages for you, at their own pace. You'll appreciate the ending more that way.'

Vel bit her lip, remembering how she'd bristled at that advice as a child. She'd always been impatient, eager to understand the world and the people in it without the cumbersome process of waiting for them to reveal themselves. But now, staring at Ominis —the lingering tension in his frame— she understood. Some boundaries weren't walls to be scaled or locks to be picked. They were fragile lines, drawn to protect the person behind them, and crossing them too soon could leave irreparable damage.

She conceeded, "I'll accept your apology... But only because I'm too tired to argue anymore."

He smirked. "How generous of you."

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a wry grin. "It's the least I can do after you barged into my room and practically begged."

"I'll admit, not my proudest moment. But, seeing as I'm already here..." He leaned back against the wall her bunk pressed up against and tucked his hands behind his head, using them for comfort. "I'll catch you up on what you missed while avoiding me."

"Not avoiding you..." She feigned an injured posture, gesturing behind her. "My back hurt after your wand threw me against a stone wall."

"Mmm, my wand apologizes." The face he made when saying that, feigning a pout, made her shift her thighs. 

A sudden heat spread across her cheeks and she rushed to change the topic.

"Meredith said you were miserable the past two days. Something about you scolding a first year?" She countered, her eyes glinting mischievously. 

"That's an exaggeration."

"She said you called him a menace to society."

Ominis groaned, running a hand over his face. "He spilled pumpkin juice on my robes! I was late to class because I had to change."

Their simutanously eruption of laughter eased some of the residual tension between them. She wiped her eyes free from the comical tears, "You're terrible."

"You're one to talk," he shot back before switching the subject. "You missed Professor Hawthorne's lecture on advanced shielding charms. Now he's going to assign you extra work over the weekend. And Professor Garlick had us elbow deep turning over soil, saying it'd do us better to feel the earth instead of using magic to help us garden. So... I suppose you didn't miss much."

"Thanks for bringing the food and..." she gestured between them, "For making an effort to fix this."

"Consider it payment for the headache I gave you. Literally and metaphorically." 

The sound of the door opening interrupted their banter, and Velvette's dormmates stepped in. Both girls halted, their gazes flicking between Vel and Ominis with open disdain. One of them crossed her arms, her lips curling into a sneer, while the other shot a pointed glance at the tray of food on the desk, clearly unimpressed.

"Well, isn't this cozy," one of them muttered with harsh judgement. 

Velvette's mood soured. "Don't start, Rosalind."

But Ominis, unfazed, rose smoothly to his feet and met their icy stares with a look so sharp it could have cut glass. "If you have a problem, take it elsewhere," as though this wasn't their room he unlawfully inhabited.

The girls exchanged a glance, clearly debating whether to argue, but Ominis' steady glare unnerved them. With a disdainful sniff, they turned their backs and began rifling through their belongings, pretending to ignore him.

Satisfied, Ominis turned to Velvette and extended a hand to help her up. "Let's get out of here. There's a Slytherin party tonight. Invitation-only for outsiders," he explained, keeping his words short. "And we're going. I imagine you need to get ready... Wear something you'd wear outside of school."

She stood and looked down at her comfortable but overall unimpressive set of pajamas. "Are you being serious?"

"Deadly. Now get changed."

Vel hesitated, her instincts warring with one another. The prospect of an exclusive Slytherin party intrigued her, though the idea of mingling with Ominis' housemates made her stomach flip.

Leaving no room for argument, he concluded with, "Meet me outside the doors. Don't keep me waiting."

He gave her one last look —firm but not unkind— before striding out of the room, his wand tapping lightly against his thigh as he navigated the corridor.

The sneering glances from her dormmates behind her only strengthened her resolve. She rummaged through her wardrobe until she found the perfect outfit: an all-black riding ensemble with intricate silver buttons glinting along the seams. The corset was fitted tightly over the blouse, cinching her waist and emphasizing the sharp lines of her attire. She smoothed the fabric, the polished silver accents catching the dim light as she fastened them.

Pulling on tall, lace-up boots that added just enough height to her frame, Velvette wrapped a dark cloak around her shoulders, and took one last glance at her reflection in the small mirror by her bed.

"You look ridiculous," Rosalind snarked from across the room.

Velvette smirked, knowing how much it bit into their psyche that they weren't invited. "You're just jealous," she quipped, grabbing her wand and slipping it into the holster on her thigh. 

She stepped out of the Ravenclaw tower and there he was, leaning casually against a pillar. He straightened as she approached, tilting his head slightly as if to assess her.

"A cloak?" He asked upon hearing the unmistakable rustle of the fabric in the way she walked, it swaying around her ankles. "Oh, this will be good. You'll fit right in."

"Where's this party, then?" Velvette ignored him, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

He extended his arm in her direction, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Follow me."

 

Chapter 9

Entering the Slytherin dungeons felt like stepping into another world entirely. They had descended deep into the castle's foundations where the air grew cooler, carrying a faint trace of dampness that hinted at their proximity to the lake.

"Welcome to the dungeons," Ominis said, his tone dry but tinged with a certain pride.

Greeted by the grandiose yet eerie ambiance of the Slytherin common room; emerald-green lamps cast a soft, spectral glow over the dungeon-like chamber, their light shimmering off the low-backed, button-tufted leather sofas in black and deep green. Her gaze was drawn to the three massive floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the room, which offered an uninterrupted view into the lake's murky depths. The water distorted the light, creating rippling patterns that danced across the stone floor.

 As she watched, a massive shadow passed by—a tentacle, she realized, likely belonging to the giant squid. Smaller, unidentified creatures darted in and out of view, adding to the room's otherworldly atmosphere.

"It's like being in a sunken ship," Velvette murmured, her voice almost reverent.

Ominis smirked as he guided her further inside, a polite hand on the small of her back. To their left, a grand staircase spiraled downward and velvet curtains framed alcoves decorated with paintings of infamous Slytherins and purebloods alike, their eyes following her as she walked past. Skulls adorned several shelves, lending a macabre elegance to the cold grandeur.

"Wait here. I need to change from these stuffy robes." With no one else around, Ominis felt assured enough that she'd be fine. And when he returned, he looked effortlessly polished. 

He wore an all-black ensemble, the tailored shirt clinging perfectly to his lean frame with a neatly pressed collar, framing the long line of his neck. While the top two buttons were left undone, revealing the pale skin at his throat. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows with precise carelessness, baring his forearms— slim but strong. His slacks hugged his legs just enough to showcase his sharp silhouette. It was the simplicity of his attire and the confidence in his every movement that made him impossible to ignore.

Breaking her gawking stare, he gestured toward the fireplace ahead, its flames an unnatural purple hue. "Through there."

Did she trust him enough to step through fire? 

No, and that's why she nudged him to go first and then followed after. The sensation was peculiar —wrapping her a warm, misty breeze— and then she emerged into the hidden room beyond.

The secret space was markedly different from the rest of the dungeons, though it retained the Slytherin charm. A central chandelier of emerald crystals bathed the room in vibrant light, which mingled seemlessly with the silvery glow of enchanted sconces along the walls. A bar to the left caught her eye, where students poured shimmering drinks into crystal glasses that refracted the light like prisms.

Clusters of students gathered in circles amongst the room, with the dance floor in the occupied only by the bravest. Faint music hummed, audible even over the noise of talking. It's rhythm dark and intoxicating.

Velvette let out a low whistle. "This isn't exactly what I expected from a dungeon."

Ominis chuckled. "It's exclusive for a reason. Don't tell anyone, or they'll revoke my invitation. Even younger Slytherins don't know, this place is reserved for seventh-years. Hence the... spirits." 

"Wouldn't dream of it." She scanned the room and took in every exquisite detail. Despite herself, she felt a small thrill at the number of school rules were being broken. 

As someone passed by carrying two glasses of that shimmering liquid, Ominis plucked them from his hands without a word, handing one to her. The guy readied to protest until he caught sight of who it was and immediately backed away, muttering an apology as if he owed one for breathing the same air as Ominis.

Velvette raised an eyebrow as she took the glass. "Huh. I'm not sure if he did that out of fear or respect."

Ominis tilted his glass, draining half of it in one swallow before answering, an edge of bitterness slipping through. "Fear. It's always fear."

She studied him for a long moment, the words settling heavily between them. Then, without a word, she raised her glass in a silent toast. If he noticed the sympathy in her actions, he didn't comment, simply clinking his glass against hers before finishing the rest in one smooth motion.

It felt like bubbles popping in her mouth and had a taste that she couldn't place. Just as he had, she downed it. Ominis leaned casually beside her, his posture relaxed but his attention, as always, unnervingly sharp.

"I don't see any other non-Slytherin students here..." She mumbled, only for his ear.

"That's because there aren't any. They rarely invite an outsider."

Her brow furrowed. "You didn't mention that part before. Why did you—"

"Miss Nightingale." He interrupted smoothly, dipping down to her level, their faces now side by side. "My wand senses things no eyes could ever see. The way the air shifts when someone moves, the pulse of magic when emotions rise... and your tension is practically vibrating in the air around you, Vel."

"You avoided my question..." A tremor, both in her words and her body, betrayed her.

Ominis tapped his wand on his thigh, fighting the urge to say what he really wanted. "I did not. Right now, the only thing that matters is you blending in. So relax. You belong here... with me."

Her heart skipped at the subtle possessiveness in his tone, and her eyes darted around the room. It felt like all the emerald-lit shadows leaned in closer, their darkness coaxing her to stay. To trust him. 

"Belong?" She laughed, the sound laced with sarcasm. "I'm not sure the Slytherin motto includes inviting squib-born witches into their elite club."

His fingers grazed hers as he casually plucked her empty glass to place it into another student walking by, this time they carried a tray of drinks for people to take. As he handed her a second glass, he explained, "Slytherins make exceptions when something, or someone, is worth it."

Heat rose to her cheeks, but she bit the inside of her lip to suppress the flustered response bubbling inside her. She was acutely aware of how close he was—closer than the etiquette of their era allowed—and yet no one in the room seemed to care. If anything, they seemed to be pretending not to notice, each too absorbed in their own scandalous embrace.

His breath brushed the shell of her ear, "And you, Vel... you're worth it."

Before she could answer, someone jostled into her, breaking the spell of their proximity. A group of students stumbled by, laughing loudly as they spilled their drinks. Velvette took the opportunity to step back, needing space to catch her breath.

But Ominis wasn't finished. He stalked towards her, trying to disarm her apprehension. "You're here. That has to mean something."

She wanted to argue, to deny whatever he was insinuating, but the truth lodged in her throat like a stone. He was right— she was here, with him, in a world that should've felt foreign but didn't. And that scared her more than anything else.

Thinking fast, she let her drink slip from her fingers and the glass shattered onto the ground. It drew attention from a small group behind them, and as Ominis cleaned up the mess with a simple spell, they approached her. An interference she so desperately needed in that moment.

"You're the one, aren't you? The one who warped Thad's perception of Muggles? That's... impressive." The Slytherin girl was tall and carried a regal air about her. Vel looked up at her and then around at the others behind her who seemed hesitant to get too close. "So tell me, how'd you do it?"

Ominis stepped in, "That's enough—"

"I don't know how I did it." Vel answered, truthfully. 

A growing circle formed around her, eager to hear more, their questions filled with curiosity rather than disrespect; each more inquisitive than the last. Somewhere in the midst of it, Ominis slipped away, muttering something about needing a stronger drink. She barely noticed his departure at first, but as time passed, her gaze began to drift over her shoulder, scanning for any sign of his return.

A sharp, incredulous question pulled her back to the present.

"Could you try it on me?" Mused that same tall girl, leaning forward with her hands braced on her knees to bring herself more to Vel's level. Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk, "Make me think I like boys. If your little gift is real, that is."

Before Velvette could react, Thaddeus, loitering nearby, stepped in, his voice carrying a warning. "Oh, you really don't want that, trust me. It felt like my brain was on fire for days. I still feel a little fuzzy up there."

The girl straightened, taking a step back as a laugh rolled through the group. "Mm, sure," she drawled. "It'd take more than a silly mind trick to make me like boys anyway. No offense, Thad, but even your voice is jarring."

With a cocky grin, Thaddeus looped an arm around Vel's shoulder and guided her away, diffusing the moment before the circle turned its attention back on them. Their curiosity satisfied for now.

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that, not after I..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward her forehead.

He shrugged with the charm of someone used to getting what he wanted. "Care to dance?"

Velvette hesitated, glancing around the room in search of Ominis.

"It's just a dance," Thaddeus coaxed, inviting her to have some fun. "No harm in that."

She gave tentative nod, letting him lead her toward the center of the room. The music shifted to something slower, darker, with a rhythmic pulse that seemed to seep into her bones.

"Do you know any traditional Slytherin dances?" he asked, taking her hand and placing his other lightly on her waist. 

"Not exactly," she lied and each of them knew it.

He smiled, guiding her through the steps. "It's simple. Just follow my lead."

She swayed with him, her body rigid at first, growing more fluid as he directed her through the intricate turns and dips. The dance felt old, almost ceremonial. The only saving grace being that others were entrapped in the same dance and none paid attention to her. 

In this light, she took a moment to truly see him. His features were sharp yet inviting, his dark cocoa skin luminous under the greenish hue that danced across the room. His angular jawline softened only by his easy smile. Eyes the color of molten amber held a warmth that was vastly out of place here, hinting at a depth that didn't align with the arrogance often associated with his house. His tailored robes fit impeccably; emphasizing his lean, athletic build without appearing ostentatious. 

Still, she couldn't help but wonder how much of him was shaped by his misguided, pureblood family and the superiority of Slytherin house. There was a trace of something boyish beneath all the polish, something softer. 

And, yes, he was cute. Quite annoyingly so.

Then, she felt it.

A presence behind her— dark and unmistakable.

Before she could react, an arm coiled around her waist, pulling her firmly back into a solid chest. The heat of it burned through the fabric of her attire, and the scent of him —some kind of candied spice— filled her senses.

"There you are," Ominis whispered, teetering on that thin line she seemed to love to hang in the balance of.

The boy she'd been dancing with stepped back immediately, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Didn't realize she was spoken for."

"She's not," Ominis replied sharply, his grip tightening slightly. "But she's with me."

Thaddeus gave a slight nod and retreated into the crowd, leaving Velvette alone with Ominis. Her pulse raced, though she wasn't sure if it was from the dance, the proximity, or the sheer intensity radiating off him.

"You didn't have to scare him off." She tilted her head back against his chest to peer up at him.

He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear. "Didn't I?"

"You ruined my fun," she pouted. "It's not like you'd ever dance with me."

The challenge brought a sparkle to his expression. "Is that so?"

The music swelled around them, and he turned her around gently, his hand never leaving her waist as he guided her into a dance to prove her wrong. This time, it was slower, closer. The room faded away, leaving only the two of them locked in a rhythm that felt as ancient and unyielding as the stones of the castle itself.

Unlike the light, polite movements she'd shared with the other boy, this was different. Each touch lingered a second longer than it should. His hand rested firmly on the small of her back, guiding her with an unspoken authority that left her breathless. Any protest dissolved on her tongue as they moved together, their bodies perfectly synchronized. 

She soaked in every second. The heat of his touch. His breath against her temple when he leaned in close to guide her through a spin. Just the two of them... Until chaos struck.

A crackle of magic rippled through the packed space, and Velvette's attention snapped to a fiery serpent slithering across the floor. It hissed and coiled, its form flickering as though caught between the realms of real life and raw magic. Gasps and murmurs filled the room as the serpent raised its head, making everyone press against the walls to escape its path.

Before she could react, Ominis stepped forward, his wand steady in his hand. His voice rolled through the air like a hymn; the language he spoke hypnotic and unrecognizable. The serpent froze, its fiery body quivering under the weight of his command. Then, as if obeying some unseen order, it collapsed into a plume of smoke, dissipating into the air with a faint hiss.

The room erupted into cheers, the Slytherins clapping and whistling, assuming it had been part of some performance. 

Velvette, however, tugged on Ominis' arm and demanded answers. "What just happened?"

He twisted around and took her arm, firmly guiding her away from the center of attention. "It's nothing. I can speak to snakes. That's all."

"Speak to snakes? That's not exactly nothing, Ominis!" Her mind flashed back to the hissing she'd heard in the walls of her dormitory, a sound she'd brushed off as her imagination. "Wait... was that you I heard the other night? The hissing in the walls?"

"It's just the plumbing, Vel. Old castle, old pipes." His evasive tone didn't do much to convince her, but before she could press further, he stopped in front of the drinks and offered her something that smelled like spice. The same scent he carried earlier when he danced with her. 

She conceded, giving it a suspicious sniff. "What is it? Smells a little like butterscotch."

"It's called butterbeer, but we spike it with something to make the effects a little more... Potent. Go on, you'll like it, probably a little too much."

The warmth of the drink spread through her chest despite it being chilled, its buttery sweetness laced with something sharper, more intoxicating. It lingered on her tongue, making her lips tingle. 

"Wow that's..." she coughed, trying to hand him back the drink which he refused to take. 

Ominis took a sip of his own and grinned cheekily, "It's harmless, I promise. Just enough to help you enjoy the evening without overthinking it."

She gave him a pointed look. "Funny, coming from you— the king of overthinking."

He straightened, his demeanor shifting from teasing to something more reflective. "To answer your earlier question— yes, I can speak to snakes. It's a gift passed down through generations in my family. Parseltongue. Or a curse, depending on who you ask."

"A curse?" she repeated, intrigued.

"Not everyone is as... open-minded about it as you might think," he explained, the topic weighing heavily on him. "It's not just a party trick, Vel. People hear you can speak to snakes, and suddenly you're dark or dangerous. Bunch of rubbish."

Velvette swirled her drink thoughtfully, avoiding taking another sip. "It's part of who you are, why should their words matter?"

Ominis huffed. "Optimistic as ever."

"Unconcerned by others," she corrected, suddenly feeling brave enough to swallow some more of the butterbeer. "So... the Salazar Slytherin lineage thing, it's true?"

"It's true. And for your ties to the founder of Ravenclaw... I did some research, and there may be some merit there. Has your family never mentioned it?"

Dryly, she answered with a simple, "Nope."

"If you don't want to talk about it..." Ominis started to back off, sensing the topic offended her.

"I don't."

"Then drink up," he encouraged her by clinking their glasses and downing the glass. "The night can only get more interesting from here."

The way his words rolled off his tongue sent a shiver through her, the kind that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Velvette did as ordered, and then she couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the company making her pulse race just a little faster.

Chapter 10

The butterbeer flowed freely as the night wore on, its indulgent and nutty contents clouding Velvette's mind. She'd never felt so light, so free, as she did now, with each glass she carelessly consumed.

Ominis kept a careful watch on her, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and something more dangerous. He had kept pace with her drinking, though he had learned long ago how to manage his intake. It didn't take long before he decided it was time to escort her back to the Ravenclaw Tower, a task made far more difficult by the fact that they had to avoid getting caught.

"Careful," he murmured as they moved through the corridors, their footsteps echoing faintly off the stone walls. The shadows were their allies, and they clung to them as though they were a second skin. "We need to stay out of sight."

Velvette giggled, her cheeks flushed a light shade pink. "I think... I think this is fun." Even as they both pressed their backs against the cold stone of the hallway, her eyes twinkled with mischief.

He was too busy scanning the hallway for any sign of a professor or prefect to listen to her words. Just as she was about to repeat herself, the echo of a hiccup rang out through the corridor, announcing their whereabouts to practically the entire school. His grip tightened on her wrist as he dragged her under a staircase, slapping his hand over her mouth before any other noise came from her mouth.

Caught off guard, she struggled for a moment before sucummbing to his hold. They were standing in near total darkness, hidden from view. Bodies pressed together.

"Your wand's poking me," she grumbled, shifting slightly.

Ominis, still hard-focused on detecting another presence, shifted his lower body away from her, a muttered apology escaping his lips. She blinked, and then realized what he thought she meant.

"No... your actual wand."

The silence between them was thick and saturated with something neither of them wanted to dive into. She opened and closed her mouth at least three times, unsure if a joke would lighten things. Finally, with an almost imperceptible shift, Ominis straightened.

"Come on." Not wanting to say a word more, he took her hand, guiding her back in the shadows as they continued their trek through the castle.

They made their way back in silence after that, with only the distant murmurs of prefects and professors keeping them on edge. They moved swiftly, their presence nearly undetectable. When they reached the Ravenclaw Tower, Ominis gave her a quick nod towards the door.

"You'll be fine getting upstairs?" His voice unusually soft, a note of care lacing his words.

"I'll manage. Thanks for... you know." Suddenly sobered, she took a step back with her head bent out of fear he'd catch the way her eyes glistened. Knowing, in the back of her mind, that he couldn't catch that subtle shift. Nor the way the blush in her cheeks darkened.

Everything he needed to say was summed up into a curt nod, before he turned on heel and headed back through the castle, the quiet of the corridors greeting him like an old friend. Once he reached the entrance to the dungeons, the familiar coldness wrapped around him. A coldness he hadn't felt when she'd been here by his side.

As he entered the common room, the hushed whispers of his classmates ceased. Ominis didn't look at them, though he could feel their eyes on him, while he made his way towards the stairs to depart to his chambers. The moment he passed by them, the whispers began again— Only louder this time like they wanted to be heard. The smirk in their voices tangible.

"You see the Ravenclaw girl tonight?"

Ominis's eyes narrowed, hand tightening around the railing.

"Hell yeah, next time I'm going to show her what a real Slytherin boy can do."

Without missing a beat, he spun around, the tension in his shoulders making it clear that he wasn't impressed.

"If you want to keep your tongues," Ominis hissed, "may I suggest changing the topic and never looking in her general direction again?"

The room went deathly still. His classmates —normally so bold in their banter— seemed to shrink back from of his words. The night had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. What had started as a night of intrigue had now turned into something far more complicated. A hindrance of an emotion crept up his spine, one he long vowed to never feel. Whispred venom into his thoughts and grew claws that raked against his resolve.

Jealousy— swallowing every once of his pride in its relentless pull.

***

Those pale, unseeing eyes might have given others the impression of vulnerability, but Vel knew better. He could read her every move before she made it, as if she were an open book written in bold ink. Sense every spell before the word left her lips.

"You're still broadcasting your intent. I could hear it in the way you breath before you cast."

Vel's jaw tightened, her pride stinging. "Oh, so now I'm supposed to stop breathing, too?"

"It might improve your chances," he quipped. He took a step forward, his wand still held loosely at his front. "Though, I have to say, this isn't your best performance. You're usually quicker than this. Could it be..." His voice dropped into a teasing lilt. "You're still recovering from last night?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped, though her face burned all the way up to her ears.

"Mm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so."

The way he was looking at her —or rather, the way it felt like he was looking at her— made her pulse race. And that smirk... It was infuriating, yes, but also charming in a way that left her off balance. Vel squared her shoulders, determined to regain control. She took a slow, deliberate breath, her grip on her wand steadying.

She feinted left, her wand slicing through the air as she cast a quick, precise spell. Ominis reacted instantly, his wand moving in a blur as he deflected her attack with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"Nice try," he taunted.

Undeterred, Vel pressed forward, her movements growing bolder. She poured everything into her next spell, her wand flourishing with intent. Drawing in her focus until it was just the two of them, locked in a battle of wits and skill. Ominis, for all his calm composure, was relentless. He deflected her spells with an ease that made her want to scream. There was something else in the way he moved, something almost playful, as though he was enjoying this far more than he should have been.

"You're holding back," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Vel bristled, her frustration bubbling over. "I am not!"

"You are," he insisted. "Don't tell me you're actually afraid to lose, Vel. That's not like you."

She brushed some hair away from her face, wishing she had pulled it back before this match. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Prove it," he challenged.

If he wanted a fight, she would give him one. And this time, she wouldn't hold back. Vel was readying herself for another round when the sharp creak of the door interrupted them.

Professor Hawthorne stepped inside the classroom from his office, his deep voice cutting through their focus. "Miss Nightingale. If I might have a word with you in my office?"

"Y-yeah, coming." Vel stammered, feeling a sudden sense of discomfort at the idea of being in trouble.

Hawthorne then added, his lips curving into a faint smile, "Take your time to catch your breath." He disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, the door clicking shut behind him.

Vel turned to Ominis, frowning. "What do you think that's about?"

Ominis didn't answer right away. His face was unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn't been there before. Before she could take a step toward Hawthrone's study, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her wrist.

"Don't go." The urgency in his voice made her pause to hear him out. His thumb brushed against her skin, sending an inexplicable shiver up her arm. "He... he can't be trusted."

Her brow furrowed. "Ominis, that's ridiculous. He's my uncle's friend."

"That doesn't mean anything," he shot back. "Hawthorne has... a reputation. I've heard things. He's charming, yes, but he uses that charm to manipulate people— students."

Refusing to believe such a baseless claim, she pulled away from him and he released her without a fight. "Rumors. That's all they are. Cruel, baseless rumors."

"Are they?" There was something raw in his tone now, something she didn't recognize. "Vel, listen to me. Just... be careful. You're far too clever to get caught up in whatever game he's playing."

"You're wrong about him." Before he could argue his point any further, she sheathed her wand into the pcoket of her robe and headed towards the door. She half-looked back over her shoulder and muttered, "Don't wait up."

The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the emptied room. His fingers curled into a fist, frustration and something deeper twisting in his gut. He had a bad feeling about this.

Vel stepped into the professor's office and instantly took in the pristine room. Every surface perfectly polished and arranged. Bookshelves lined the walls, but many were half-empty, the gaps between volumes leaving an odd sense of incompletion. The books that were present were perfectly aligned, their spines gleaming as though rarely touched.

The desk at the center of the room was equally immaculate. A single quill rested on a stand and beside it sat a stack of neatly arranged parchment. The crystal inkpot reflected the soft glow of the lanterns, which illuminated the space with a warm, golden light. Her gaze wandered to the walls, where few framed certificates and art hung. They were positioned with almost obsessive precision, the gaps between them measured perfectly.

The lack of clutter, the absence of personality... It made her wonder how long he'd been a professor here at Hogwarts.

"Miss Nightingale." Hawthorne greeted her while gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit."

She obeyed, the cushion of the chair dipping softly under her weight. "What's this about, Professor?"

He offered a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've had a word with your family. They're quite pleased to hear you've settled in so well here. Though, I must admit, I was surprised to learn you haven't sent them an owl yourself. They're eager to hear directly from you."

Vel rushed to cover up her absent mind. "Oh, I— well, I've been so caught up in everything here. The magic, the classes, the... everything. It's like time just slipped away from me."

His gaze remained fixed on her. "I understand the school can be... overwhelming, especially for someone adjusting to a new environment. But do try to remember. Familial connections are important, Miss Nightingale. They shouldn't be neglected."

A twinge of guilt crept into her expression. "I'll send them a letter soon. I promise."

Satisfied, he moved on to a more pressing matter. "There's another matter I wanted to address. Rumors have been circulating about your lineage. I want to make it absolutely clear that I've never spoken of such things to anyone. Nor would I. I don't know how or where these whispers began, but I felt it was important to tell you directly."

"Thank you," her head dipped, signaling her gratitude.

"And be mindful, Miss Nightingale. This school has a long memory, and the walls have ears. I wouldn't want you tainting the good name of your family by giving in to such gossip. If you don't indulge them, this rumor will fizzle out."

"I'll... keep that in mind, Professor."

"Good." Hawthorne's voice softened as he leaned forward, his hands clasped and resting lightly on the edge of his desk. "Now, unless there's anything else, you're free to go. Do consider writing to your family soon."

Vel rose, pushing the chair away with the backs of her knees. "Of course. Thank you, see you next class."

As she left, Hawthorne's warning lingered on her mind, echoing louder with every step she took back toward the common room. Vel rubbed her arms, trying to shake off the strange, almost clinical atmosphere of his office. When rounding the corner, something flicked at the edge of her vision. A sleek, white thing slithered along the floor, vanishing into the shadows near a tapestry.

A serpent.

Vel's heart thudded in her chest as she recalled a recurring dream she had in recent weeks of a serpent coiling around her until the life drained from her. Without thinking, her feet carried her forward, chasing the movement she swore she'd seen. The serpent had been fast, but it couldn't have gone far.

Her footsteps echoed as she hurried down hallway after hallway, spinning quickly to catch the creature off guard. Tapestries swayed faintly as though disturbed by a phantom breeze.

"Hello?" she called out, feeling foolish as her voice wavered. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

Vel slowed as she reached the end of the hall, where a dead-end loomed, marked only by a window. She went over to it and foolishly looked out of it for any signs of an escaping reptile.

Nothing.

She huffed, frustrated. Maybe it had been a trick of the light, or her imagination running wild after that jinx of the fiery serpent the night prior. Seeing that triggered a memory she long wished to put behind her. Well... not quite a memory.

A nightmare— Of a white serpent; coiled tightly around her body until the life faded from her.

Now, standing alone in the corridor, she pressed her fingers lightly against her neck, half-expecting to feel the faint imprint of scales. But there was nothing— no evidence that the serpent, or anything else, had been there.

"That's all it was... Just a nightmare."

No matter how hard she tried to dismiss it, the foreboding aura clung to her. She forced herself toward the Ravenclaw tower, her steps hastened by a creeping dread. The logical part of her insisted it was nothing— a trick of the light or the lingering haze from last night's butterbeer.

Still, the whisper of doubt remained.

The phantom image of the serpent lingered at the edges of her mind, coiling tighter with every passing thought. Velvette's attempts to push it aside made her next task near impossible: writing home. The blank parchment before her felt accusatory, its emptiness mocking her inability to convey the truths she couldn't bear to admit. A fresh pot of ink and an eager quill sat ready at her side, but the words refused to come.

She should have wanted to write to her parents but dwelled on what to tell them. The truth couldn't even be an option. A half-truth... Would still have them worried. So, she settled on lies.

School was uneventful.

She was happy.

The walls weren't stifling.

The other students were charming.

And this world, despite its prejudices, was growing on her.

Each scratch of the quill across the page felt like a betrayal, her hand trembling with frustration. When she reached over to dip her quill in the ink and the pot tipped over, it didn't just ruin her letter... It solidified her guilt.

Vel stared blankly at the growing stain of black ink consuming the parchment. The lies she'd carefully crafted disappeared under the spreading darkness. She fought the urge to laugh, or maybe scream? Instead, she let her forehead drop onto the desk with a muted thud, the cool ink seeping into her skin as she let herself wallow in the chaos she'd created.

The puddle began pooling off the edges of the desk, threatening to stain her robes, yet she remained still. Perhaps if she stayed here long enough, the ink would dry, and she could pretend none of this had happened. But she knew better— knew that time wouldn't make the guilt or the pressure fade.

Herbology was next and at least it'd offer some reprieve. Professor Garlick had a knack for brightening even the dreariest of days. With a groan, she forced herself upright to clean herself up before class.

Vel made her way to the bathroom and once inside she leaned over the sink, gripping its edges tightly. The cold porcelain grounded her. The ink on her forehead was stubborn, smearing rather than washing away with the first splash of water. She scrubbed harder, her skin beginning to sting as the black stains faded to grayish streaks.

The memory of the serpent flashed in her mind, its imaginary weight pressing on her throat. She shook her head, forcing the image away, and focused on the sound of the water— the coolness of it running down her wrists. She adjusted her robes, brushed her fingers through her hair, and patted her face dry. Whatever haunted her would have to wait.

 

Chapter 11

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING: Hints at non-consensual elements, but it doesn't go far. If this affects you, skip to next chapter after vision ends. 

 

There was still one place she hadn't visited in the castle in her weeks since arrival. The one place she believed would be her reprieve: the library. 

Surprisingly enough, she had enough textbooks and supplies to busy her into the next millenia. With the way professors and classmates shoved them in her direction, piling them up until —for the first time in her existence— she grew tired of literature. 

More like... overwhelmed.

Now she sought out one book in particular. It didn't have a title. She didn't know what it'd look like. Or if it even existed. But she needed answers regarding this 'gift' she had. Learning to harness its power may just give her a cutting edge when it came to her future in the wizarding world if she chose it over returning to her ordinary life alongside her parents. 

Velvette sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the empty corner in the furthest edge of the library. The books in this section had amassed a thick layer of dust, suggesting they were long-abandoned by even the librarian— either their contents too archaic to warrant exploration or so obscure that no one bothered with them. 

As her fingertips brushed the dust off the spine of one to reveal the title, a shiver cascaded over her skin, raising goosebumps despite the room's stifling warmth. An invisible thread seemed to bind her to its timeworn pages, an inexorable pull that urged her to unearth the secrets trapped within. When she pried open the stiff, crackling pages, the scent of aged parchment filled her senses. 

And then, the world shifted.

Images flooded her mind, vibrant yet soundless. A grand ballroom unfurled before her, its splendor overwhelming. Gilded chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, dripping with crystal that fractured light into brilliant rainbows across a sea of dancers. Their bodies prancing to a melody she could not hear. The silence was haunting, amplifying the surreal vividness of it all. She reached out instinctively, as if she may just be able to grasp the scene and crumble it like a page of a book.

And then, she wasn't Velvette Nightingale anymore.

Her perspective shifted, her consciousness plunging into another's. She became a woman cloaked in heavy silks, her body weighted with ornate jewelry that clung to her sweat-dampened skin. A pounding echoed in her chest— not hers, but the woman's. It thrummed with a strange duality, fear and longing intertwined. A dance of emotions within her heart.

The vision disintegrated as suddenly as it had formed, leaving Velvette gasping as if she had been submerged and dragged to the surface. Her trembling fingers clutched the book until, as though burned, she dropped it.

The book landed with a muted thud, its cover closing over secrets that weren't hers to know. She stared at it, her own fear and longing at battle now.

This wasn't simply a memory— it was an echo of a life lived long before her own. Her abilities had grasped at that fragment of the past, but that book... it had flared them to life, igniting something inside her she didn't comprehend.

If her powers manifested when touching a mere book, what other objects may cause this anomaly? Or was it just this book? 

Not knowing for certain, she used her cloak as a glove to pick up the book and slide it into her satchel. She'd bring it to Professor Hawthrone to see what he made of it. Although that may open a floodgate of questions that she needed to be ready to evade. 

The sound of footsteps just around the corner jolted her to the present. With the swiftness of a gazelle, she sprang to her feet, simultaneously swinging her bag behind her to conceal the stolen cargo. She hoped to slip out unnoticed, her mind already forming an excuse as to why she appeared so flustered.

But plans of escape were cut short.

A cluster of Slytherins all turned to face her and the confusion in their expressions steadily turned sinister. Their faces glowed with a dark amusement that sent a chill crawling down her spine. Predatory smirks carved into their usually stoic facades. And though she just barely recognized most of them in passing, it wasn't until one stepped forward that her dread solidified.

"Thaddeus." His name fell from her lips with a bitter edge. She had thought —foolishly hoped— that their interaction the other night marked a change; a crack in that armor of arrogance.

"Leaving so soon?" His tone was smooth, laced with mockery, as his gaze flicked to the bag slung across her shoulder. 

Her fingers tightened instinctively on the strap, her knuckles pale against the leather. She forced her chin up, ignoring the way their eyes —hungry and appraising— roamed over her figure.

"I'm on my way to meet up with Ominis." She muttered the blatant lie, stepping to the side to walk around them, but they moved with her, bodies shifting like a pack of wolves closing ranks.

"Oh really?" Thaddeus drawled, his voice syrupy with feigned innocence. "You know, over the weekend I visited St. Mungo's and they were able to reverse your mind games. It took some time and patience with their very best healers but then something... Clicked. I remembered how much I despise people like you."

Vel scoffed, "It's amusing, really— how you cling to your pureblood superiority. Some of the most powerful witches and wizards are of mixed blood, and you'd be nothing more than a nagging flea in a duel against them. Status does not equate to power."

Thaddeus reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, daring her to shrink back. "You know," he mused, dropping his mouth to her earlobe to whisper, "you've got... potential. And it's being wasted with a sympathizer like Ominis. If you want to know what true power looks like... I can show you in private sometime."

The insidious laughter of the others coiled around her like suffocating smoke. Their threat unmistakable. Their intent undeniable. She knew the danger she found herself in. Was this why Ominis had warned her not to wander alone?

"Imagine," another added, stepping closer, "what we could teach you. The real magic, the kind they don't put in books. If only you just surrendered. Mind, body..."

Her breath faltered; mind scrambling for any escape— a distraction or reason to derail the course they seemed intent on taking. Her wand, nestled securely in her bag, felt agonizingly out of reach.

"Let me pass," she demanded, though it sounded more of a plea.

Thaddeus dropped his hand from her face, only for it to land heavy on her waist. He squeezed her hipbone and used that leverage to push her back into the dark corner where she came from. It was late. Past the time anyone would bother coming into the library. 

A scream welled in her chest, but something stopped it from coming out. Fear. The strangulation of their eyes. All she saw were faces; cold and sinister like serpents coming to feast off her flesh. Closing in on her until she cowered into the corner and forgot what little efforts she foraged in her mind to escape. 

"Not before we have a little fun, little mouse. And I will get my revenge for what you did to me." Thaddeus snaked an arm behind the small of her back and pulled her in tight. He surveyed the terror in her expression and it excited him. 

The walls began to close in.

One of them snatched the strap of her satchel, yanking it off her shoulder and spilling its contents onto the floor. Books, parchment, and all sorts of baubles poured out. Including one thing she held dear from home... Her mother's pendant. She had forgotten it was in there after weeks of studies passed. It was one of the first things she packed.

It clattered loudly and drew away the attention of a few boys.

"And what have we here?" One unfamiliar Slytherin reached down to pick it up.

Velvette lunged for it, but another boy grabbed her wrist, his grip iron-tight. "Not so fast," he murmured, pushing her back into the corner.

They forced her down, her knees hitting the cold, rough floor. Three figures loomed over her, their shadows stretching long and menacing in the flickering torchlight. While the others held back, creating a shield with their bodies to ensure no one interrupted them. 

Vel clenched her fists, pointed nails biting into her palms. She refused to cry, to show them any hint of fear, but her body betrayed her, trembling as they closed in. 

"Since you like to open that mouth so much..." Thaddeus thumbed her bottom lip and tugged it down, revealing her clenched teeth. He snarled, pushing his thumb into her mouth to get leverage of her head, forcing her to look up at him. 

His other hand fumbled with the hem of his pants, but before he could make any progress, she snapped, her teeth sinking into his finger. He recoiled with a hiss of pain, the sudden action catching him off guard.

"You're wasting your time," she seethed, her breath coming in sharp bursts. "I won't bend to your will so easily or go down without a fight."

But he was quick, his wand pressing hard against her cheek, a cold, solid threat. "You'll do as I please— or else."

She held strong. "I'll take the later, then. Do your worst."

"Oh," he chuckled darkly, twirling his wand into her tender flesh, "I plan to."

The fight in her excited the sick bastard.

She sneered at the growing bulge in his pants, and tried to pull her head out of his grip, only for more hands to come forth to hold her down. Despite the tenacity in her tone, she battled against the sheer panic that made her want to cower to their whims.

"Kneeling suits a pathetic mudblood like yourself." Thaddeus grumbled as he repositoned his hand in her hair, grabbing a fistful of it to hold her steady. The words burned, humiliation searing her soul as if branded by hot iron. Vel bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, and forced herself to meet his eyes.

And then, like a lifeline through the dread-filled haze, a voice rang out, "That's enough."

Every nerve in her body screamed for joy; the storm cloud breaking to allow in the light...

Ominis.

His silhouette stood against the dim light, a visage of quiet fury. His usually calm demeanor had been replaced with something colder, the very last of his patience broken. What usually was an unreadable statue was now a mask of barely controlled rage.

All the adversaries froze, their eyes flicking between one another to see who'd approach the heir of Slytherin first to grovel for mercy. One of the boys took a half-step back, teetering on the edge of putting up a fight or running, until eventually he fled the scene. 

Ominis tilted his head at the rest and offered up a cold smile while commenting, "Wise of him to run. Anyone care to join him before things get messy?"

There was no more posturing, no more bravado. The Slytherins realized this wasn't a threat they could take lightly. Ominis's wand was already in his hand, the tip glowing with an undeniable power. In that moment, Velvette could see everything he was willing to do to protect her.

As did the others.

A few more scattered— cowardly tails tucked between their legs. All ran except for the three that had her cornered. With Ominis being the perfect distraction, she lunged forward to grab the corner of her bag and pulled it closer until the hilt of her wand was within a finger's reach. 

Thaddeus stomped on her bag, almost smashing her hand beneath his foot. "Ominis, let's be reasonable. Surely you wouldn't maim a fellow Slytherin."

"Maim? When I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death, dear Thaddeus." Although he maintained pleasantries in his tone, Ominis's intentions were far from pleasant. 

Velvette's heart hammered in her chest, but for the first time since this had all started, a calmness began to unfurl within her. Ominis was here. She wasn't alone anymore. No one needed to duel for her sake.

"Stop this, please." She tried, albeit shakily, to stand. Using the bookshelves to aide her ascent, she managed. 

Ominis's grip on his wand tightened. It took great restraint to let them off with a warning, "I suggest you all leave before I book myself a one-way trip to Azkaban."

The words were final, an executioner's decree. The remaining boys hesitated for only a heartbeat before they walked past him, their retreat slow but inevitable. Even Thaddeus, in all his pompous glory, could not stand three to one against Ominis and come out on the other side. 

Silence followed in their wake. 

Once assured that they left the library, he turned towards her to assess her. "Are you... alright?" he asked, with a tension that would not ease.

Vel nodded stiffly, though her body trembled with the remnants of fear. "I will be," she whispered, barely convincing herself.

"Good," he reached out instinctively to anchor himself but it helped her much more than him. His hand brushed her arm, a fleeting touch meant to steady her, and she leaned into it ever so slightly.

Breaking away from her spell, he bent down, scooping up her scattered belongings to place them neatly in her bag. When he reached for the necklace, his fingers curled around the cool metal. He held it up, the faint light catching its intricate details.

"This," he said quietly, his voice almost reverent, "means something to you."

Velvette swallowed hard, her throat dry. She reached out, her trembling hand closing over the obsidian pendant. "Thank you," she murmured, slipping it into her pocket as though tucking away a piece of herself.

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she found her voice, though it wavered. "They only stopped because of you."

"They shouldn't have had the chance to." Ominis snapped, the sharpness of his tone cutting through her like a whip. He turned toward her fully, his blind eyes pinning her down and searching for answers. "What were you thinking, Velvette? Wandering around alone at this hour?"

Her stomach dropped at the sudden accusation. "I didn't think—"

"Exactly!" He shouted. "You didn't think. I warned you, didn't I? I told you not to go anywhere alone, especially at night. Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn't found you in time?"

The intensity of his anger was startling, more so because it came from a place of raw emotion. He stepped closer, his hands gripping her shoulders as though he could physically shake some sense into her. "Do you think this is a game, Velvette? That you can just walk around pretending you're untouchable? You're not!"

Tears welled in her eyes, stinging like salt against an open wound. She tried to speak, to explain, but the lump in her throat choked her words. His grip tightened, not painfully, but enough to keep her anchored under the weight of his fury.

"Ominis, I—" Her voice broke, the tears spilling over despite her efforts to contain them.

The sight of her in such a state broke something in him. His anger collapsed under intensity of her tear-stained cheeks. Then, without a second thought, he descended— his lips claimed hers, mercilessly.

The kiss wasn't an act of affection; it was a storm. His lips crashed against hers with a reckless rhythm, their movements erratic and fervent, as though he was starving and she was the only thing that could fill the void. His hand shot up, tangling in her hair with a possessive insistence, tugging her closer until there was no space left to breathe. His other hand cradled her jaw, the roughness of his palm grounding her even as her entire world tilted on its axis.

The heat of him drowned out everything else. She was aware of the sharp gasp she gave as his teeth grazed her lower lip, an act that sent a shiver coursing through her. His mouth was everywhere— demanding and unapologetic. She grasped blindly at the front of his robes, her trembling fingers curling into the fabric, praying that her hold on him might stop him from consuming her.

He pulled back for a second, just enough for her to gasp for air, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath erratic. Then, something truly sinister spewed from his mouth, "You're not untouchable," he growled. "Not to me. But if anyone else tries that again..." He raised his hand to her face, his knuckles brushing her cheek, "I'll kill them."

The vow landed heavy on her heart, one that left no room for misinterpretation. It was the smolder in his blind gaze that left her breathless. As if he saw her and only her. 

Before she could muster a single word, he kissed her again. This time, the edge of desperation was replaced with something achingly tender, as though he sought to overwrite his earlier fervor. He smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her shoulders with deliberate care. Then he settled a hand at the nape of her neck, a gentle reminder that he was still in control.

He needed that control— needed her to yield to it, if only for tonight.

She didn't dare pull away, though the volatile undercurrent of his actions did not elude her. 

He had claimed her, here and now, in a way that felt irrevocable. Perhaps it began the moment she stepped into the school. Or even earlier, in the bookshop, when they first crossed paths. Regardless, they each left the library that night with more than they bargained for. 

Chapter 12

"What's that page-turner about?" Ominis asked, his tone casual, though his focus never wavered from the book resting on the table in front of him. His wand hovered over the text, transcribing it within his mind. Across from him, Vel was absorbed in her own reading, the constant flipping of pages impossible to ignore. She hadn't spoken a word since they'd settled down in the common room— not that he expected her to prioritize him over her chosen distraction.

She snapped the book shut, her brows furrowed as she examined the embossed cover. "You know... I'm not entirely sure. I think it's a diary, but it's written from multiple perspectives."

His interest piqued and Ominis flicked his wand toward her, shifting it over the book until it nudged the first page open. His expression tightened in concentration as the words formed an image in his mind. "It reads like a romance novel."

"That's what I thought, at first. But as I kept reading, it got... darker. There are no names for any of the 'characters', and the writing is cryptic, almost like it's trying to keep its secrets hidden." She hesitated, then added, "I thought about bringing it to Professor Haw—"

"No," he cut her off. "Absolutely not. I know someone better suited for this. Someone who can uncover its secrets without... consequences."

Vel's grip on the book tightened. She hadn't mentioned the bizarre flashback the diary had pulled her into back in the library, nor the haunting vividness of the vision. Talking about that night was something they both avoided, whether because of what nearly happened with the Slytherins or because of their kiss. 

In the week since, Ominis had been distant, his touches fleeting— either a faint brushing of his knuckles on her hand in passing or steadying her during spell training. It was a stark contrast to the raw intensity he'd shown that night, leaving her unsure of where they stood.

"I know you don't trust him," Vel said carefully, her eyes fixed on the edge of the book, "but if it makes you feel better, you can come with me."

Her heart raced as she said it, secretly hoping he would refuse. She wasn't ready to share what she'd seen, not with anyone— not even Ominis.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it felt as though he could see right through her. Then he bitterly questioned, "You think I'd let you go alone?" 

Debating on whether to push back or let him take the lead, she opted for a third option and evaded him instead. Thinking on the tips of her toes, she changed the subject, "More importantly than this silly book, I actually do need your help. I need to get three unique plant samples for a herbology project and it's due in two days. Might you know where I can acquire such samples around the grounds?"

"Mm... or, for bonus points, you can go beyond the grounds." He seemed skeptical of her abrupt change in topics, yet played into her games. 

She tilted her head, "Like Hogsmeade?"

"More like the Forbidden Forest." A glimmer in his eye made her believe that this wouldn't be his first time breaking school rules and venturing into that forest. 

If it kept him from prying about the book and got them out of the castle, she'd comply. Afterall, it was difficult to speak freely with him when there was so many eyes on them now. Even Meredith became suspicious of the pair and sensed their talks continued long after spell practice in Hawthrone's classroom. Vel hated the secrecy when she herself did not know what sort of strange emotional bond stirred between them.

Vel chewed her lip thoughtfully. 

"Fine," she yielded, trying not to sound too eager. "As long as it's no trouble, I wouldn't want to coerce you into something you aren't comfortable with."

Ominis stiffened, sitting straight back in his seat as if she'd shocked him in the chest. Dipping his voice low to ensure none in the studyhall overheard, he assured her, "Vel, I'm not the one who needs convincing."

And suddenly they were no longer speaking about the Forbidden Forest.

Her cheeks flushed, but she brushed his words aside, rationalizing that she must have misunderstood him. "Alright, then. When do we go?"

"Tonight," he whispered without missing a beat. "After curfew."

Vel blinked. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Let's just say you aren't the first student to come along and test my regard for school rules..." Before his eyes darkened enough for her to see, he stood and gathered his belongings. "Keep studying, I need to grab something back at the common room before my next class. And don't—"

"Travel alone. I know, Ominis. I won't be so quick to forget this time."

He nodded, slidding a book off the table and tucking it under his arm as he left her to sit in silence. She watched him leave, her heart racing at the thought of what lay ahead. The Forbidden Forest was unpredictable, and even alluring— much like the boy who had just walked away.

***

Getting out of the castle was easy. It was that first step into the forest that had Vel second-guessing this night out. Even with Ominis beside her she felt... Uncertain of what rested in these woods. A chill clung to the air as they stepped past the treeline, the canopy above blotting out the moonlight save for faint patches of silver that dappled the forest floor. A glint caught her eye and she looked up, admiring how thick the treetops were and how long they must have lived. 

Oh, the things these trees have seen...

"Stay close." Ominis led the way, his wand glowing faintly in his hand. He moved with an uncanny confidence, as though the forest was less intimidating to him than the bustling halls of Hogwarts.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Vel asked, keeping her voice low.

"Do you doubt me already?" Ominis replied with a wry grin. "I told you, I've been here before. Just stay close."

As if on cue, a rustling noise came from somewhere to their left, and Vel instinctively grabbed the back of his robe. Over the sound of her own heartbeat thumping in her ears, she heard him laugh. 

"Relax," he murmured, pausing to listen. His head tilted as he focused on the sound. "It's just a Bowtruckle. Probably guarding its tree."

Vel released his robe but stayed tight behind him, swiveling at every noise. "You say that like it's normal to stroll through a forest full of creatures that could kill us."

"It's only dangerous if you don't know what you're doing," he explained, brushing aside a low-hanging branch. "Or if you panic."

"Good to know," she muttered, stepping over a fallen log. "I'll try to avoid panicking if something tries to eat me."

They walked in relative silence for a time, the forest around them growing denser and darker. The air seemed heavier here, laden with the faint hum of magic. Vel glanced around uneasily, her fingers twitching toward her wand tucked into her cloak.

"Here we are." Ominis stopped in a small clearing. His wand light dimmed as he raised it, the faint glow illuminating a cluster of unusual plants growing at the base of a tree. Their leaves shimmered faintly, catching the light like fragments of moonstone.

Vel knelt beside them, her breath catching. "Are these—?"

"Moonlace," he confirmed. "Rare, delicate, and exactly the kind of thing that will get you extra points."

She reached out carefully, using the small knife Professor Garlick had given her to cut a few of the stems. The plants shivered under her touch, their glow brightening momentarily before fading again.

As she worked to jar a few samples of nearby plants as well, Ominis stood nearby, his posture tense. 

"What's wrong?" Vel glanced up at him. In her hands, she had about six vials of random clippings that she'd need him to identify. But his concerns were not on the plants.

"We're not alone." His free hand found her arm, pulling her to her feet. "Stay behind me."

Before Vel could respond, a low growl rumbled from the shadows, and two golden eyes appeared, glowing faintly in the dark. The creature stepped forward, its massive form emerging into the dim light— an enormous wolf-like beast with thick, matted fur and teeth bared in a snarl.

Ominis tightened his grip on her arm, his wand aimed steadily at the creature. "Don't move."

The mongrel prowled closer, its eyes fixed on them with predatory intent. Vel could feel the weight of its gaze, her blood turning to ice.

"Ominis—"

"Run."

"But—"

"Run," he hissed sharply, his wand glowing brighter as he prepared to cast.

The beast lunged.

Vel didn't have time to think; her feet obeyed before her mind caught up, propelling her towards the trees. The sound of the creature's growl followed her, a visceral, bone-deep rumble that vibrated through the forest. 

Behind her, Ominis's voice rang out,"Depulso!"

A blast of magic lit the clearing, illuminating the dense forest like a flash of lightning. Vel chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw the beast thrown back, its massive body colliding with a tree. But it wasn't down for long. It snarled, shaking itself off and turning its glowing eyes toward Ominis again.

"Confringo!" Ominis cast and the spell erupted in a fiery blast near the creature's feet, creating a barrier in the shape of a semi-circle between them. The beast hesitated for a moment before letting out a blood-curdling roar and prepared to charge again.

Vel skidded to a stop, her heart racing. She couldn't just leave him. Gripping her wand tightly, she turned and sprinted back toward the clearing.

"Stupefy!" She practically screamed, flicking her wand as she recited the spell as practiced.

The red beam of her stunning spell struck the mongrel in the side, staggering it. The creature whipped its head around to face her, its eyes narrowing. 

"Vel, what are you doing?" Ominis barked, his voice laced with equal parts anger and worry. He moved quickly, placing himself between her and the beast whose attention was now fixated on her.

"I'm not going to leave you!" The defiance in her tone made him falter. 

The beast growled again, its muscles coiling as it prepared to leap. Vel's mind raced, searching for something —anything— that could give them an advantage and down this formidable foe. Then, she remembered the Moonlace.

"Ominis, distract it!" She dropped to her knees to look through her bag, fumbling for the stems she had cut.

"Distract it?" he repeated incredulously. "With what, my winning personality?"

"Just do it!" she snapped, her fingers trembling as she grabbed the faintly glowing plant and crushed it in her palm.

Ominis muttered something under his breath but obeyed, casting another Confringo that exploded in a dazzling display of light and heat. Momentarily blinded and stunned by the flash, the beast wavered and Vel seized her chance, throwing the Moonlace into the air. The shimmering leaves scattered like stars and she used her wand to direct their fall over the beast.

The effect was instantaneous. The beast halted mid-step, its glowing eyes locking onto the ethereal dance of the floating leaves. The shimmering light captivated it entirely, its nostrils flaring as the particles seeped into its lungs, lulling the creature into a tranquil slumber.

Ominis stood back, admiring her work at a safe distance in case the beast awoke. "How did you know that would work?"

"I didn't," she admitted breathlessly. "I remember learning that it has a sort of calming effect on beasts."

"A... calming effect?" He pinched his nose, trying his best not to scold her. "Next time, Vel, if I tell you to run, you run. No arguments. What you did was entirely unnecessary, I had it under control."

Vel narrowed her eyes, "Your spells were barely scratching it! At least I found a way to subdue the thing without anyone getting hurt. We're in its territory— why should it pay with its life for simply defending its home?"

"That kind of thinking will get you killed someday."

She let out a weak, humourless laugh. "You can just say 'thank you'."

He sighed, the fight leaving him as he ran a hand through his hair. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you're reckless," she shot back, though her tone was softer now. "We make a good team."

Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. "Come on, let's get—" 

While he half turned away from her, his wand surveying the landscape as he did so, it picked up a subtle shift. Where the body of the beast had once laid, a man took its place. 

"Vel, that was no ordinary mongrel."

"What do you..." she trailed off as she neared to get a better look. They'd learned about this in school. "Is this one of those humans who can shapeshift?"

Ominis gave a short nod, his face unreadable, like a blank slate hiding something far darker beneath. "An Animagus."

Vel's gaze swept over the unconscious man. Guilt churned in her gut, the weight of their attack hitting her square in the chest. He looked so vulnerable now, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. "Ominis, he's just asleep. He'll be okay. Let's go before he wakes up."

"No, you don't understand. These kind rarely venture alone. More will come and he'll remember what we look like if we ever come out here again." He lingered over the sleeping body, contemplating his next move with a calculatory gaze. Using the tip of his shoe, he nudged the stranger's cheek so that his head rolled to the other side. "He'll remember what you look like. I can't let him walk away from here."

The detachment in his tone terrified her. "Wait! Ominis, stop!" she cried, surging forward and grabbing his forearms with both hands. His cloudy orbs snapped toward her, but they were unrecognizable— empty, cold. It was like staring into the void, and for a moment, she wondered if he could even see her anymore.

"Ominis, listen to me," she pleaded, tightening her grip, nails digging into his skin. "You don't have to do this. I swear I won't come back here. I'll stay in the castle. I'll avoid the forest, Hogsmeade, wherever you want— just please, don't do this."

His wand remained poised, his arm rigid beneath her hands. Her heart pounded wildly, every beat screaming at her to stop him, to find the words that would break through whatever dark resolve had taken hold of him.

"Ominis, this isn't you," she tenderly implored. "You're better than this. Please..." It was that final plea. That crack in her voice.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, his wrist slackened, and his wand dipped, the faint glow at its tip fading to nothingness. In moments like this, he retreated into himself, his senses blurring— like the abyss of his slumbers, where everything was muted and the blind were just like the rest of the sleeping world. 

"This is a mistake," he stated, bitterly. His jaw tightened as he added in a low murmur, "Lead me away."

Relief surged through Vel, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her composure. Her gaze flickered to the Animagus, still motionless in his enchanted slumber, his breaths shallow and undisturbed. Grateful that he didn't wake up, she turned her attention back to Ominis, guiding him with a gentle push in the direction they'd come.

He leaned into her touch, his steps faltering as if the weight of his earlier resolve threatened to pull him back. Vel tightened her grip. If she let him falter, she knew he'd turn back, and the bloodlust simmering beneath the surface would consume him.

But lurking in the shadows were three cloaked and hooded figures, their face obscure. They fanned out, blocking the path ahead. Ominis hadn't sensed them coming in his transfixed state.

One of them raised a wand at Ominis and casted venomently, "Expelliarmis!"

The spell landed its intended charm and dispelled of Ominis's wand. It went flying out of his hand, having not sensed them coming. This was all his fault. 

"Run," he whispered under his breath.

"Not again," Vel hissed back. 

The leader raised his wand. "Listen to the boy. We like a good chase."

Something shifted in the air beside her where Ominis stood. His form rippled and pulsed as his features distorted— arms elongating while his legs formed into one sleek, sinous shape. 

A serpent.

Vel gasped as Ominis's form unfurled in a flash of fine scales and muscle. His transformation was seamless, his pale body now a gleaming, ivory serpent with an icy stare. He struck with terrifying speed, coiling around the nearest wizard before they could react. The sound of panicked shouts and random spells erupted and echoed throughout the forest.

The second wizard aimed a curse at the snake, but it darted aside, his movements too quick for the spell to land. His fangs flashed as he lunged, forcing the wizard to retreat. And then his attention turned to the third assailant, who wisely raised his wand, stumbling backwards. But Ominis was no longer in the mood for mercy.

He struck fast. Once, twice, at the man's jugular. Not drawing much blood but piercing the skin with lengthy fangs.

"Ominis!" Vel screeched, terror bubbling in her chest. 

The man fell unconscious as Ominis's serpant form slithered back into a ball. Coiling into itself, ashamed. 

The sight of him —a massive, otherworldly serpent— should have terrified her, but it didn't. She saw the precision in his movements, the restraint in his attacks. Even in this form, he was Ominis. Slowly, its body began to shift again, the shimmering scales receding as Ominis returned to his human self. He remained curled there on the ground, face turned into the dirt while his breaths came in ragged gasps.

Vel rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. "Are you alright?"

He nodded weakly, though his hands trembled as he braced himself against the ground. "I didn't want you to see that," he murmured, "Not like this."

"Shh, it's okay. We're safe..." she trailed off, thinking that not the same could be said for the body that lay less than six feet away. Everything happened so fast that she didn't even catch what direction the other two fled to. They'd be back soon enough.

Ominis feigned a cough, as he tilted his head toward a crumpled pile of fabric on the ground—his robes. "Think you can grab those for me?"

Vel flushed, her face heating faster than a cauldron set to boil. She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over herself, and snatched up the robes without daring to glance his way. Her arm shot out, tossing them in his direction like she couldn't rid herself of them fast enough.

"Thanks," he murmured, as he struggled to steady himself while dressing. His fingers fumbled, his usual grace dulled by exhaustion. Vel busied herself searching for his wand, the crunch of the leaves beneath her tender footfall the only sound between them. 

By the time he finished clothing himself, she had found the wand. As she returned to his side, she passed by the body again and, with heavy apprehension, she broke the silence. "Is he... dead?"

Ominis froze, his face tightening before he answered. "No. My venom isn't lethal." 

Vel swallowed hard, gripping his wand tightly as she hesitated in handing it back. "Y-you could have hit an artery."

"Don't," he interrupted, his gaze locking onto hers, "I knew what I was doing and where to strike. Now, give me my wand."

Reluctantly, she extended it toward him, her hand trembling. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, the deliberate contact a test to see how she reacted to his nearness. She recoiled, pulling back as though his touch burned.

His expression darkened, his frown settling on the space where their hands had met. "Velvette Nightingale, you have no reason to fear me."

Yet the weight of his words felt anything but reassuring. There was a warning buried beneath them, dark and foreboding— a reminder that she must never give him a reason to change that.

The tension between them coiled tighter, suffocating. She couldn't tell if it was her lingering fear of what he had done or the chilling realization of what he was capable of. He stood there, a tempest barely restrained, and she couldn't help but wonder if she'd misjudged the depths of who he truly was from the very beginning.

 

Chapter 13

The dirt path stretched before them, its uneven surface putting an unintended bounce in their step. But she quickened the pace when she spotted the castle looming in the distance, its spires cutting into the sky like jagged teeth. The air had cooled, but the chill that lingered between them was far more biting. 

Ominis broke the silence, his voice edged with a subtle frustration. "Do you still have enough samples for your project?"

It took her a moment to remember why they had ventured into the forest in the first place. "Oh, uh... yeah. I should be fine," she replied, mind in a distant land as she repeated the night's events over and over in her head.

Inwardly, Vel cursed herself. He had saved her— protected her without hesitation. Again. She should be thanking him, yet unease clung to her like a second skin resulting in him getting the cold shoulder. It wasn't fair to him.

Ominis, no stranger to being feared, sensed the moment her demeanor shifted. The way her subtly veered away, creating a measured gap between them. The tension in her voice, tight and clipped. Even the way her breaths quickened when he so much as glanced her way didn't escape him.

He tightened his grip on his wand, his knuckles ghostly white, as his thoughts churned. She fears me now. Perhaps she should. The thought was bitter, but he didn't have the strength to push it away. No matter how much he loathed the idea of her looking at him as if he were a monster, he couldn't ignore the truth of what she'd seen. What he'd done.

But the silence between them was unbearable. He needed her to see reason— to trust him again.  "If I had been the one in danger, would you have hesitated to protect me?"

It was a cruel question. An impossible predicament to put her in.

"Of course not, but—"

"I did what I had to." Ominis defended his actions.

She looked away. "You went too far. That one Animagus..."

He wanted to kill him.

"Stop going down this road. You won't be happy with what you find."

He can't even deny it.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and the unease in her chest refused to dissipate. Yet she owed it to him to understand his viewpoint on things, especially since he fought to save her. So, once they reached one of the outlying sidedoors of the castle where they had snuck out of earlier, she stood in front of it and forced herself to face him.

She brushed her hair behind her shoulders, fidgeting a bit before speaking, "Thank you for saving me. I don't want you to think I'm terrified of you or your Animagus form. I just wasn't expecting anything that intense from you."

He roughly took her chin between his thumb and finger, dragging it up to meet his gaze. "Even if you were terrified... It wouldn't keep me away."

The admission made her gut twist. She should have pulled away, especially with the way he was handling her as though she was a plaything. But she oddly loved his sinister mind. Perhaps that's why she struggled all along... This side of him attracted her. And now that she admitted it to herself, there was no holding back.

She bent upwards onto the tips of her toes to kiss the corner of his lips, not wanting to assume he felt the same way about her after everything that transpired. Ominis turned into the kiss and intensified it tenfold by scooping her up with one hand as he drove her back into the stone wall to pin her there. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his waist while her hands clung to his biceps. 

Vel squeezed his arms, admiring the muscles beneath his seemingly slender form. They flexed when she did so and he caught her smirking against his lips.

Ominis feigned a pout. "Hmm, it's not fair that you get to feel me when I can't even see you."

"Touch me, then," she breathed against his mouth, eyes fluttering across his face to catch his reaction.

Stunned by her submission, he paused to see if she would rescind the offer. And when she did not, he obliged. One hand still steadied her waist and he started there, giving her hipbone a gentle squeeze before rolling it in his palm. He then slid it back over her butt and rested it at the base where her cheeks connected to her thigh and squeezed again. The focus he put into each touch made her realize that he was studying her body, learning it intimately. 

His other hand dropped his wand, abandoning it to explore her further. He ran that hand down the front of her robes, finding where it parted to peel it open further until she caught on and helped him remove it, leaving only her black pleated skirt and fitted button up underneath. When his fingers felt the buttons, he glared.

"Oh, this is just cruel." Not having an ounce of patience to fumble with them, he opted for taking the hem of it into his fist and pulling sharply to one side. Each button popped off the blouse and littered the ground. He smiled, "Now that's more like it."

"Ominis..." She gently protested, not wishing to be discovered in this state by a professor or another student. 

He shushed her and continued his pursuit in uncovering her body's secrets. "You are so gorgeous, Vel."

"You can't possibly know that." She laughed off his compliment, feeling her entire body flush. 

Becoming serious, he brought one hand up to cup her neck as he pressed her into the wall. His lower body ground into her and she felt just how crazy she made him. "But I do. I see more of you than anyone can, or ever will. No one will ever see the subtle way your body trembles when I tease you, here..." He squeezed her ass again, this time slipping his hand between her legs so the tips of his fingers grazed her panties under the skirt she wore. "Or the way you tense when I say something so incredibly devious that your innocent mind whirls with excitement."

He leveraged his thumb between her tightly clasped thighs and brushed it over her panties, delighting in the way that she shivered. It proved his point. 

Ominis leaned down to her ear and hummed, "You love the danger, Velvette Nightingale. Do not deny it. It's why you resist me. It's why you refuse to fully submit to these emotions. In moments like this... I see you. The truest version of yourself that you don't even want to admit to."

Her legs parted ever so slightly, allowing him to touch to wander. She turned her face away from his, refusing to meet his eye and say he was right. About all of it. The very reason why she didn't run when he hinted at wanting to kill that Animagus... She craved the danger that came with being in his presence. Even at the Slytherin party or in the library when those guys threatened her, she courted disaster whenever Ominis came to her defense. 

He kissed her neck, a tender yet possessive press of his lips against her skin. No words were necessary; the feeling between them spoke louder than any confession could. He trailed his nose up the column of her throat, inhaling deeply; it grounded him enough to remind himself how exposed they were. 

With a low murmur, he drew away slightly, "I can't let you go, not tonight. Do you trust me?"

She bobbed her head, seemingly unable to find her voice. 

Without another moment's hesitation, Ominis pulled away from the stone wall, his arm sweeping between their bodies to pull her legs out from around his torso. The sudden change of position took her by surprise, but before she could react, he had already started moving, his pace steady and sure. 

"Tell me when we reach the base of the hill. There should be a cottage around there, and you need to direct me to it," Ominis instructed, as he relied on her sight, trusting someone other than his wand for the first time in a very long time.

Vel's heart hammered in her chest, "O-okay."

"There's no need to be nervous. I'm not going to eat you." Ominis chuckled, careful not to be too loud or else the sound may travel. "We need a place to sleep and I don't think the loveseat in the Undercroft will fit us both."

The warmth of his jest, so unexpected, made her lips curve into a smile. She nearly got lost admiring him and forgot her duty of directing them to the cottage. Looking around, she spotted exactly what he must be referring to. Far down the hill, off the beaten path, was a quaint homestead with overgrown bushes, ferns, and wildflowers surrounding it. 

"It's just ahead, veer a little right to keep on the trail." Vel guided them, and his reliance on his wand now a distant memory. He trusted her fully. "Mhm, and there's some weeds in the path so be careful not to trip."

As they neared it, she could make it out better under the dim light of the moon. Its slanted roof had worn and clearly seen better days, same could be said for the uneven stone pieces that made up its structure. But it didn't look like it'd crumble overnight, so she shrugged off its outward appearance. 

"An old groundskeeper used to live here," Ominis explained as they approached. "He spent summers here, but he complained about the winds. Said they never stopped howling, especially at night. It drove him mad."

Vel looked up at him, intrigued, "And what happened to him?"

Ominis gave a small shrug, "Left, eventually. No one really knows where he went. But this place has been empty for years. So it may be quite a state inside. Personally, I haven't entered in over a year but this is usually the place where students..."

He trailed off, not wanting to explain what others did here in case she got worried. That wasn't his intent. Not entirely, at least. He pushed open the door with his foot, stepping inside and lowering her gently to the floor. The cottage smelled of old wood and dust, a place long abandoned. Ominis closed the door behind them, his hand lingering on the knob for a moment before he turned to face her.

With his hands now free, Ominis reached for his wand, his grip firm as he surveyed the space in his mind's eye. It would suffice for the night. The main room was compact, filled with mismatched, rickety furniture that seemed to shrink the already modest quarters. A thin layer of dust coated the surfaces, and the kitchenette consisted of an old iron stove, a basin for dishes, and a well-worn fireplace. 

Its simplicity spoke of years untouched, yet it carried a certain charm.

Vel wandered to the bedroom and marveled in its simplicity. The room was quaint, containing only a bed and a small dresser. She opened one of the drawers and, to her surprise, found a folded sheet within. After shaking off any dust, she began making the bed, smoothing the fabric with practiced hands.

Meanwhile, Ominis gathered firewood from a small stack by the hearth, bundling it into the fireplace. A simple flick of his wand ignited a flame, the warm glow immediately softening the room's ragged edges.

Vel tilted her head as she watched the fire take hold. "Hey, how did you do that so easily?"

"Wordless casting is something one acquires with time and practice. Once you have a strong connection with your wand, it starts to sense what you want— sometimes even before you do." He turned his wand in hand, "I didn't even train it to see for me. It just... knew what I needed."

Vel's gaze dropped to her own wand, a hint of melancholy flickering across her face. She couldn't help but think back to the wand shop. Would this wand ever connect with her in the same way?

Sensing her disheartenment —even without understanding its root— Ominis offered reassurance. "It'll come in time, Vel. Even the most gifted witches and wizards have yet to master the art."

To avoid delving into the subject, she placed her wand on the table with a soft thud and shrugged off her disheveled robes, letting them slide to the floor. The rustling of fabric drew Ominis's attention, and his grip on his wand shifted instinctively. Sliding it into his less dominant hand, he closed the distance between them with swift, deliberate steps. His hand found its way into her hair, tangling in the strands with a possessive tenderness.

"You've just reminded me," he murmured, his voice low and rough against her ear, "that I've yet to explore every inch of your exquisite form."

Before Vel could react, he scooped her up with surprising ease and set her down atop the sturdy wooden table. With a smooth flick of his wand, the clutter and dust vanished, leaving the surface clean beneath her.

"Lay back for me," his command both gentle and filled with unspoken desire.

Doing as instructed, she rested her back onto the wooden table as he situated himself between her legs which dangled off the edge, admiring her from afar. He used his wand, running it over her body to memorize every inch, while his other hand roamed freely. Her shirt hung open, free of the restricting nuisances that a seamstress would call 'buttons'. 

Smooth fingertips splayed across her abdomen before trailing upwards and her breath hitched.

"Ominis..." When she whispered his name, he dug his wand into the tender part of her lower belly right above her pubic bone, pinning her down. 

"Don't say my name like that," he warned, before flicking his wand up to point at her face. "Or else I may do irrational things."

And she believed him. For the remainder of this inspection, she stayed quiet. Whimpering here and there when his feathery touch brushed something sensitive. This was merely to commit her body to memory and it wasn't enough for Ominis, who needed all of her bare and squirming for his touch. That day —he vowed to inner beast— would come sooner enough. For now, he had to be satisfied with how far she'd come.

He started on her bare belly with a touch so delicate that ran up, skipping over her chest to be polite. This was not sensual in nature and he needed her to understand that and give her time to reach that point. From there he traveled up the narrow column of her neck, feeling the way it flexed when she swallowed. 

Then over the curve of her shoulder as his thumb traced the line of her collarbone jutting out. He slid the hand down her arm, his wand in the other hand mimicking the movement until he reached her slender wrist and felt along each finger individually, as if checking she had all appendages in tact. He closed his eyes, smiling. That was enough for one night.

She caught his wrist as he brought it to cup cheek, and dragged it to the front of her throat. Pleading with dark, honeyed eyes, "Kiss me again, please."

"Not tonight, not in this state, Vel." He clenched the hand around her neck and she arched perfectly for him. Groaning, his head rolled back, "You're driving me crazy."

To placate her, he leaned over her to place a soft kiss on her forehead. Then, just like that, the moment was over. The thread weaving between their bodies snapped. She sat up, suddenly self conscious about how little clothing she had left on her. While she looked around for her robe, Ominis snuck behind the bedroom door to mentally —and physically— collect himself. 

She knelt by the fire, its dying flames flickering weakly, the warmth barely reaching her as she clutched her robe tighter, trying to trap whatever heat she could. The room felt impossibly still, save for the occasional snap of a shifting ember. Her gaze flicked to the bedroom door, lingering there as her thoughts wandered. What would happen if she just walked in? If she kissed him without warning? Would he push her away? 

Not likely.

But his earlier warning loomed in her mind like a distant storm cloud. 

He was on the brink of losing control. 

Half of her wanted to see him unrestrained, to experience the 'Ominis' behind that careful facade. But the wiser half urged her to stay here by the fire until he regained composure.

The soft creak of a hinge pulled her from her reverie. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

"Were you planning to sleep out here?" he teased.

"N-no, I just thought you might need privacy to..." she paled, unable to finish that remark.

He stifled a laugh, "You thought I was relieving myself behind that door?" His smirk deepened as her blush spread like wildfire. "Oh, Vel, what am I going to do with you? Come here."

Her stomach fluttered at his command. Rising from the floor, she walked over to the room and he stepped aside to let her into the small bedroom. The stiffness of the uninviting mattress made her hesitate— that was until he placed his robe over her shoulders like a makeshift blanket and warmth spread to her core.

He climbed into bed, situating himself behind her; arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. The chill in the room evaporated in the cocoon of his embrace. Her back pressed to his chest, his steady breath brushing the nape of her neck, and their legs tucked together instinctively, slotting them in place like two pieces of a puzzle.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire's glow from the other room sent shadows dancing across the walls, faint and fleeting. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, the gesture more tender than she expected, and released a heavy sigh, as though letting go of some invisible burden.

"Goodnight, Vel."

Her lips curved into a small smile, "Goodnight, Ominis."

As her eyes grew heavy, she stared at the wall opposite the firelight. The shapes flickered and shifted, morphing into something serpentine and enormous. A giant serpent slithered across the shadows, coiling and writhing in ghostly silence. Had it come to watch over her in her dreams?

The last ember in the fireplace hissed, leaving the room in quiet stillness. Vel drifted off, the serpent still moving in her mind, guarding her as sleep claimed her entirely.

Chapter 14

Velvette stirred awake as the morning light seeped into the burrow, revealing their entangled forms beneath the shared warmth of his robe. Somehow they stayed in the exact position they fell asleep in. Perfectly content with the way their bodies fit together. 

And then it came. A knock that echoed through the quiet cottage.

Her breath hitched, and Ominis stiffened behind her. 

"Did you hear that?" she whispered, though the answer was obvious.

"I'm blind, not deaf," he replied dryly, shifting as he propped himself up on one elbow.

Another knock followed, louder this time, and Velvette froze. The reality of their situation struck her all at once. They weren't supposed to be here. Out after curfew, in bed with a guy, the torn shirt discarded by the table— it all painted a damning picture.

Ominis ran a hand through his disheveled hair and grunted, "Stay here." 

He reached for his wand and used it to stumble towards the door, still half-asleep. She scrambled upright, adjusting the robe to make herself appear decent. The door creaked open, and the cool morning air swept into the room. Velvette shivered as a soft, familiar voice broke the tension.

"Mr. Gaunt," Professor Garlick exclaimed, appalled to find him of all students here. "What on earth are you doing out here?"

Ominis didn't falter. "Good morning, Professor. I was assisting a fellow student with a project into the late hours, and we found ourselves locked out of the castle."

"Locked out?" she repeated, her tone carrying more than a hint of doubt.

"Yes," he assured smoothly. "By the time we realized the hour, the gates had been secured. This cottage was the nearest shelter to shelter us from the cold."

There was a pause, and Velvette could almost see the look on Professor Garlick's face as she processed his explanation. "And this fellow student? Where are they?"

"She's inside, getting changed." he stated matter-of-factly. "It was a long, cold night."

Velvette's cheeks burned as the professor's voice dropped to a softer, more knowing tone. "I see. Well, I think it's best we take this matter to Headmaster Black."

"Of course, give us one moment." Ominis replied, ever composed. 

Velvette's stomach turned as she listened to the exchange. The idea of facing the headmaster —of explaining herself under the veil of a lie— filled her with dread. As the door closed, Ominis turned back toward her. 

"Get dressed," he ordered, while throwing her shirt onto the bed. 

Vel glanced at the shirt, then at him, then back at the shirt. With an unmistakable roll of her eyes, she dressed herself the best she could under the conditions. She managed to tuck the shirt into her skirt and pulled it together tightly before putting her robe over it; crossing it over her chest instead of letting it hang open. 

"What are we going to tell him?" Vel asked as she played with her outfit some more until it looked normal.

"Leave it to me." 

And so she shall...

Although she hated feeling powerles —so dependent on his quick thinking and the sway his family name seemed to carry— she was grateful in a time like this.

She followed Ominis out of the hut and they trudged behind Professor Garlick up the path toward the castle. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the frosty ground. Soon, there'd be snow on the grounds and she relished in the promise of winter activities. 

The walk to the headmaster's office felt interminable. When they reached the spiral staircase, Velvette kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her heart hammering as they ascended. When they finally reached the ornate door, Professor Garlick knocked once before pushing it open.

Headmaster Black was seated behind his massive desk, a look of irritation etched into his features. He barely glanced up as they entered, his quill scratching harshly against a piece of parchment. His demeanor exuded the arrogance of aristocrasy and his features matched: high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a thin-lipped mouth that was almost perpetually twisted into a sneer or smirk. His dark hair, streaked with silver, always meticulously groomed back. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded without preamble, his sharp gaze flicking between Professor Garlick and the two students. Upon seeing Ominis, he straightened and placed the quill in its ink pot, his attention now on them.

In his youth, perhaps some may find him handsome but knowing the groveling man he was today made Vel think otherwise. She never had the reason nor occasion to be this close to him. In the dining hall, at a distance, she only ever noticed his finely tailored robes, adorned with embroidery that hinted his family's long-standing pureblood lineage.

"I found them in a cottage outside the castle grounds this morning," Professor Garlick began, her tone even. "They claim to have been locked out overnight."

Black's eyes narrowed as they settled on Ominis. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Ominis stepped forward. "It was an unfortunate accident. We were working on an assignment, and time got away from us. By the time we returned, the gates had been locked."

Exactly as practiced. He was a natural at lying.

Black leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Velvette held her breath, mentally prepping herself for any questions that may come her way.

After a long pause, Black waved a hand dismissively. "Very well. See that it doesn't happen again."

Vel blinked, stunned by the ease with which the matter was dismissed with not even a slap on the wrist. Professor Garlick looked equally surprised, her mouth opening as if to protest, but Black cut her off with a sharp glare.

"That will be all, Professor," he brushed her off like a flea on his shoulder.

Professor Garlick pressed her lips into a tight line as she spun on heel, her robes swishing sharply behind her as she exited the office. Vel instinctively stepped toward the door, falling into step behind her, but Black's voice stopped her cold.

"Not so fast, Miss Nightingale. You too, Gaunt," he called out, tone dripping with condescension. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and fixed them both with a calculating stare.

Ominis's presence shift beside her. Despite the neutral expression he wore, she could sense the tension radiating from him. She turned back toward the headmaster, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Black began, his voice silky and slow, a predator toying with its prey. "Two students, lost in the night, conveniently locked out of the castle? Word of advice, man to man, a girl like that will never be faithful." He let the words hang in the air like a noose, his dark eyes narrowing.

Ominis's did his best to remain composed, but now that the Headmaster insulted Vel's virtue, he bristled. "I'll be sure my family hears—"

"Oh, I've begun drafting my letter to your father already. Don't test me, Ominis, or else it won't be your future at risk in this castle." He pointed the feather of his quill in Vel's direction and they both understood the implication. 

It was as if she wasn't even part of the equation, a mere accessory to their conversation.

Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she glanced at Ominis, whose expression remained a perfect mask of indifference.

The corner of Ominis's mouth tugged, fighting the urge to further argue her innocence in all of this. Voice devoid of the usual warmth he reserved for her ears, he bit out, "Are we excused?"

"You are," Black retorted as he resigned to his scribbling. 

Ominis grasped her hand firmly and all but dragged her out of the office. The enchanted staircase responded to their presence, spinning with a smooth, gliding motion, but he moved so quickly down the stairs it felt as though he were outracing the magic itself. Vel stumbled, her footing unsteady as the steps beneath her rotated; the swirling walls a blur. 

She clung to his hand, her free one brushing against the cool, humming rail to steady herself. The air grew cooler with each descent, and the faint, metallic hum of the staircase's enchantment buzzed in her ears until, finally, they reached the bottom with an abrupt halt. She slammed into his back but he didn't give her the luxury of righting herself before he spun around to hug her tightly.

"Ominis, it's okay—" Her attempt to reassure him were silenced by his lips slamming into hers. He kissed her fervently; soaking in the serenity that she provided him. She tried pulling away, not liking his intensity. Between ragged breaths, she muttered his name— over and over until he growled and withdrew.

"People like him... they only see power, not people. I should have done something." His gaze flicked past her as he battled internally to march back up there and show Black just how powerful his family was, not just in name.

She soothed a hand over his, forcing him to lower his wand. "Ominis. Listen to me, what he said didn't bother me because none of it is true. Don't let it cloud your inhibitions."

"Easier said than done," he chuckled, forgetting the humor in it. 

They left it at that, each having classes they needed to get to. After making a quick stop at her common room, she put the confrontation behind and made the best of the day. Making it until lunch on an empty stomach truly had her pushing her own limits. In Potions, her stomach grumbled audibly. 

Yet her mind kept wandering back to the forest...

Ominis, in contrast, was as composed as ever; answering questions in class with ease and maintaining his usual poise. It annoyed her, how unaffected he seemed, while she felt like she was unraveling. In every class they attended together, they sat in their usual seats and met up afterwards to walk between classes.

When dinner rolled around, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual din of conversation and the clatter of cutlery on plates. Vel stirred her soup absently, barely touching her food as the Headmaster rose to address the students under rare circumstance. 

"Attention, everyone!" Professor Black's booming voice silenced the room. He stood at the head of the hall, his expression unusually grave. "As some of you have heard whispers by now, two bodies were discovered in the Forbidden Forest this morning. After an initial investigation, we have reason to believe this was no accident."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall, but the Headmaster raised a hand for silence. "Effective immediately, the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. Any student caught entering will face severe consequences. Additionally, all future visits to Hogsmeade will be chaperoned by faculty members to ensure your safety."

Vel's breath hitched. She turned to Ominis, who sat unmoving, his face a mask of calm detachment. Even if he sensed her looking his way, he didn't let on. His Slytherin classmates did not hide their intrigue and looked amongst themselves for the culprit.

"Furthermore," Black continued, "I urge any student with information about these incidents to come forward immediately. This is a matter of grave importance."

As the Headmaster stepped off his podium to return to his meal, the chatter resumed with newfound vigor. All the students —even some Professors— devoured the gossip, forgetting the food on their plates.

Across from her, Meredith leaned forward, her elbows on the table as she stared Vel down. "Alright, spill," she whispered, keeping her voice low so their neighbors wouldn't overhear.

Vel's grip on her spoon tightened. "Spill what?"

Meredith raised a brow. "Did you see anything in the woods?"

"For the last time, we didn't go—"

A hand landed on her shoulder, drawing her gaze upwards. 

Ominis, still calm, addressed Meredith as he took a seat beside Vel. "We didn't see anything unusual. If we had, we would have reported it immediately."

Meredith's eyes narrowed. "Unusual, huh? You're being awfully vague for someone who's usually so specific. What did you see then?"

And she was being awfully on the nose for someone who's usually naive.

Vel opened her mouth, but Ominis spoke first. "Nothing of note. Velvette needed plant samples for herbology and that's the end of that. If we keep talking about it, your friend will get some unwanted attention and I'm sure that isn't your intent."

Meredith waved her hands, "No! Not at all, we're just two girls chatting about why a boy and a girl would need to spend the night in lover's cottage, that's all. Isn't that right, Vel?"

"... Lover's cottage?" Her face heated as she looked down at her soup, pushing it aside to let her forehead rest against the cool surface of the dining table. Groaning, she realized what rumors would now circulate the market.

Today's gossip menu: Two bodies discovered in the Forbidden Forest, and two others allegedly tangled in scandal.

She thudded her head against the surface, wishing to be put out of this misery.

Defensively, Ominis flipped the script as he asked, "And how would you know what occurs there, Meredith? Pray tell."

Her friend's teasing grin widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Oof, Vel. Your boyfriend's got a bit of bite to him."

Vel felt her face burn with embarrassment, the urge to sink into the wood of the table almost overwhelming. Without lifting her head, she muttered, "He's not my... He's my..."

Friend? Partner in crime? Lover? The words tumbled through her mind, each one feeling strange as she struggled to identify what they even were. Their relationship hardly fell on some standard 'scale'. 

Meredith took advantage of her friend's uncertainty and leaned over to pat her arm. "Mhm, let me know how that works out for you two. I've got some last-minute studying to do... Don't have too much fun without me."

She wiggled her brows suggestively, chuckling to herself as she made her way out of the dining hall, the students around them slowly filtering out after finishing their meals.

"Is she gone?" Vel groaned, still feeling the heat creeping up her neck.

Ominis chuckled softly, his tone laced with a touch of amusement. "The coast is clear."

Vel snapped her head up, glaring at him with disbelief. "And why the hell are you so happy right now?"

"Because your best friend doesn't absolutely hate me," he replied, his smirk widening, utterly pleased with himself. "I'd say that's a good start."

"Ominis," she whispered, fraught with worry. "Doesn't this bother you at all?"

He turned his head slightly, those sightless eyes piercing through her. "What would you have me do, Vel? Panic? Confess? Neither of those options would help us."

"But—"

"Enough," he cut her off. "We'll talk later. Not here."

It was maddening but deep down, she knew he was right— drawing attention to themselves now would only make things worse. Especially with the Headmaster breathing down their necks after last night's suspicious outing.

The two of them silently fell in step with the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall, but instead of heading to their respective common rooms, Ominis led her in the opposite direction. They moved through the hallways, a quiet tension hanging between them, until they finally reached the Undercroft— a place where they could speak freely, away from the prying eyes and ears of the castle.

As soon as the heavy stone door of the Undercroft slid shut, she began her tirade. Stuttering over words as she spoke quickly to get out every thought, "It couldn't have been us. Not from what we did. Maybe they're trying to cover something up! Maybe... maybe those men were already dying and we just... helped the process? Or, oh! It's two completely different people and—"

"Vel, stop."

She whipped around to face him, only to find him casually leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, his wand resting loosely in his hand.

"You're too calm," she accused, her voice breaking the silence. "Two people are dead, Ominis. We were there. If anyone connects us—"

"They won't," he interrupted. "Vel, you have to trust me. I've thought this through."

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Thought what through? That we're innocent? Guilty?"

"Vel!" His voice cracked like a whip, startling her into silence. He took a step closer, his blind gaze fixed in her direction. "You think I don't care? But panicking isn't going to help. We need solid alibis in case those scum regroup and come after us."

She stared at him, her chest heaving as her emotions warred within her. "Scum? They were—"

He rushed up to her, pinning her down with a glare. "They were attacking students, people who they believed to be much weaker than them. Unlucky for them that it was us, but what if it had been Meredith or a first year? You think they would have spared them? Try to imagine what those Slytherin guys had planned for you, now imagine it worse. So much worse. They sell beautiful girls like you..."

While he spoke, he had steadily backed her against the wall. Here, in this position, his words left no room for interpretation. Vel pictured exactly what Ominis hinted at, neither of them wanting to face the ugly truth.

"I can't see you get hurt. It would ruin me." The confession wrapped around her heart, solidifying her resolve.

She leaned forward to rest her head against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat. "Then tell me what to say. I'll follow you to the end if it means keeping you safe and... out of Azkaban." 

Pride replaced his earlier anger at her. Like a puppeteer engineering its strings, he set the following plan into place to ensure they both stayed out of prison and harm's way. 

"Tell me, when we left the Animagus, was he covered in the Moonlace dust?

Vel furrowed her brow, thinking back on that moment. "Yes... I was trying not to look at him, since he was naked, but the dust was everywhere."

"It's a rare plant." Ominis explained as he went over to his backpack, pulling out a new book she hadn't seen him study from before. His wand tapped against the cover and it flew open, flittering to the page dedicated to Moonlace and similar... toxic plants. "It says it here, the spores can knock or subdue a large animal, but in his doses, it's lethal to humans. So, I believe that it subdued his mongrel form and after, well..."

Her eyes widened. "You think he inhaled too much?"

"It's possible," Ominis admitted. "Although your intent was not to kill him, the Ministry will see things from a different view. We need to dispose of any evidence of the Moonlace being on your person. And tomorrow during the Quidditch game I'll go do a sweep of the cottage as well."

"What about the other one?" Vel grimaced, remembering the event in vivid detail. "The wizard you... you struck."

Ominis' jaw tightened, his voice strained. "I was in serpent form. I wasn't thinking clearly. My instincts—they're sharper like that, but harder to control. Too hard."

Vel stepped closer, her presence an offer of solace, wishing she could shoulder some of the weight of his guilt. "Ominis..."

He turned away sharply, retreating behind the pillar to hide with his shame. His usual composure fractured, raw emotion spilling through the cracks. "I didn't mean to kill him," he admitted. "But I must have hit an artery. It all happened so fast."

Vel held back, knowing he'd recoil from any physical comfort. Instead, she let her words wrap around him, soft and reassuring. "It wasn't your fault. They attacked us. You reacted in self-defense. You had no choice."

From the other side of the pillar, she heard it— a low, humorless chuckle that grew into a full, unsettling laugh. Ominis stepped into view, clapping slowly, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "That was good, wasn't it? Convincing, in case they come asking questions."

Her stomach dropped as the realization of his deception sank in. While part of her was relieved he wasn't drowning in guilt, another part twisted with unease. "Ominis," she said carefully, "you should feel something. Remorse, regret...?"

His smile faded, replaced by a chilling detachment. "Remorse can't bring him back from death. And confessing to the authorities won't either. So what's the point?"

The icy edge in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. She hesitated, then asked the question she wasn't sure she wanted answered. "It was an accident, wasn't it?" The instant the words left her lips, she regretted them.

"Of course it was!" he snapped, spinning around the pillar to seize her face, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes bore into hers, intense and unyielding. "But I won't lie to you, Vel. I'd do it again if it meant protecting you. I'd do anything."

Her lips parted as her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavy on her heart.

Given the history of his actions, she didn't doubt him for a moment. Yet, a silent prayer formed in her mind— a plea that she would never witness the day he crossed that irreversible line. Even if it meant staying out of harm's way as they explored whatever fragile connection bound them together, she would do it. Their relationship was a delicate, balancing on the thin line between passion and obsession and, with each passing moment, it became clearer to her that this could only end in ruin.

Vel took a timid step back, careful not to betray the unease that had begun to creep in. She needed to keep him from noticing the shift in her thoughts, the growing doubt that gnawed at the edges of her trust.

"So," she exhaled softly, steering the conversation back to the task at hand, "we know how they died. But do you really think the others would go to the authorities?"

Ominis's gaze drifted, his eyes fixed on some distant point above her head, as though he were searching for answers in the empty air. "It's hard to say," he murmured, his voice distant. "Nothing's certain now."

Chapter 15

"Big game tonight!" Meredith buzzed as they zig-zagged through bodies of students to get to their next class in time. Her enthusiasm was contagious; her eyes sparkling as she dodged a group of first-years clutching stacks of books. 

"Mm..." Vel hummed, a passenger in her own body this afternoon. The vibrant energy around her seemed muted, as if she were watching the world through a fogged-up window.

It didn't take a genius to notice her detachment, so Meredith bumped into her purposefully to break the haze. "Hey, you lose all your school spirit all of a sudden? It's Ravenclaw versus Slytherin! This is big— our first match against that pretentious seeker and his band of bullies."

"And who's their seeker?" 

"That guy going around saying you messed with his brain or something. Finneas? No, that's not it. Glad... Thad—"

"Thaddeus." Vel confirmed after letting her friend struggle for a moment. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, the first sign of life she'd shown all afternoon. "Maybe it would be nice to watch him lose."

"That's the spirit!" Meredith cheered, her grin widening as she looped her arm through Vel's to drag her along gleefully. The pep in her step more noticeable now. "Oh, and the girls are all meeting up beforehand to put on a little blue war paint. You know, to set the mood, probably gossip... about boys."

As they turned a corner, the sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows painted the hallway in golden hues, it hit Vel what class they had next. It rendered her speechless, as this would be her first time facing Professor Garlick after what happened. 

Meredith interpreted it as disinterest.

"Come on, Vel," Meredith pleaded. "It's all people you know and I swear they won't bite."

Vel nodded in agreement, still focused on how this next class would go. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be there.  Hey, any chance you know any spells that would give me an instant stomachache so I didn't have to go to Herbology?"

"What— why— oh." Meredith recalled what happened a few nights prior and began laughing, "You can't avoid her forever! I say you just attend class, avoid eye contact, and try to forget about the whole thing. If she approaches you about it, just pretend you have no clue what she's talking about."

"I'm not that ditzy." Vel argued.

And her friend feigned insult, "And you think I am?"

"Never said that... but you just did."

The pair walked into the greenhouse seconds later, stomachs tight with laughter as they teased each other for senseless antics. Other students shuffled to their stations and for once, Vel was happy that she was placed in the middle of the room instead of front and center where many other Professors had put her. The earthy aroma of damp soil clung to her nostrils and she glanced around at everyone's pots, wondering why she was the only empty station.

"Good morning, everyone!" Professor Garlick's addressed the class with a cheerful voice that cut through all the chatter. "Today, we'll be working with Moly. Patience and understanding is needed to grow this temperamental plant. I'll be giving you each seeds and throughout the semester, you'll tend this plant and be rewarded with it if you properly grow it. Moly can be used to counteract curses..."

As she continued on about the benefits of the plant and distributed seeds to each student, she walked past Velvette as if she were a ghost— an invisible ghost, not like the ones roaming the corridors. The class murmured their understand and Vel forced herself to listen intently, despite internally seething. 

Meredith met her eye and raised her shoulders in a sorrowful shrug. They all got to work, silver trowels in hand, when she felt a presence behind her. 

"Miss Nightingale," Professor Garlick addressed her warmly, though there was an undercurrent of something Vel couldn't quite place. "I have your pot at the front."

Vel grit her teeth. "Yes, Professor."

She followed her up to where the Professor worked most days— a work bench all her own that overflowed with pots, vials of plant samples, split soil bags, and just... It was a mess. Vel had never seen a more human thing in her time here at Hogwarts. Whereas other Professors took to neatness and conformity, Professor Garlick seemed to revel in this disarray that came with gardening. 

All the other students were so absorbed in planting their own seeds, that Garlick was able to speak freely without worry that they overhead. She had already begun taking out some seeds to place in Vel's hand, motioning to the pot in front of them as she admitted, "I called you up here to ensure your Moly grew to succession. You'll be needing it if you continue to associate yourself with prominent pureblood families."

"What does that mean?" Vel asked sharper than intended. "Sorry... I just hate being singled out. Other Professors do it and I never had to worry here, until now. I just thought..."

"You thought that with me being a family friend that I wouldn't mentor you where I saw necessary?" The look on Vel's puzzled face made Garlick sigh, "Ah, I see. Your aunt didn't tell you that we schooled together in the same year."

"N-no, she forgot to mention that."

"And how is Magdalain?"

Vel huffed, "Aunt Mags is... well, she's Mags."

Garlick chuckled and for a second, the Professor in her faded to the background as the girl came to the forefront. "We were very close, for a long time. Even after Hogwarts we kept in touch until she began work at the Ministry and..." she stopped herself. "She should have been the one to tell you all this and she still should. For now, let's focus on the Moly. It may prove useful one day."

Vel potted the seeds meticulously —per Garlick's instruction— before she pressed for more information. "This wasn't originally in today's curriculum, was it?"

"Let's just say that recent events made me want to protect you, and the other students, against anyone who may impose ill will against them." 

The hidden intent may as well have been an elephant standing in the center of the Quidditch pitch. As Vel tapped down the soil gently, she rolled her eyes. "You mean, like Ominis?"

Garlick's voice dipped below that of even a whisper, "The Gaunt family is complex and, to be frank, ruthless. Their reputation isn't just for show, and you'd do well to consider what being associated with them could mean for you. Ominis may try to detach himself from his family, but even the kindest soul can be trapped by their family's expectations."

"He'd never hurt me," she backed away from the Professor, offended and ready to hurl insults back at her for even suggesting that Ominis would do such a thing.

Before things got out of hand, the Professor looked at the students and dismissed them. It was a little before class was meant to get out, and Meredith looked at them suspiciously. She mouthed something at Vel, who didn't have the ability to read lips, but she knew she was asking if she needed help. So Vel, being who she was, shook her head in declination.

As soon as her classmates shuffled out, Vel whipped around, ready to tell Garlick how wrong she was about Ominis, but she stopped herself. Her heart stuttered at the sight of the dismayed Professor who meant no harm. 

"Even if..." Garlick sucked in some air, gathering her courage to remain poised in front of a student, "Even if your aunt and I are no longer close, I owe a debt to your family that I never thought I'd be able to repay. Now I see that by keeping you safe, or at least trying my best to, I have hope. It's not my place to divulge the past or get you tangled in what was, I merely want to look out for your best interest and Ominis is not—"

"Do you hardly think this is appropriate, Professor?" The sudden interruption made both ladies turn to look at the entrance of the greenhouse. Ominis strut down the center aisle, raging eyes dead set on Garlick; swirling pools of murky water that grew darker by the second. "Headmaster Black will love hearing about this."

Vel bounced her head between the pair as she struggled to defend them both. "S-she didn't mean... And Ominis won't..."

She wanted to assure each of them that the other meant no harm, but how could she? Now, Ominis wanted Garlick fired and the Professor wanted Ominis 500 feet from Miss Nightingale at all times. 

And still, they waited for her in baited silence to make her mind on which side she chose. It was a torture she couldn't escape, until Ominis took her hand in his, ultimately deciding for her because he hated her indecision.

"Professor, I have no intention of going to the Headmaster about this, but I need to be very clear," he steadied his rage before he grit out, "Approach Vel like this again, and your position here at Hogwarts will no longer be an issue."

He quickly pulled Vel out of the greenhouse and she kept up with him, not uttering a word until they were out of earshot from their Herbology Professor. She barely had a moment to catch her breath when he spun around on her.

"What did she say to you?"

"Ominis—"

"If she told you I'm dangerous, she needs to learn her place—"

Vel gave him the hardest glare and he couldn't even see it, but he felt it. "Ominis Gaunt! She doesn't mean us any harm, believe me. At first I thought so, until she told me that her and my aunt were once friends and... I don't know, I trust her. Don't ever speak to her like that again."

There was no please. No sorry. No room for debate.

Ominis blanked. "Hearing her say that triggered something in me, I'm sorry."

The apology came so swiftly that she didn't process it.

"And you can't threaten a Professor like that!" She smacked his chest and he sensed the incoming threat with his wand, grabbing her hand as it made contact. He pulled it up to his mouth, placing a feathery kiss atop it. 

"I'm sorry..." And it was genuine, his apology, she knew it to her core. Then came his explanation, "She reminded me of all our classmates, the entire student body, who label me as a Gaunt instead of who I want to be. I'm not a blood purist, I'm no Muggle-hater. I don't absorb my family's ideals the second I'm born into the bloodline, yet... I also know that I can't absolve them, either." 

He looked away from her, out the window as he gazed off unseeingly into some void that he returned to time and time again. She picked up on it whenever he did this. Almost as if he tried leaving his body and mind to keep some semblance of sanity— A piece of himself that could remain untouched. 

Vel sighed as she pulled her hand away. "I get it, I do. It's still no excuse."

"I know, and I'll apologize to her first thing tomorrow. I'm sorry you had to bare the brunt of my outburst." Again, he meant it and she found no fault in his actions so long as he knew they were unacceptable. 

Just then, it hit her how eerily quiet the corridors were. She glanced around, swerving to get a good look at their surroundings. They stood at the end of the hallway, about the enter the Central Hall, practically the lifeblood of the castle and it was empty. 

"Quidditch. Everyone's in their common rooms getting ready." He confirmed, sensing her confusion.

"Ah... Oh!" Her eyes lit up, remembering, "I have to go, I'm supposed to meet Meredith and some friends to do... I don't really know what but she wanted me there."

"Face paint?" He took a wild guess.

She brushed some lose strands of hair behind her ear, feeling silly for partaking. "Y-yeah, something like that. I've never rooted for a team before, or even seen a Quidditch match."

"You'll have fun. Now go," he leaned down to place a kiss upon her forehead, "I might even see you there. Just remember that you're my enemy tonight, though."

What. Then she remembered, "Oh, because of the teams..."

"Mm, what other reason would there be?"

She brushed it off, trying not to let Garlick's warning get to her. "No reason! See you there!"

Beaming to hide her inner turmoil, she bounced away and all but ran to her common room. Along the way she met vacant halls —save for a few ghosts floating between walls and portraits that whipped their heads as she passed— and she was thankful for it. Her cheeks were flushed and she had this awful gnawing in her stomach. The Ravenclaw tower couldn't be further away at the very moment. The castle halls stretched as she ran, taunting her to run, faster, faster...

As she burst into the common room, she hesitated at the entryway, but then Meredith caught sight of her and called her over, "Vel! We're over here!"

The entire common room was a hub of excitement. Practically shoulder to shoulder with Ravenclaws from seventh year, all the way down to first years. Primarily the Quidditch team and their friends, which Meredith seem to know everyone. Vel pushed through the crowd to get over to the sofas near the fireplace and somehow, all this noise calmed her down. 

It took her out of herself. 

Blue and silver banners hung from the walls and the high arched windows let in the glaring light of the afternoon sun. A stark contrast to the serene haven of books and quiet study that it usually was. She found an empty armchair and took refuge in it so that no one bumped into her. Meredith found her way in front of Vel and loomed over her with an ink pot containing blue paint, thin brush in hand as she assessed what design she'd do. 

Clearly, her friend had been busy. Every student had some sort of design on their faces, either minimal lines beneath their eyes or more fun ones, like the boys who had spelled R-A-V-E-N-C-L-A-W over their entire face, each one taking a different letter. 

Meredith leaned over her without asking what she'd want and got to work, letting her inner artist take over. And Vel really didn't care what was on her face, so long as it wasn't anything vulgar. Vel felt the brush swirling and closed her eyes.

"What are—" 

"Hold still," Meredith chided, her tongue poking out in concentration as she added the finishing touches to the Ravenclaw eagle emblem on Vel's cheek. "There! Perfect. You look like a true Ravenclaw ready to cheer on our team."

Vel found the mirror above the fireplace to look at her reflection, the blue paint stark against her pale skin. She smiled faintly, the excitement of the group starting to seep into her. 

"Can you believe it's finally here?" One of the girls, Clarissa, exclaimed, her cheeks already streaked with blue and silver. "Ravenclaw versus Slytherin! This is going to be epic."

"Gryffindor was no match for us last week, and Hufflepuff, pfft. Don't even remind me how lame that game was, I hardly had to try!" Another girl, a sixth year who was on the team, laughed and everyone joined in. 

The banter went back and forth for some time. Everyone discussing tactics of each team and how Slytherin also had a win against Gryffindor this season, and that their new seeker had grit. At the mention of 'seeker', the Ravenclaw team's very own came forth and spewed insults about Thaddeus and how he'd wipe the ground with him at today's game. Cheers followed. Someone began pouring a drink that Vel had never seen before into goblets, only handing them out to the seventh years. Most of the Quidditch team declined, needing their wits about them today.

Meredith plopped down on the sofa that was next to Vel's chair, her own face painted with bold blue streaks. "Speaking of Slytherins," she said, her tone suddenly mischievous, "what's the deal with you and Ominis Gaunt? You two seem... awfully close lately."

Vel froze, her cheeks flushing as nearby faces turned to her. It was only the girls that Meredith was closest with, but still, she didn't know them well enough. 

"Uh, I don't know what you mean," Vel stammered, avoiding their gazes. "We're just... friends."

"Friends?" Meredith raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "At lover's cottage overnight?"

"We didn't—" Sensing that her argument would fall on deaf ears, Vel curled up into the chair and groaned. She would have covered her face if not for the drying face paint.

The other girls got to talking about their own boyfriends or boythings. It was her first time around such banter and when Clarissa mentioned all the small talk that came with dating, Vel scrunched her face. Ominis and her didn't have small talk. They had intimately vulnerable conversations that left her dizzy. Someone else chimed in that it was important for the relationship to cover such bases, like getting to know their basic interests; favorite color, favorite food... And so on.

That's when Meredith drew the conversation back full circle and bumped knees with Vel, "I'm sure you know Ominis's favorite everything, with how much time you've spent together. Unless you two were doing other things."

Vel blinked, caught off guard. "Like his favorite color? He's blind."

The room erupted into laughter, the sound warm and infectious. It wasn't meant to be a joke, but even Vel cracked a smile. 

"Fair point," Clarissa admitted, still giggling. "But seriously, he's got that mysterious, brooding thing going on, and you're... well, you. It's like a match made by Merlin himself."

"Thanks, I think," Vel said dryly, though she was smiling now. The girls' easygoing chatter was making her feel more at ease, their acceptance and curiosity a welcome distraction.

Some teammates now gathered around the fireplace and all talk of Ominis Gaunt ceased, as the team seeker rallied his fellow classmates in a chant. It started as a low rumble, with just a handful of people joining in:

"Ravenclaw soars, climbing higher!"

People began stomping the ground with one foot and Vel joined in, catching the blunt rhythm instantly. Meredith looked her way and beamed. 

"Outsmart, outplay, outfly them all!"

More joined in singing their team cheer that passed down for generations. And Vel, not knowing the words, just kept tapping her foot into the ground, which began to rumble and she wondered if the whole castle could hear them.

"Ravens rise, the sky's our domain!"

Whistles erupted and Vel tilted her head back, laughing at the sheer idiocy of it all. The team huddled close to their seeker, hoisting him up upon their shoulders as they paraded him around the room. Now, everyone was chanting the final line:

"Ravenclaw's brilliance will win this game!"

If this is how they celebrated before the game, Vel pondered what the common room would look like after— Especially if they won. Everyone around her cheered and began to follow the team out, as Meredith pulled out a bottle of something that was stuffed behind the cushion. She uncorked it and handed out little glasses, pouring a small amount into each. As she passed by, Vel tried her best to read the bottle, tilting her head to the side to catch it. It said: 'Firewhiskey' and had a phoenix on the design. Vel accepted the goblet, the amber liquid catching the light as Meredith poured it.

"To Ravenclaw," Meredith said, raising her goblet high. "And to crushing Slytherin!"

"To Ravenclaw!" the girls echoed, clinking their goblets together before taking a sip. The firewhiskey burned pleasantly as it went down, warming Vel from the inside out. She felt a sense of camaraderie; wrapping around her like a cozy blanket.

As they finished their drinks and gathered their things, the excitement in the room reached a fever pitch. The Quidditch field awaited, and the girls were ready to cheer their house to victory.

"Let's go!" Meredith exclaimed, grabbing Vel's hand and pulling her to her feet. 

Vel followed the group out of the common room and they weren't far behind the mass of students pouring out of the castle, which soon became a tangled mess of houses as groups pushed through to get the best seats in their designated House sections. The blue war paint on her face felt like a badge of honor, a symbol of belonging. Even through the commotion, Vel kept an eye out as she recalled Ominis say, "I might even see you there."

Chapter 16

Students on brooms raced past in a blur of color and motion. In all the excitement, Velvette found herself cheering— genuine in its nature and not forced by the expectations of her peers. Especially when she caught the whereabouts of the Ravenclaw seeker who had the power to win the game in a landslide if he caught the snitch. The role itself seemed like a cheat, when she first heard the rules of it... Until she realized just how challenging that role was. 

Every second that passed she learned a new rule of the game and how awful of a sport it could be, which made it all the more exciting. Currently, the score was tied at 80 points and neither seeker appeared to be hot on the tail of the golden snitch. Everyone in the Ravenclaw stands bounced to their feet whenever a quaffle went through the opposing side's hoop and consequently booed when Slytherin scored a point. 

The game had everyone on the edge of their seats, even the Professors, who had their own section with the Headmaster sat front and center. Stakes were high and the potential for danger ever-present.

Vel's gaze flicked to the Slytherin stands more often than she cared to admit. She told herself it was just curiosity, but deep down, she knew better. If Meredith noticed, she'd never hear the end of it. Her friend was already giving her sideways glances, her lips twitching with the promise of teasing later. Vel shook her head, trying to focus on the game, but the lingering warmth of the firewhiskey they'd shared before the match made it hard to concentrate. The taste still danced on her tongue, a comforting heat that contrasted with the chill of the evening air as the sun dipped below the horizon.

A few of the girls huddled together beneath an oversized knitted blanket to protect from the wind chill. Being so high up made Vel's stomach lurch from time to time. Especially when someone breezed past the stand a little too closely and she swore the entire structure vibrated and swayed. She gripped the edge of her seat each time, knuckles whitening. 

Had these stands been inspected recently?

As soon as the thought came, she shook it away and joined in again on the roaring cheers as Ravenclaw scored yet another goal. But her attention wavered to the seekers again. Even without the fear of her head being smashed in with a bludger or the need to dodge other players in the sky as they soared around the field... Her sharp eye could not find the snitch. How were they expected to accomplish such a feat?

She nearly voiced these concerns, about to lean into Clarissa to ask her, when the Ravenclaw seeker came to life. He'd been in a daze of concentration and frustration, even from a distance Vel could sense it. By the way his arms went stiff on his broom, eyes surveying the landscape with great scrutiny. By the way he'd zoom to the other side of the pitch whenever tensions got too high around him, avoiding any distraction. It was like nothing else existed to him in that moment; only him and the golden snitch.

Vel watched now, fascinated. He dove straight down and it alerted the other seeker that something was amiss; the snitch now in play. It almost hadn't existed before. Vel began to doubt that she'd even witness it. And then the fading sun caught the glint of the excruciatingly tiny orb with fluttering, practically invisible wings with how fast they beat against the wind. 

Now they were in a game all their own. Two seekers pitted against one another. The world faded around them and Vel leaned forward on her seat, the blanket slipping from her shoulders without a care. 

The wind picked up and she hardly noticed, enthralled by the pair of locked-in seekers diving straight down towards the grass below. Just as she was sure they'd crash into the ground, each pulled up sharply and turned on a galleon. They skirted so close to the grass that the harshness of their sudden stop cut blades and made a path whenever they flew next, like a map of where they'd been. She struggled between watching their outstretched hands or the snitch itself. 

The tricky little thing shot upwards then, having a mind of its own. Vel shot up from her seat on the edge of the row and bounced down two short flights of stairs to get a better look as now the seekers were flying directly below them, blocking her line of sight. She tilted her head over the side and—

Just as soon as she looked over the edge, she reared her neck back and stumbled. Both seekers came within inches of the stand, having shot upwards to chase the snitch. Winds from their ascent blew her hair up and her robes billowed. If she had stuck her head forward any further... She laughed, giddily. Behind her, people shot her looks of bewilderment. Especially her little gaggle of acquaintances. But Meredith didn't look surprised.

Vel continued watching from this vantage point and wondered why not everyone was down here. Then, she wondered how many rogue bludgers found their way into stands and she went to sit back down, not wanting to make herself a target. The girls were leaning forward, staggering their heads to get a good look at her when she rejoined them and nestled under the blanket. 

But her excitement did not ease as she paid them no mind.

Thaddeus and the Ravenclaw seeker, whose name slipped her mind the second she heard it earlier, were entangled in a dance. They swirled around, avoiding bleachers without thinking, evading other players with ease, and even flying without the need to focus. A captivating, dazzling display of their talents for the entire school to witness. Why had no one informed her that it could be this fun?

Then her attention was drawn from the pair of seekers when everyone around her gasped and stood from their seats. Something happened. Something bad, to garner that kind of reaction. 

Someone had been hit and she hadn't seen it, thankfully. The gasps died down fast enough, but her heart did not stop hammering. She didn't need to stand to see it, for everyone around was whispering each moment as it played out.

"That... that was Benny..."

"Was that a bludger or a quaffle that hit him?"

"Look at his arm..."

Some commotion on the field made the chatters die down as they all watched on.

And then, "Oh, thank Merlin."

"Doesn't look that bad, remember what happened last year?"

"They got him, they got him. Benny will be okay."

People began to sit down and just like that, the game continued. Vel looked around, appalled that an injury came and went and she hadn't even seen it. Everyone reacted and then played it off like it was just another Friday afternoon.

Seemingly reading her mind, Clarissa nudged her when she sat back down. "Hey you, don't faint on me. This kind of thing happens all the time at these games... It's nothing to fuss over."

That's when Vel felt it. All the blood had drained from her face. "S-sorry, I'm not good with blood..."

Which was the truth, but not all of it. 'Not good with' and 'downright terrified' were not one in the same. She flexed her hands a few times and she felt her body begin to come out of its shock. 

Clarissa assessed her, suddenly worried. "Don't make me bring you to the infirmary. The game is just getting good."

"No, I'm fine—"

"Infirmary?" Meredith perked up at the mention and leaned back to poke Vel's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I said I was fine." She hissed, a little too pointedly.

"Oookay..." Clarissa drawled as she faced forward and shifted away from Vel, not appreciating the sudden hostility. 

Meredith paused there for a moment, looking her friend up and down before also bringing her attention back to the game. Vel closed her eyes and swam in the seascape that was her memories. It brought her back to a time that she'd soon rather forget; a time of pain and suffering and—

"No way! No way, look!" 

From below, a voice boomed up at the crowd, a referee who had a wand pointed at his throat to amplify his dictation: "Ravenclaw wins! Lial Montgomery has caught the snitch!"

The Ravenclaw stands stood in a maddened uproar. People were jumping all around and shaking the structure so much that it made Vel woozy as she, too, tried to stand. She slumped back down and did not partake in the screams of victory, as with her next sigh she plopped her head into her hands and realized... 'I missed the best part.'

Everyone began exiting the rows, headed for the stairs to get down and greet their team the moment they exited the pitch. They all continued the cheers and chants as they did so, and if Vel didn't move with the wave of people soon, she'd be left here all alone. She looked across the way as she steadily got to her feet, and for the first time all evening, she finally saw him. Except he was not in the Slytherin stand, but at the back row of the one where the Professors and Headmaster sat. 

He hadn't seen her watching him, so she hesitated to follow the Ravenclaws out and scrutinized his every move. He was clearly enraptured in a heated conversation. That much was certain. But bodies were moving in front of him and clearing out, so she had to wait it out. As fewer Professors passed by, she recognized who he spoke to.

Professor Garlick was a brewing kettle of tea about to erupt, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides as she leaned forward, shouting something at Ominis. Although there was a good three feet between them, she may as well but right up in his face. Yet he did not back off until Professor Hawthrone stepped in. The third party to this argument placed a hand on Ominis's shoulder and pulled him back slightly, as if telling him to get out of here before the kettle burst. 

From all the way across the field, Velvette sensed the tension. Her heart leapt when Ominis did not heed Hawthrone's warning and took a daring step forward. And that's when she knew she had to get over there.

Before she thought twice, she pushed through the throng of Ravenclaws who were filing down the steps in an orderly-enough fashion which Vel disrupted. She shouted at them to let her pass yet the pleas were drowned out by the incessant shouts of their own. Everyone was trying to find the seeker —whom she now knew as Lial Montgomery— to raise him up high and carry him back to the common room for celebrations. 

Meredith tried grasping for Vel's hand as she pushed past her and all her friends, and she shot them a desperate, stricken look that made them jump into action. Whatever the emergency was— the girls had her back. They began tapping on shoulders and yelling at them to move to the side, much louder and clearer than Velvette had been. 

She took two steps at a time and soon was on the grass, ignoring the referee's attempts at getting her to stop. Everyone and everything became a blur. Only remembering the reserved anger that Ominis harbored which could unleash when threatened.

The forest... They know something about the forest...

For why else would they confront him?

Her feet carried her faster across the vast field, the grass kicking up behind her as she madly dashed for the Professor's stand. Except now they were exiting too, and at a pace Vel found insufferable. She looked at each face coming down the stairs in hopes that they'd come out any moment.

They did not.

Every Professor who passed by gave an inquisitory stare and carried on, engaged in their own conversations about the thrill of tonight's game. Once the steps cleared enough for her to pass, she hugged the railing and ran up, pushing herself tight to the side to avoid bumping into anyone in fear of being questioned. Once she breached the top, her gaze landed on the three beings engaged in confrontation and realized that the reason no one heard them was the fault of some silencing spell.

Except now, Hawthrone and Ominis were chest to chest. 

No one else remained in the box and they were in the very top row, tucked into the back right to go unnoticed. Garlick had her hands over her mouth, eyebrows tight with concern. That was, until she met the eyes of Vel and ushered her over, beckoning with her hand frantically. 

As Vel neared, she must have passed the threshold of said 'silencing spell' and their words pierced her ears when they had not been the second before. 

"— when her family tells her!" Ominis screamed so vehemently into the face of Hawthrone that the Professor winced as if slapped across the face. And he did not stop there, "The two of you are seeking to control her but she is not a trophy! She has her own feelings of this world and she's just discovering what her place is here!"

Hawthrone leveled with him, eye to eye with a student ten years his junior and accused, "Then what the hell are you collecting her for if not a trophy for your family's legacy?"

Ominis snarled, pressing his wand into the Professor's chest. A direct threat— no longer keen on avoiding the inevitable duel. "Insult me, and my family? Fine. But don't you dare insinuate I'm collecting her again, she is her own person and her choices will be made on her own without your interference. I don't care that you both know her family. I don't care if they told you to keep an eye on her. Directly swaying her choices is manipulation at its finest and I will not stand for it. If my threats of going to the Headmaster are so above you, then I'll—"

When Vel stepped closer, ready to intervene if needed, Ominis ceased his onslaught. Both Professors now looked at her and Ominis turned, hesitantly, to find her there. Although he did not need to turn to confirm his suspicions, for his wand had already been screaming at him to stop. It sensed her and alerted him, yet in his rage he was more blind than ever. Blind to her presence. Blind to the fact that the game ended. Blind to... He dropped his wand with a hiss.

"I'm sorry, Professor. My nerves got the better of me." His arm fell to his side, stiff. 

Everyone stilled. Velvette narrowed in on Ominis, observing how his wand dominant hand was frozen still while his other hand trembled in a clenched fist. She noted how he backed off from Hawthrone, bending at the waist to make himself less intimidating. All due to her abrupt arrival.

Now, he bent his head down and to the side, refusing to look at her. 

Vel's lips parted, gaping as she looked between her Professors for explanation. Something Ominis said must have stuck with them, for they silently began walking down the creaking steps to depart. Only when passing her did Garlick say, "I'm sorry, Miss Nightingale, that you had to witness that. If you'd like to discuss it over a cup of tea, my door is always—"

"Stay away from her!" Ominis whipped around, seething once more. "Do you hear me? Stay. Away. From. Her."

"Ominis." Vel cut in. "I can... I can defend myself. Although I'd love to know why I even have to." And then she threw up her arms, exasperated. "I mean, honestly, I've gone through a life full of secrets. And now... This?"

Garlick's throat bobbed, swallowing back words. Hawthrone turned ashen, hoping his colleague would answer for them both. At last, Ominis hobbled down the wooden steps, unsteady in his stride as the fury died off and allowed his visionless vision to clear.

"I'll tell you what I can, Velvette. Come," his outstretched hand did little to placate her and he sensed the fight rising. "If you come with me, I swear to not be as vague and misleading as this bunch will undoubtedly be. I will tell you all I can, to the best of my understanding and then allow your family to fill in the rest."

Her nose scrunched. What had her family been hiding from her now?

Curiosity withered away her fervor. As Ominis descended to meet her, she took a step up to meet him. Having chosen the side which would explain all to her, the Professors bid their farewells —each with a somber apology with how the evening unfolded— and left the two students in the stand. It was all Ominis now. 

All her senses honed in on him. Perceiving the way he hesitated, hearing how he cleared his throat of nerves... And when he reached the same step she stood on, she finally felt him. Not only his hand which slid over her shoulder and down her arm, but his aura. His magic. His energy. All of it so intoxicatingly raw and overpowering like ice being shoved down her throat. 

And that's what it tasted like. Ice— tasteless, salty and almost bitter. Taking on the elements which made up its liquid form. The liquid form being his emotions which his magic was comprised of. 

Shock riddled his soul, an emotional freeze where he found himself unable to react.

Resentment, a burning grudge of frozen hostility.

Lastly, regret... a slow, creeping frost of past mistakes.

She sought to liquefy such oppressive emotions and did so by first placing her hand on his cheek, cupping it to hold him steady. It conveyed one simple message: She wasn't going anywhere. 

Then, she leaned forward, on the tips of her toes, to press the lightest of kisses to the corner of his mouth. The shock withered away, melting at her warm touch. His trembling hand stilled on her upper arm, giving it a squeeze as he pulled her in closer. They did not talk, they hardly breathed. 

To distract his vengeful nature, she brushed her lips against his in a slow pass that made their nerve endings tingle. All his resentment thawed. It was only them now. Only this moment. He sucked in an exaggerated breath as if it were his first time breathing and leaned into her. 

Although she struggled to rid him of all his regrets, she found herself kissing her way across his cheek and over to his ear to whisper, "It's okay, Ominis. I forgive you."

The apology on the tip of his tongue dissolved. All his penitence followed, although he knew that soon he'd have to answer for it. He shuddered into her embrace and dropped all his barriers. Their arms found respite around each other's bodies, tightly weaving around waists and shoulders like snakes in a pit. He buried his head in her hair, trying to reach her neck to place feathered kisses along it and, in his failure to find skin, he kissed her obsidian hair. 

Ominis dropped his wand without a second thought, trusting his other senses to make up for the lack of sight. He knew her body; had explored most of it with his bare hands. Therefore, the wand merely obstructed how much of her he could feel. It started innocent enough, both hands pushing her hair back over her narrow shoulders to gain better access to her slender neck. One hand encircled the back of it, drawing her closer, and his other found her bicep to hold her there. 

"Omin— ah." She groaned once his hot mouth found where her pulse beat wildly out of control between her jaw and ear. He trailed downwards, placing tender kisses along the thrumming column of flesh. All she could do was roll her head back to give him better access.

Everyone had cleared out of the Quidditch pitch by now. Not a whisper carried to her ears in the winds that encircled them. The structure was eerily steady now that the commotion of the game had died down and she mentally scolded herself for ever doubting the resilience of stands that were here long before she came along. Ominis yearned to test the durability, however.

He picked her up by the waist, all touch abruptly leaving her upper body as he not-so-gently gripped her hips and fell back onto one of the long benches. She fell with him, trapped in his embrace. As he adjusted himself in the seat, she did likewise and wrapped her legs around his torso, effectively sitting in his lap. He didn't seem to mind— as if this was his intention. Then an arm snaked behind her middle back to keep her firmly planted and the back of her head was embraced by a demanding hand that pushed her closer to his face.

Velvette kissed him. Hungrily— nearly ravenous. A starved animal that'd just been brought their perfect prey. From her vantage point atop his lap, she controlled the kiss. It gave her a rush of power like no other. Not even holding a wand for the first time, throwing her first spell... Nothing compared to this.

Chapter 17

Something wet hit her cheek. Then the top of her head. The Ravenclaw emblem drawn on her face likely fading away by now, a river of blue and bronze paint cascading down her skin.

Velvette paid no mind to the tears that began to weep from the skies. She was far too enraptured with the man beneath her. All the innocence behind their kiss evaporated— Soaked into the clouds and now it rained down on them in bliss. It heightened the urgency behind every moan, every movement...

She withered in his hold. He melted in hers.

At some point, she let out the softest gasp when he squeezed the back of her neck and it gave him an advantage. He slithered his tongue into her open mouth and explored her with newfound resolve. Needing to devour her every whimper and moan. She panted into his mouth, exchanging oxygen between kisses when he released her tongue to do so. They were in a war all their own making. A battle with two victors and two adversaries. 

It made everything that much more intense; from the way they gripped each other, to the thoughts in the back of their minds. Ominis wanted it all. Velvette wanted answers.

Answers... answers... 

She wracked her brain. 

Answers about what?

She pulled back with a sudden realization. 

"Hey!" With not any effort behind the act, she tried to slap his chest. "You can't just kiss me into forgetting!"

He grabbed her wrist before she made contact and pulled her flush to his chest. Even atop his lap, she came nose to nose with Ominis and he perked an eyebrow, "Can't I?"

With her wrist in hand, he languidly licked along the sensitive flesh until he reached her palm. Mischievous, stormy eyes found hers and narrowed. He looked starved.

"My turn," he groaned into her wrist before flipping their current position so that she was under him now. Except this time, he planted her along the length of the bench and eased her down onto it. 

One of his legs supported him so that he could stand above her —a looming shadow to block out the patters of rain— while his other leg nestled between her spread thighs, kneeling there. She hesitated, transfixed by his predatory stare, before attempting to slither out from under him. He sensed the movement and tsked as he caught her throat beneath a weighted palm. 

The skies wept openly now and the torrent of droplets dampened their robes. She blinked through it, lips parted. It made Ominis lean down and murmur, "You're so beautiful, Velvette Nightingale."

Sometime between switching their position, he'd picked up his wand and now had it pointed at her. If it were anyone else, she'd be intimidated. Perhaps she should be, regardless. The feeling never came forth and instead, a more powerful one did. A tingle in the forearm of his wand dominant hand told him before she even sensed it herself.

"Velvette," he purred into the side of her face, placing a kiss at her temple. "Do you have anything to confess?"

She summoned her willpower and grinned, "Nope, nothing at all. Do you?"

His knee pushed up until it settled right where her heat began, right between her thighs. Then, he leaned forward, pressing down into the responsive ache that began to build the moment he circled a hand around her throat and aimed his wand. If danger provoked her then danger she'd get. The hand gripping her throat tightened and her vision collided with stars in a grand galaxy. His thumb slid up and down soft, desirous skin until goosebumps spread down her body, a flush breaking out at the pressure point. 

Vel moaned sweetly into the chokehold because she knew the threat was nonexistent. Ominis pushed into it a heartbeat longer before releasing her and trailing that hand down the front of her robes, parting the thick fabric that protected her from the evening's chilling winds. The sun nearly vanished by now. Although he saw nothing but the warm glow around her body; her aura and magic that sang under his touch. 

It reacted to him in such a way that he forgot what move he wanted to make next. The game ceased and he stared down at her, bewildered and bewitched. Those cloudy irises of his darkened, eyes narrowing into thin slits, unable to fight the heavy lids that grew heavier the more he drank in the sight of her. 

She squirmed, clearly perturbed under his glare. "Ominis... the rain..."

By now they were both drenched and somewhere off to their east, thunder rumbled nearer. It softly vibrated the tall structure to alert them of its imminent arrival. The storm's gusto picked up and the rain poured down on them without remorse. It saturated their momentary enraptured state until both of them, still in a daze, decided they needed to get to cover.

He pulled her off the bench and dragged her down the stairs, their fingers entwined the entire way down until he swept her beneath the stand, pulling aside the canvas flap to allow them entry. That's when he shifted his hold on her to her waist, pulling her flush against him as he slammed her backwards into the thick wooden beams that crisscrossed and held up the structure. They trembled in response and then settled, some dust falling on them from above. At least here, in the absence of the rain, she could blink away the droplets that clung to her lashes and finally see him. 

Really see him.

And lord —Merlin— whoever the wizarding community called forth to pray... He was beautiful. Exquisite really, for lack of a better word. Though none felt appropriate to assign to the man that looked down at her and saw her for who she was. His face, dazzling with flecks of rainwater that resembled freckles, shone with unhindered adoration. Lips parted to catch his breath. Dirty blonde locks that hung heavy, soaked, began to curl at the tips. 

He sighed into the narrow divide between them, "Velvette... I can't..." 

The words came out strangled, half-formed. Somewhere between an aching need and a fading desire. He avoided looking at her lips, though he wet his a few times before trying to speak again. 

"We shouldn't, we can't— I... I can't, not here." Ominis attempted to reason.

She tilted her head, "Can't what?" When he cursed her innocence aloud, it dawned on her. A blush blossomed on her damp cheeks. "Oh! Oh... I didn't think... I never expected..."

He nodded, wet his lips again and forced out, "I know. It just needed to be said. I didn't want you to... be scared of me."

"Never," her soft palm found his cheek. "I've never been scared of you, only for you. Earlier was... a lot to take in. And I deserve an explanation, and soon. Don't think you can kiss me every time you want me to forget something."

Ominis's lip twitched. "That isn't why I kissed you."

Her eyebrow perked, silently questioning that statement.

When he leaned into her, placing his forehead against hers, he sighed again— a long exhale. "I'd never use you for something like that, but I was using you, nonetheless. I needed to calm down and you were right there, so accepting of my flaws. And I didn't think twice... I took advantage of your kindness, I'm sorry."

The confession lingered; confined by her ears which did not seem to allow it into her mind. Her heart stammered, grasping to one thing in particular. 

"Took advantage of my kindness?" She repeated the words, numbly, tossing them around her mouth to taste the bitterness they implied. "I kissed you, I initiated it. So excuse me but wouldn't it be 'I' that took advantage of you? Really, this must be what the other girls meant when they said boys can be so daft sometimes."

By the end of her rant, she turned to the side so that his forehead now rested on her temple. His nose touching the edge of her hair, gently running it along her temple there. 

"Did you talk about me?" He asked smugly, the smirk evident in his tone.

She slid a hand between them to push at his chest, needing space. "You can't keep changing the topic! First, about the argument you were having with Hawthrone and Garlick. Then, about the kiss. It's dizzying to be around you sometimes, I swear."

He pressed, "Did you?"

"Maybe..." she admitted, playing coy now. She mimicked his smirk and pulled away some more to watch his expression change, flickering from composed to intrigued. Before he had a chance to question it and sway the pattern of conversation, she blurted out, "What's your favorite color?"

There was a pause. A long pause. Where she mentally smacked herself and became convinced that he'd never answer the offensive question. Had she truly asked a blind man what his favorite color was?

"Black." Came his sudden response.

"Black..." she mused, and then, "Why black?"

He took a stand of her hair between two fingers, running his thumb along the silky, damp strands that'd barely begun to dry. "Isn't it obvious?"

Her next breath caught in her lungs, intaking too much air too sharply. The hand that had wanted to push him away moments prior now bundled up his robes to hold herself steady; finding it suddenly difficult to stay upright. 

Then, she laughed it off. "Oh, you're good. Very good. Now tell me what that was all about earlier."

He nuzzled into her temple again and inhaled as his nose trailed off into her hair. After placing a quick kiss there, he pulled back and allowed her room to breathe. "I'll start at the top, then. You deserve to know as much as I can tell you. Do not mistake the omitted parts as secrecy, because what I'm about to say should come from your family. On my way to the Slytherin section earlier, I crossed paths with Hawthrone and he gave me some asinine warning that concerned you and Professor Garlick. I ignored him, until halfway through the game, I noticed that her and Hawthrone were talking and glancing in my direction. So, naturally, I left the stand to confront them."

He waved his hand flippantly, knowing that Vel would argue his course of action. "And don't tell me that was stupid and rash, because I know. You weren't there to persuade me, however, and the more I caught their glares, the more incensed I became. It was stupid. It was rash. You aren't wrong, but I can't exactly rewind time and change what happened, can I?"

A brief silence settled, where he expected her to argue his point. Yet she thinned her lips to keep any damning words from leaving her mouth, before she too realized that there would be no going back in time to change how she reacted. So, she swallowed her reply and allowed him to continue.

"It all blurred after that. First, I accused Garlick of running to another Professor to confide in our earlier disagreement in the greenhouse. In doing so, she tried to defend herself and her reasons for hating my family. That's when Hawthrone cut in to diffuse the tension and I turned on him next, because he... he..." Ominis snarled a curse under his breath. "He's the worst accomplice when it comes to your family's secrets. He accused me of being no better and that's roughly when you got there."

Now she spoke, softly inquiring, "My family's secrets?"

"Mm..." Ominis flattened his lips and nodded, deep in thought. He struggled to find the right thing to say, the story reaching the point where he had to tell her what he knew. "Your family. They may have... hid some things from you. I saw a letter on Hawthrone's desk one day, when he called me in to discuss how you were fairing with spell practice. I hadn't meant to see it, but your name was so evident on the parchment, bold amongst all the other scribbles, and I read it while his back was turned. Not my proudest moment. Although my biggest regret is how I handled it. I confronted him on the spot and—"

With her patience fading into oblivion, she interrupted him. "Ominis, tell me what the letter said." 

He licked his lips. "It regarded your... ancestry. Hawthrone discovered your ability through tales of the school nurse after she helped return Thaddeus to a right mental state and wrote your grandmother who, in turn, replied and divulged more information than Hawthrone expected. She told him that... those rumors regarding your ties to Rowena Ravenclaw were founded. Not baseless rumors, as we all suspected. She had a similar talent to yours..."

When Ominis trailed off and did not continue, Vel pressed for more. "And?"

"That's really all I can say, all I should say. Your grandmother made it very clear in her letter that she needed to be the one to tell you all this. She has proof, letters and the such, that can help you grasp what exactly your," he pointed to his head and finished with, "memory power is."

"So why the fight with Hawthrone? Why accuse them of using me?" Her brows pulled tight as she struggled to fit in the pieces of information she'd learned thus far to make it a complete picture. 

"Those two have a long history with your family. Which, again, should not come from my lips alone. I've only heard stories through my own family and perception is warped amongst purebloods. They hear only what they want to and discard the remaining facts if they do not fit the narrative. I'm sure the things I know about Hawthrone and Garlick stem from a place of contempt."

An honest divulsion, one that Velvette did not sit happily with. It did not seem that his answers were carefully construed to lead her on, although the pit in her stomach told her otherwise. He knew more. He knew things she did not. And could not until she seemingly spoke to her grandmother. The thought of writing her via owl came and went. A flicker that vanished because she needed to do this in person, especially if her family had evidence of such claims. 

"Do..." Vel bit her lip. "Do you think my parents knew about this?"

"From the way the letter was worded, no. I do not believe so."

It eased her mind a touch. The idea of her parents consistently lying to her and then sending her off to Hogwarts without an inkling of what might be exposed troubled her more than the notion of her grandmother doing it. The latter seemed more plausible. More... palatable. 

Outside the canvas, the rain eased. She heard the pitter-patters slow and grow quieter. Cold hands found hers, gently squeezing them to shake her from her lost-in-thought stupor. 

"We should go," the weak proposal left his lips, but his body locked in place, hovering over hers. Still crowding her with his impressive height and grace. It made her think he really meant the opposite: We should stay.

Except then she shivered, involuntarily. Winds swept up into the canvas and reminded her just how damp her robes still were. Ominis dropped her hands and began rubbing her arms, creating friction to warm her. He muttered something about being a moron before casting Lumos to have a guiding light back to the castle. Not that he needed it— it was more for her benefit so that she didn't trip as he pulled them out from under the stand. 

Three steps into the open field, and he paused, "Someone's coming, by the entrance..." Before the light even cast over his face, Ominis pulled Vel behind him and tensed. He grumbled low enough for her ears alone, "Thaddeus."

Someone began clapping. A slow, methodic beat against the stark silence of the night. Now the only thing lighting the field, besides the soft glow of Ominis's wand, was the moon rising over the horizon's edge in the east. It made the stands cast tall shadows over the field and Thaddeus hid in one of those shadows now, steadily making his way to the center. His blunt claps ceased after one dramatic slap of his palms, the sound echoing around them.

"Bravo, my friend. I didn't think you had it in you." Thaddeus glared at Ominis and then craned his head, to peak behind him. "Oh, hello there Miss Nightingale. Surprise, surprise."

Ominis shifted to the left to hide her better. "What's the occasion, Thaddeus? Stay behind to do a little stargazing?"

"On the contrary," he began, feigning a pleasant tone. "I found myself worried about Miss Nightingale, you see. She didn't join the others in celebrating and made quite a show of running the opposite direction, over to the Professor's booth. It concerned me. So, naturally, I stayed behind to ensure her safe return. I did not expect her to already be accompanied by... Well, you, of all people."

The orchestrated lie forced Vel to emerge from behind Ominis, shoving away his attempts at catching her to draw her back. "Were you following me, you creep—"

"Following? Merlin, no. You could call it... keeping an eye out for my fellow classmate." The twinkle in his eye told her all she needed to know. 

Accusations flew, unabashedly. "That night in the library, you followed me there too. You waited for the last people to clear out so that you could corner me. And now, you lingered here like some pervert waiting to catch a spectacle. Go to hell." 

He ignored the harshness in her voice and placed a hand on his chest, "Hell? That's a muggle concept, as is stalking. A respectful wizard would never."

Ominis brandished his wand directly at Thaddeus, whose stare left Vel in an instant. He reached behind him, into his back pocket, fumbling, to find the hilt of his wand. But by the time he pulled it out, Vel also had her own directed at him. Two against one. The gravity of it hit him like a tidal wave. 

"I could report you two." Thaddeus threatened, although his quivering wand told a different story.

Before Ominis came to her rescue, she glowered and stated, "And I could report you and your friends, for that night in the library. I'll demand they use that truth serum, why is it called again?"

"Veritaserum," Ominis smirked. 

Vel mirrored his enthusiasm and smiled. "Mm, that's right, veritaserum."

"It's... it's not legal to use on underage students." Thaddeus tried to argue.

Unable to stop herself, Vel charged forward, faster on her feet than the two men gave her credit for or expected. She dug her wand into his chest, wishing the point was sharp enough to draw blood. They locked glares and the air crackled around them, charged by her rampant, tangible wrath. 

Ominis dare not intervene.

"Then I'll make you confess. I'll warp your little brain right here, right now, so that you race into the Headmaster's office and scream your confession, demanding that he lock you in the dungeons for your wrongdoings. How dare you threaten me? How dare you think you can act like that? Do that to a girl, bully her and force yourself upon her? You're disgusting," she all but spat at him, "and the most deplorable human being I know. I hope you get tenfold what cosmic karma has in store for you. Go ahead, tell me that's a muggle concept, go on. I'm all ears."

Thaddeus paled, eyes flickering to her wand and, most disturbingly, her hand which was tightly wound in a fist and ready to strike his nose. For even if he doubted her casting abilities as a new witch, her stance screamed capable of winning in a fight of fists. His mouth went dry— a desert where his threats went to wither and die. 

"Mm, good. You do know how to shut up." Vel backed up an inch, no longer digging her wand into his sternum. She faked him out by drawing back her fist and then swung forward, his eyes closed tight and she stopped just an inch from his nose, laughing. "Gods you are so pathetic... Come on, Ominis, he really isn't worth our time."

They left him like that. Ominis came by and linked arms with her, smiling down at her with adoration, as he complimented her ferocity. Somewhere along the pathway back to the castle, she came down from her power high and began to think about her ancestral ties with Rowena Ravenclaw, forgetting Thaddeus altogether. 

Were the answers to her uncontrollable ability finally within reach?

 

Chapter 18

Regarding her family, Velvette knew the time to strike would be during the Christmas holiday. With it being weeks away she took to busying herself with her studies; fully immersing into the wizarding world to learn all she could. The sudden interest piqued when Ominis praised her for it. All along, he only wanted to see her excel. Their spell-sessions turned into intricate duels where he tested her intuition and resilience until, most days, he needed a break before she did.

After classes and dinners, they found themselves side by side in the library. Each sharing bits of their day that pertained to expanding their knowledge. It became such a habit that neither had to question where they'd be that evening, sometimes even filtering into the library at a slightly later time than the other, but without doubt. The familiar brown, oversized armchairs tucked into an alcove on the second level may as well have their names plastered on them. 

Always empty, always waiting. The only consistent company being the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw, who sat in ruminative silence for about two hours, each day. 

And that's when they found themselves that Saturday afternoon— Vel invested in a book on magical plants and Ominis studying for his next Charms exam. A plate of fruit sat between them after they missed lunch and Vel insisted that they at least snack on something to fuel their brainpower. She absent-mindedly peeled an orange with one hand, picking at the rind, while she flipped through her book in the other hand, unwillingly to put it down for even a second. 

Ominis snapped his book shut and reached onto the table between them, plucking the orange from under her fingers. He peeled it for her in careful silence as not to distract her and then placed a wedge in her upturned hand, feeding her one sliver at a time. While she chewed, he popped some sweet green grapes into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

"Green, this time? You like the red ones." 

How did he— Oh, the flavor. She shifted in the armchair, switching the position of her legs so that tucked beneath her. "Yeah, slim pickings today. Tons of people were in there packing up snacks for a trip to Hogsmeade. Something about a winter festival."

"Did you want to go?" He popped another grape, its juices bursting at the seam when he bit down and he licked his lips to contain it. 

"Are you serious? It's freezing!" She slapped his arm with her book playfully, which was reaching for more fruit. He rubbed the spot, already smiling as he grumbled 'ouch' and that only made her smack him again with it. "And besides, you need to study for that test on Monday. I doubt you want a poor score to sully your holiday retreat."

Two weeks. Only two more weeks between her, her grandmother, and the answers she was long owed. Most days the dwelling on it flittered somewhere in the depths of her mind, only for the smallest thing to remind her. A lingering gaze from Hawthrone. Something pointed that Garlick says in class, thinking she was subtle. 

Both Professors were everything but subtle when it came to her relationship with Ominis. 

Even now, as she read a book about magical plants and their many purposes, one hinted at having properties to restore memory and that word triggered her many concerns. Would her grandmother be honest? Would she uncover the root of her memory magic and learn to wield it? And if she could—

Now it was Ominis slapping her arm, having placed a fresh orange slice in her palm minutes ago while she zoned out and stared off, worry-dazed, into the distance. "Hey, come back to me."

"S-sorry... What were you saying?" When he met her hazy stare, she was thankful that he couldn't detect the darkening bags beneath her eye sockets that suggested sleep seldom paid a visit these days. 

Ominis cleared his throat and gestured to the orange piece in her hand, urging her to eat more as he spoke. "I said that you can't distract yourself with books all day to avoid time passing by. It doesn't make the days go by any faster, if you fill your head with nonsensical words and hardly live. Or, I said something like that, but now I refined it."

She laughed away his concern, "Nonsensical? How dare you, this book on herbs is— it— has a lot of useful facts! For example..." she quickly glanced down to the page she had open and read the first thing she saw, "Did you know that if you combine leaves of dittany with... with dragon's blood, that the salve can be applied to mortal wounds and... and..."

"Stop the bleeding, yes, Vel, that's basic—" he stopped when her face turned ashen at the words on the page. "Vel?"

Velvette snapped her eyes to his, wetting her cracked lip when a false smile bloomed. The book snapped shut in her palm and she placed it on the table between them, reaching for more fruit. He grabbed her wrist, harsher than intended.

"Do you have an issue with blood?" He questioned, incredulously. 

She plucked up a blueberry and, with her limited range of motion under his grip, she attempted to chuck it at him and it landed in his lap. She snorted, "No, not really, anyways... A little bit, yes."

What good did it do to hide things from him? He read her like an open book, regardless. 

Ominis dropped her hand, pulling away. Again, looking at her like she'd grown a second head. "But that day in the forest you seemed fine."

"Fight or flight," she explained, nervous to dive into the root of the issue. "I couldn't really see what... what you did to that man because I was so focused on you, turning into snake."

"Is it just when other people bleed or also when you see your own?" He probed, unaware at how dangerously close she was to breaking out in hives. By now her face turned so ashen, it had a grey sheen to it like a lifeless corpse. Although these were not the clues that told Ominis to change topics, and fast. He sensed the erratic beating of her heart before it was too late. "Hey, never mind. Tell me more about this winter festival, is Meredith going?"

A distraction, she thought bitterly. Trickery that she knew all too well. Flashes of a life past, of her childhood, resurfaced. Of her father taking her for ice cream, a distraction. Of a tub, overflowing with water. She shook it away. Then, of tufted velvet chairs, another distraction.

By now her hyperventilation —blatant and resounding— made Ominis rush out of his reclined position and drop in front of her, kneeling between her legs as he reached up to shake her arms. He shouted her name, which she heard between the ringing in her ears. It all came on so fast, too fast, and her mind hadn't caught up to the present panic. Why was he shouting? 

Something foreign brushed her long strands of hair away from her face, which had fallen to the front to shield her from the outside world. Not a finger... Not a hand... His wand.  While he worked to clear her face before she suffocated in the blanket of her own hair, his other hand found purchase on her bicep and squeezed it again and again, pumping life back into her veins. It grounded her enough, so that when she resurfaced from her memories, he was the first thing she saw and felt. 

He spoke first, demanding harsher than intended yet restrained, "What was that?"

She exhaled, steadily. An effort when into her next few breaths until it became natural once more. And then, albeit blunt, she offered up, "A panic attack." 

Ominis's lip twitched, and he held back a snarl. "I gathered as much. I'd love to know why."

Languidly, she reached to the table beside her and picked up an orange slice which he already peeled for her. She placed it to his lips and, eyebrows knitting with frustration, he ate it against any want or desire to eat anything in this very moment. 

A distraction, he realized bitterly.

Ill-contempt settled heavy on their shoulders and they didn't speak for the next few minutes. He remained on the ground, on his knees, between her legs as he studied her every move. And there he waited for her to say something —anything— to wake him from his harrowing thoughts. 

Reassuring words never came and she sighed as she chewed the stringy piece of citrus, tossing it over her tongue to soak in the summery aftertaste. 

"Gosh, these oranges are delicious." She mused, feeding him another sliver. "Like they were frozen in their peak season." 

***

They never ate oranges in the library again after that day. Ominis despised them, having left a bitter taste in his mouth that never came clean. Another week passed and he dropped the topic of her abrupt panic attack after two more attempts at breaching the conversation. He gingerly offered an ear to listen and promised he wouldn't speak through her explanation, only if asked. 

The herbology book remained in her satchel, never being brought out again. Yet, she did not return it to the library which had him believe she read it on her spare time, away from him. Worried that seeing it would prompt his incessant questions. 

To distract him from such, she asked if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade that Friday evening before Christmas break released them into the wilds— an endearing term for their families. He politely declined, mentioning something about packing and the sudden desire to partake in one last Slytherin party. Which, begrudgingly, never seemed to interest him before. 

In the dining hall, all talk of Quidditch came to an abrupt halt during the season interim where students instead busied themselves with studying for exams. It was a nice reprieve; for Velvette had mentally checked out shortly after that run in with Thaddeus. She avoided the games after, not wanting to be anywhere in his arena. Still, she felt a tug of pain at avoiding it altogether. It was a beautifully mesmerizing event, and she perked an ear whenever people around her buzzed about the outcomes of each game. 

From their accounts, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were head-to-head. Leaving Hufflepuff and Slytherin as last place contenders for the season. The corner of her lip twitched upward at that news one morning over her cup of steaming black tea. 

Meredith and Clarissa now clung to her between classes, each taking to one side of her as they walked through the endless halls. She didn't even need them for directions now... yet found their company amusing. Not in a sarcastic sense, but genuinely amusing. The two girls bickered about boys, exams, and boys.

Clarissa threw her head back in humorless laughter, vexed at the harmless insult Meredith threw her way, "Did you really just call me a floozy? You, of all people, really?"

Meredith ground her teeth. "Yeah, I did. Because next time you go all heart-for-eyes over my sloppy seconds, I hope you have half the brain to think!"

That snapped Vel back to the conversation, pulling her from thoughts of her final classes before the holiday. More accusations flew between the two and Vel groaned, "Oh for Merlin's sake, would you two just kiss already?"

They stopped in their tracks. Velvette took a few steps ahead before turning sharply, catching them locked in a stare—hesitant to acknowledge the tension that had grown between them, somewhere between the first fall of autumn leaves and the snow now gathering on the castle grounds.

Meredith stammered out, "I— I have no idea what—"

Her frenzy was equally met by Clarissa, "Seriously Vel— so childish—"

The two stared at one another long enough that Vel excused herself with a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, not wanting to be late to class. DADA began like any other day, Professor Hawthrone smoothed over the prior lesson and blended it seamlessly into the next chapter of their textbooks, which were nearing completion. She suspected that the last month of the school year would be spent on practical assessment to monitor how they applied this year's lessons to real duels. 

Hawthrone paced about the room, urging each student to produce a spoken testament to today's lesson of defensive magic— why it mattered, how to apply it, when the need for it may arise.

That's precisely when Meredith and Clarissa burst into the classroom, unabashedly. Red, swollen lips that indicted they'd found a hidden recess of the castle to explore just what Velvette suggested. They separated, taking their assigned seats in silence. Apart from one another but not.

Vel chucked a knowing gaze at Meredith, who stuck her tongue out to feign ignorance. 

Ominis caught the exchange through his wand, which he held loosely on the desk before him. All of it amused him and he vowed to bring it up in the library later that evening until it dawned on him. The last full day of classes. The Slytherin shindig later that evening. The excuse to avoid her dismissive presence. 

"And if your opponent raises their wand in tandem..." Hawthrone's lecture carried over deaf ears. Every student itched for the day to be over; each craving a familial influence that ached the moment they boarded the train to Hogwarts. 

Hawthrone continued through the student's foggy brains with, "I will select two volunteers, then. Since no one offered. Ominis," he jutted his thumb upwards, signaling for the student to rise from his seat. "And..."

When his eyes passed over hers, he paused with a half-hearted smile. Ultimately, he settled for, "Lial."

Lial Montgomery, the Ravenclaw seeker, stood at the mention of his name. Everyone adoringly referred to him as Monty so Vel was slow to land on his rising form, not expecting it. Now her attention shone down on the pair that met in the front of the classroom, bending at the waist. 

The marker of a duel set in place.

She inched to the very edge of her seat, intent on catching every cast spell and hex thrown between the able duelists. Monty had flourished his wand the moment the pleasantries ended, readied to strike at a moment's notice. Whereas Ominis casually kept his wand at waist height, scanning the room but not against the threat in front of him. 

Hawthrone grunted some semblance of approval at their admittance of customs and encouraged them to give their best effort. 

At this point, Vel had reached the edge of her stool and stood up from it, refusing to fall to her arse in front of the entire class. Someone behind her shushed for her to sit down so they could see, but she ignored their protests. She'd never seen Ominis in a duel other than against her. And that time in the forest...

She shook her head. That wasn't a true duel, that was fast-thinking on the heels of life or death and he'd chosen to live. In this classroom, under these circumstances, Ominis need not fear for his life. Needn't pondered what spell to throw her way during their mock trials. So, she hovered over the table in front of her, keen to know which spells he used. Attentive as ever and Hawthrone praised this, not coaxing her to sit down against her genuine interest.

"Expelli—" Monty began the duel, hoping for an early end.

Ominis wordlessly cast his counter spell, giving his wand a sharp flourish and point at its intended victim. A purple light drew from the tip and charged at Monty, who evaded it with only the skills a quick-thinking seeker could. They continued in this manner and the spells that left their wands left Vel in a jealous haze. She pondered why Ominis hadn't taught her half the things he knew. 

Until, at long last and right before the class was dismissed, Ominis dismantled his opponent with a simple 'Expelliarmus'. Which made her think the entire duel was a game in his mind to stall until class let out. The two duelists bowed at the waist, signally the amicable end to their battle, and the class roared with claps and shouts of admiration. Both men took the attention in turn, each bowing to the rest of the class as if the entire thing had been a well-scripted play.

They dispersed to their seats and Hawthrone ended the lecture with some sentiment on unpredictability and allowed the class to leave a minute early, in good spirits. Everyone fell into chosen groups on their way out, having been separated from their friends for the most part. Ominis stuck close to Vel, who found her two close friends with a knowing giggle. He ignored it until it became impossible.

"So what..." his nose scrunched, mocking a face that Vel normally made when in great discomfort. He caught on quick, "You two are now dating?"

All the girls laughed, on the inside on some joke that he was oblivious to. They joined hands and skipped along to their common room, Vel still in the middle, as Ominis faded to the background and just shook his head at the sickly display. 

Later that same evening, in the hearth of the common room with close friends, Meredith dozed off on the sofa with her head on Clarissa's lap and feet splayed greedily over Vel's lap. She had a hand on her ankle, circling slow patterns into the skin while contemplating what the holiday break would entail while the other girl soothed back Meredith's crazy curls. 

"You know," Clarissa began, drawing Vel from her stupor. "I never thought I could be this content while at school. I certainly never pictured..." she trailed off and gestured to the slumbering girl between them, "this, of all things. You picked up on something that I was too scared to admit. When did you know?"

"Hmm..." Vel went to war with the truth and honesty emerged as the victor, "Probably when you started bickering. The first time she ever introduced us and I got to know you. You treated others so differently than her, even though there was something unspoken between you. And then each of you took to prancing around with different partners, a mind game of sorts where no one won. Not really."

Vel gently, so as not to wake her up, picked up Meredith's feet and eased herself out from under them. "And with that, I have somewhere to be."

"Oh? Pray tell." Clarissa quipped with a knowing grin.

Velvette spun around, exaggerated when she threw herself against the entryway to the common room without opening the door. One hand fanned her face while the other gripped her robes at her chest and she declared, "A certain Slytherin party."

They broke out into a bellowing fit of giggles, which stirred Meredith from her nap and they were made to stifle the laughs by pressing hard fists into their mouths, biting down on their knuckles. 

On her way to the Slytherin common room, Vel discarded her house robe on a nearby railing and settled for the bland clothes beneath— a blush red button down tucked into black riding trousers, casual yet chic. Suitable enough for the dimly lit ambiance of the Slytherin dungeons. Someone allowed her entryway into the main vestibule, where the fireplace sat and offered a different respite altogether. 

She paced in front of it, back and forth a handful of times. The consequences of entering without first informing Ominis were... daunting. On the other hand, the consequence of not entering were equally as paralyzing. It glowed that unnatural shade of amythest that reminded her, oddly enough, of her aunt. A woman who collected crystals and displayed them around her home, proudly. 

The familiarity of it drew her closer, until in her peripheral she caught some sea creature stirring in the depths of the black lake and became distracted. Her fortitude won out in the end, when she finally stepped into the fireplace and walked through the heatless flames. They engulfed her figure until she stepped all the way through and into the gathering. 

Bodies pressed together with less restrictions than the start of the year. Strangers turned into friends which turned into foes... Who ultimately became lovers. That seemed to be the Slytherin's downfall. Falling for their supposed enemy. She saw it with a few couples who started the year loathing one another, openly expressing so in study halls and interactions that manifested between classes. 

Vel groaned, inwardly. It reminded her too much of her best friends who went through a similar turmoil; bickering that turned into enraptured kisses. 

"Come alone this time?" At that voice, she groaned again and pressed forward. 

She needed a drink before dealing with that snake.

 

Chapter 19

Velvette dutifully cast aside her shadow. Thaddeus could not ruin this for her.

With a drink of firewhiskey now in hand, she skirted around the room to find meaningful discussion to place herself in. She loathed how the Slytherins adopted her presence without thinking twice on it, as if expecting her there amongst their midst. Where she found discourse, she lingered. 

Some pureblood divulged how their parents expected them to enter into a marriage contract by term's end and the others around mumbled encouraging words, saying the same was expected of them. That had Velvette spinning around to find another outlet of banter, this time her second drink in hand, poured two fingers full. This group doted on the upcoming exams and how they'd manage to get back into studious affairs after holiday.

She groaned and pivoted again, a mad dance to find the right crowd. It seemed, with great scrutiny, that no one could hold her focus. 

Lights glittered the dance floor where more daring figures took refuge. Although... more bodies crowded there than the outskirts of the room. Especially as the night went on. For once, to be an outcast meant not to partake in the twirling array. She clung, hoping to go unnoticed, to the very edges of the room where the floor to ceiling, emerald curtains covered stone walls; faux windows to provide an illusion. 

That's where her adversary found her, chewing the skin at her thumb as she thought of leaving. 

"Miss Nightingale, care for another dance?"

She assessed Thaddeus where he stood, a wise two feet away in case her rage boiled over. Because it did. "Why would I ever want to dance with you?"

He shrugged and offered an outstretched hand, the full length of his arm beckoning her closer. "Maybe to make a certain someone jealous, who knows? I feel that's why you used me the first time around."

"Don't remind me," she pinched the narrow bridge of her nose as an involuntary shudder ran through her. 

Thaddeus inched closer and implored, "Then let's erase that night and start again. Ominis isn't here, he shuttered himself in his room right after dinner. Allow me to be your escort this evening." 

Ominis isn't... She hastily glanced around, to all the eyes she suddenly felt upon her. She wondered what baseless rumors circulated about her now; having disengaged from such chatter weeks prior. At the start of her library sessions with Ominis. It came easy when the only person whose opinion she cared for stuck close to her side at all times. 

"Excuse me..." she weaved her way through the tangled masses, seeking another drink. Along the way she's halted by someone calling her name and she whirls around, expecting— "Oh, Monty, didn't know you..." Would be here. 

His sheepish grin lolled to the side, where he directed them into getting a fresh round of drinks. This time, she settled for their unique brew of butterbeer, loving its sweetness matched by a strong aftertaste of alcohol. It made it go down easier when sugar masked the potency.

The opulence of the evening did not go unnoticed. Many purebloods boasted wealth by dressing in their best robes and attire. The two Ravenclaws clung to each other in the sea of serpents, all but locking arms as not to be separated. Elegant waltzes broke out when the music changed tempo and more bodies joined in, forcing them press their backs into the bar, making fun of the aristocracy of it all. 

"You've got to give it to them," Monty mused, swirling the drink in his hand. "Commitment to the cause. Continuing the blood line, blah, blah..."

"Mhm," Vel agreed dryly, watching a particularly overdressed wizard twirl his partner like he was leading a performance rather than a dance.

Monty smirked before his gaze softened, shifting to her with something more thoughtful. "I've never had the chance to ask, but what was it like growing up with squibs? I'm a half-blood myself, my father being the..." he raised an invisible wand, gesturing with an embellished flick of the wrist. The drink began to warm his cheeks and now the flush creeped down his neck.

"Ha, I suppose it's not too different. Parents are parents— overbearing creatures that act out of love, reprimand from a place of love, and..." she shook the thoughts from her head. "And love, unconditionally. Even when it doesn't feel like it."

He lingered on her lips, hardly believing the practiced words that fell out. He dipped to her ear to admit, "Sometimes I overhear you speaking and wonder how you weren't sorted into this lot. Then, I listen closer and realize that only a Ravenclaw could carefully construct such lies and make others believe them."

She should have been offended. She should have reacted. Yet, she merely shrugged. 

The butterbeer made her lips loosen, "And you should have been sorted into Gryffindor, with how you chase after that snitch with unmatched ferocity."

They broke out into discussion of the game, something that Vel itched to do the moment after that first game and never got the chance to. She admitted, embarrassingly, at watching him in the skies. He recounted that day where she dared to lean over the edge and nearly cost him the game— saying that it'd be in poor sport to continue after beheading a classmate. 

Halfway through her second butterbeer —fourth drink overall— she found herself snug against Monty as they witnessed passionate displays of declaration amongst the blood purists. They snorted whenever one went awry and ended in disaster— Vel suggested that the free-flowing drinks were to blame.

Monty stiffened when one of the Slytherin beaters strode past, his spine straightening as he trailed the other boy with a longing look that screamed 'notice me'. His freckled nose scrunched, fuzzy brown brows knitting together as he scolded himself internally for not seizing the moment.

Vel caught the shift in his expression, the quiet frustration etched in the downturn of his lips, and understood instantly.

Monty was strikingly handsome— not in an intimidating way, but in a homely, effortless sort of way. He looked like someone you'd always known, someone safe, with soft eyes and even softer lips. His shaggy hair, appearing a muted brown under the dim dungeon lights, held hidden depths of auburn and ginger that gleamed under the sun.

Anyone would be lucky to have him beside them on a cold night.

She smirked and shoved at his chest. "Go on, then. Find out if there's a spark."

Before he could stammer out an excuse, the lights flickered. A brief hesitation in the glow of enchanted chandeliers before they dimmed— then, all at once, the room plunged into darkness.

A chorus of startled gasps filled the space, followed by hasty shouts of Lumos and wand tips ignited, throwing erratic shadows against the walls, illuminating half-lit faces wreathed by confusion.

Then, something curled around Vel's wrist. Cold, firm, deliberate.

She barely had time to inhale before she was yanked into the abyss, beyond the reaches of the flickering wand light. The warmth of Monty's presence vanished in an instant, replaced by the cool damp of stone corridors. Whoever had taken hold of her knew exactly where to go.

Vel twisted, about to demand release, when a gravelly voice cut through the darkness and hissed, "Be quiet."

Ominis pulled her from the party through the fireplace; the violet flames tickling her exposed skin without burning. Her breath steadied, but a dozen questions and accusations came to the tip of her tongue, instantly sobering her. She waited until they would stop, yet he moved with purpose down the spiral staircase, deeper into the Slytherin dungeons, not slowing down in their descent. 

It reminded her of the urgency with which he dragged her out of Headmaster Black's office, where she had stumbled and tripped over her own feet to keep up. This time, he gifted her a gentler pace.

The walls, slick with condensation, pulsed with the occasional torchlight, but soon even those were left behind. He wordlessly cast a light to the tip of his wand, not stopping. Spiral stairs, carved from the very foundation of the castle, circled downward into what felt like nothingness. 

Velvette attempted to tug her hand free but his hold was relentless. She ground out her questions, "What is this, Ominis? Where are you taking me? Stop being so cryptic."

By the time they reached leveled ground, Vel felt the silence pressing in on her, thick and expectant. Then, they emerged into an open chamber which came to life upon their arrival. The room stretched before them in eerie stillness, growing as torches lit themselves along the parallel walls. 

When it stopped, Ominis led her to the very center of the chamber where a crest was etched into the cracked stone floor, shimmering dully beneath years of dust. It held an intricate design of coiled serpents and twisting filigree that had long since faded into the ruins of time.

Then Ominis reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

She froze.

That was her pendant.

The one she always carried in her bag. The one that should have been tucked safely away— yet here it was, in his hand. Before she could demand to know how it came to be in his possession, how and when and why he'd stolen it from her, he moved. 

Ominis knelt, slotting the pendant into the groove at the crest's center.

A low rumble shuddered beneath their feet. The air saturated with the weight of something old stirring awake. From the stone, a structure began to rise— cracks splintering outward as a basin emerged, its surface smooth despite the centuries it must have been buried. It hollowed as it ascended, forming a stone bowl atop a narrow pedestal.

Velvette inhaled sharply.

She knew what this was.

They had studied them earlier in the term, though she had never seen one in person.

A Pensieve.

As they stepped closer, a mirage of liquid pooled in the basin's shallow curve. Wisps of silver and blue curled and coiled, swirling like captured smoke.

Memories.

She swallowed, voice hushed as if she could scare away the wispy waters and all that knowledge would be lost. "What is this?"

Ominis remained silent for a moment, watching the liquid and not believing it for himself. "I was hoping you'd tell me. It's your necklace that awakened it."

"I didn't even know that my family may have ties to Rowena Ravenclaw, do you truly believe I knew about this?" A shriek found her tone in that last syllable and she bit the inside of her cheek, quieting herself.

"Fair point," he admitted, walking closer to the basin. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

What are we... To solidify his point, he gestured to the murky liquid and then at her. A secondary, unspoken question came when he perked one brow to ask, 'Or are you scared?'

Not oblivious to the challenge, she strode to the side of the stone basin before he even had the chance to formally approach it. They stood opposite each other, gazes flickering downward before locking once more, a silent agreement passing between them. As she leaned forward, tilting her face toward the shimmering surface, he followed suit, mirroring her movement with quiet precision. Their reflections wavered, distorted, before their noses breached the liquid and their faces followed, fully submerged.

There was no rush of water filling her nostrils, no drowning sensation like she briefly feared. Instead, a velvety darkness cocooned around her, weightless and consuming. Flickering images spiraled through her mind— memories not her own. The Pensieve pulled them deeper, and the present unraveled at the seams, bleeding into another reality— one steeped in warm candlelight, polished marble, and the haunting glow of a ballroom frozen in time.

A place that felt strangely, impossibly, familiar.

She'd been here before.

Not her body, merely her mind and soul. 

When she touched that book.

This time, she wasn't seeing through the unknown woman's eyes, but instead a silent specter; untethered and unseen. Only the memory played vividly now, whereas before there had been an absence of sound, now she could hear everything. The rich swell of symphony played by enchanted instruments in the corner of the ballroom, harmonizing without musicians to pull the strings or finger the keys. And voices. So many voices that it was hard to pick up on anything they said. 

The dancing enthralled her most of all; for these were skilled aristocrats and not some adolescent pretenders. Everyone moved with a practiced elegance. She watched, entranced, momentarily forgetting where she was— or more dangerously, when.

Then a voice pulled her into the mirage further until she was merely a bystander to what it wanted to show her and only what it wanted to show her...

"You mustn't waver now, Rowena." a man urged, his tone urgent despite the way he so casually leaned against the white marble column of the doorway. His face was shrouded in the dim light, features blurred by shadows cast from the towering candelabras lining the ballroom. He stood close —too close— to a woman, his breath stirring the fine, jeweled chains draped across her collarbone.

Rowena exhaled sharply, her grip tightening around the delicate goblet in her grasp.

"I am not wavering," she countered, the tension in her voice betrayed her restraint. "I simply find this tedious. This night is meant to be in my honor, yet here I am, dragged into dark corners like a thief."

"Honor is fleeting," the man murmured. "Legacy is eternal."

Rowena scoffed, tilting her head away, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack. The dim candlelight kissed the sharp angles of her face, highlighting the regal structure Vel had once worn when she had seen this memory in the library. But now, she was on the outside looking in, unable to feel the silk against her skin or the weight of the crown atop her head.

"Where do we hide it?" The man stepped closer; his persistence unwavering.

Rowena bristled. "Must we do this now?"

"Yes." He pushed into the light half a centimeter, until it hit his darkening irises and he stepped back to once more cling to the shadows. The man wished to be kept secret even in a memory.

"Then it shall be done before the night ends and, when I give you the key, you must swear on your magic to leave me be. To never drag me into this— this foolish endeavor again. I want no part in it." Though her words were fortified by an impenetrable strength, there was a flicker of emotion there. One of regret and longing.

The man hesitated. "As you wish."

Even the strings of the memory attempted to craft the man's sullen face and failed, the darkness clung to him stubbornly in the most unnatural way. It refused to reveal no more than the glint of something on his hand —a ring? Even that was soon hidden by shadows before any true details unveiled themselves.

"Mark my words—" Rowena whispered his name so venomously so not the sharpest ear could hear it. "If you ever breathe a word of this to another soul, I will ensure even the ghosts forget your name."

The memory wavered, flickering like a dying candle, and suddenly, Vel felt it pulling away, the scene slipping through her grasp. The ballroom, the shadowed man, even Rowena herself— gone in an instant.

Vel gasped as she was thrown back into reality, the Pensieve's wispy, azure liquid swirled wildly in its basin before settling into stillness. For now, she saw all it meant for them to see. She snapped her head up to see Ominis, who had yet to fully lift his head, his fingers still gripping the edge of the stone bowl. His brows furrowed in deep concentration.

When his pale eyes finally opened, they were unreadable.

"You saw it too." It wasn't a question.

Vel swallowed, throat dry. "I did."

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then, he finally turned toward her, head tilting ever so slightly. "Tell me, Vel—what do you know about Rowena Ravenclaw's key?"

"Why... why would I..." she stuttered over the words.

"Don't be coy, I know you have her journal. That book. You obsessed over it briefly, read it front to back more than once. And the same book was there, in that memory."

It was? 

Velvette replayed it again and again, not remembering a single scrap of parchment let alone a whole book, and she'd remember seeing it since Ominis was right in saying that she obsessed over it for a time. Now it sat in her bedside drawer, forgotten. Too worried to pick it up and restart that fixation. 

"Where did you see it?" When her face contorted into one of pure confusion, Ominis loosened his grip and stepped back.

"I had to see more than what it allowed me. It took great... effort, painfully so. But being able to see... it made me want to explore more, soak it in." He touched the hollow beneath his sockets and sighed, "It was beautiful."

The realization stabbed her chest. Not only had he seen the memory, but truly seen it. A gift she took for granted. Had he ever gazed into a Pensieve before and experienced the same?

Sensing her unspoken sentiment, he pulled away to assess the room, raising his wand in order to do so. "I've seen before, through glimpses of my aunt's recollections. It's rare for one to own a Pensieve and yet she's had one for as long as I can remember. From time to time, a birthday or a Christmas present, she'd pluck out a happy memory and share it with me so that I could see through her eyes."

Vel raked through her brain, trying to remember a time when Ominis spoke of his family in an endearing manner. She came up empty. Through all his impressions, he painted them as ugly and vile blood purists, striking down the mention of his last name with animosity. 

She leaned into the sudden reverence and asked, "What is she like? Your aunt?"

Ominis raised his shields again, much like the woman in the vision. "She saved me, not much more to say."

Decidedly, Vel left it at that. It'd been the most they talked in over a week and now was not the time. Especially not since...

"Why did you show me this now? We leave for break tomorrow." The words came out harsher than intended and she brushed it over with, "Now I'll just be thinking about this the entire time and waiting to get back here, with you."

"Ha, right." He soothed back his hair, which had fallen forward on its own accord. "I'll be leaving tonight, actually. There's a floo waiting for me in the Headmaster's office and, depending on how long that memory sucked us in for, I'm likely late."

"Oh..." Genuine disappoint etched into her features and inflicted her tone. 

He stepped around the Pensieve and picked up her necklace, giving it a strange look that she couldn't decipher before holding it out for her. She reached out her palm and he slowly placed it down, the black pendant hit her skin first and then the chain twirled around it. It felt heavier now, knowing how important it was. 

Chapter 20

"You'll write? Yes, you'll write." Meredith muttered in her ear for the fifth time, asking and then reaffirming it all in the same breath. How she leaned into her was odd, for she was halfway from being pulled away. Clarissa always had a hand on her now. Whether it was Meredith's robes, interwoven fingers, or unruly hair.

Clarissa groaned, "Come on, love, we really must be going. My family won't wait forever."

Vel had successfully played matchmaker, so much so that her friends were spending the holidays between both of their families. They had argued about it numerous times and then made up with passionate fits of declarations, to the point where Vel tuned out whenever they started on the topic of where to spend the holidays. Until they settled on compromise. 

She allowed herself one last indulgence in the warmth of her friends, tucking the moment away like a pressed flower between the pages of a book. Meredith clung to her, unwilling to let go even as Clarissa gently pried her free with a knowing sigh.

"Yes, yes I know you'll write." Meredith insisted again, her voice muffled against Vel's shoulder. 

Vel huffed a soft laugh, "I'll write," she promised. "And you'll tell me all about Clarissa's undoubtedly extravagant family traditions."

Clarissa rolled her eyes but smirked. "Oh, don't encourage her. She'll document everything like a bloody historian."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Meredith tersely let go, giving her best friend's hand one final squeeze. 

The three of them stood at the grand vestibule, where the last remaining students milled about, wrapped in winter cloaks, trunks hovering at their sides, waiting for their carriages or notice of an available floo to take them home. 

"Have a Merry Christmas, Vel," Clarissa said, tugging Meredith toward the entrance hall where a carriage awaited them.

Velvette nodded and returned the pleasantries, forcing a smile as she watched them disappear into the flurry of students. It wasn't until she turned back that she noticed a shadow waiting just beyond, watching her from the stairs. 

Professor Hawthorne stood halfway down the steps, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his expression unreadable. And when she turned and noticed him, he continued his approach.

"Miss Nightingale," he greeted, voice smooth as silk. "I'll be escorting you to your family's estate, your uncle sends his apologies. The carriage awaits."

Her stomach twisted at the confirmation. She hadn't seen her family's home in years— hadn't wanted to. It was a place frozen in the past and she wished to keep buried. Yet, there was no avoiding it now. An agreement had been made without her consent, on behalf of her parents, and she had to follow it through... For their sake.

She adjusted the strap of her satchel, squaring her shoulders. "Of course, Professor."

Without another glance back, Vel followed him out, letting the doors of Hogwarts close behind her. He'd taken her lightly packed luggage and hauled it into the carriage pulled by distressing creatures. 

Creatures she could now see.

Her heart hammered as she attempted to put up a mask of indifference. If Hawthrone knew she could see them, he might suspect something. She managed to enter the carriage without looking at the thestrals a second time. Horrific creatures that they were; skeletal horses with thinly stretched black skin. 

She pushed the image of them to the foreground of her thoughts as the vehicle lunged forward abruptly and set them on their course; every gallop and prance pulling them further from the castle that became a second home in those short months. 

Not much was uncovered regarding the two mysterious deaths in the Forbidden Forest. Nothing that tied her and Ominis to the scene. It all but became forgotten in her mind until today. Until seeing those foreboding thestrals shook her to her core, reminding her of what transpired. 

Hawthrone broke out into some sort of lecture halfway through the journey. They bobbed along the uneven path and the silence she prayed for turned into a lesson, of sorts. He played off the argument between himself and Ominis rather smoothly, she had to give him credit. Still, she harbored resentment. 

Every nod to his open-ended questions or 'hmm' and 'ahh' were forced. He noticed such after asking what her favorite class has been, and she responded with, 'hmm', while still looking out the window.

"You aren't listening to me, are you?"

From across her in the enclosed cabin, he sat back and splayed his legs apart to get comfortable. Forgetting that he was her senior, she let her eye wander and the blush that formed was merely internal and not surface level. His warm-toned skin only paled slightly in the chilly months, somehow retaining its vibrancy. He kept fit even with a busy schedule; between holding lectures and grading papers. 

"N-no, I'm not. I'm sorry."

"Hah, it seems Gaunt got to you first," he remarked, the tartness not concealed. 

She tasted the contempt on the air, both pungent and potent. If she bottled it, it'd be green and writhing. It made her press back in her cushioned seat and assess him once more, this time with a new outlook. 

A muscle in his jaw ticked, barely perceptible, but she caught it. His long fingers tapped against the armrest in an absent rhythm, though there was nothing casual about the way he regarded her now— studying her in turn, as if peeling back her layers to see what remained beneath Gaunt's touch.

Professor Hawthorne was not a careless man. The way he leaned slightly forward, his weight braced on one forearm, spoke of someone accustomed to control— but prone to lapses. His nose, straight and refined, flared as he exhaled. His hair, usually well-kept, had a stray lock that had fallen over his brow, disrupting his usual poise.

She wet her lips before speaking, suddenly aware that she hadn't took a sip of liquid that morning. "You disapprove," she noted carefully. Not a question... an observation.

"Perceptive as always," he leaned back with a roll of his eyes. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."

To make light of things, she chuckled. "Oh, I'm holding you to that. I better see those points reflected when we get back to school."

"Miss Nightingale..." Scrutinizing, hazel orbs met hers in earnest and implored, dropping all formalities, "Velvette, I had no intent to corner you like this. Still, given the opportunity, I must voice my concerns. The Gaunt family will do nothing but exploit you and your talents. Ominis alone may be oblivious to it, but that does not mean the extent of your relationship will not lead down that road. When his family convinces him, he'll follow blindly. Excuse my choice of verbiage."

When she ignored him altogether, he ground his teeth in blatant frustration and declared, "You'll see. Soon enough, you'll see. Your family will recount their own grievances with the Gaunt family and you'll—"

"Maybe if my family wasn't so bloody secretive, I would be able to make my own, educated decisions!" Vel screamed in the thin space between them, reaching her breaking point. "Maybe— oh, I don't know, I'd go into Hogwarts with all the knowledge of my ancestry and be able to discern what friends to pick. Which bloodlines would benefit me most. But I'm not my family and their ideals matter not!"

Hawthrone moved to speak —to reason— and she cut him off. "No, do not defend them. I don't care if you and my uncle were best friends since the beginning of time, you do not know me. I'm not them. And if you cannot separate the two, then treat me only as a student from here on out. Or do you stick your greasy fingers into everyone's affairs?"

When her accusations landed, he recoiled. Truly offended. The mask he wore as an instructor crumbled worse than the muffin she ate for breakfast. Its crumbs could easily be picked up to reconstruct him, and still he hesitated. 

"Is that what you think of me?" Solemn, grave, was his inquiry. 

All at once, her hatred dissolved. "No... not really. I'm mad at my uncle, displeased with my parents, more so with my grandmother... She should have met with me before starting school. Had all the chances to. Still I— I'm partially to blame for ignoring my birthright. Being born with magic was a blessing and a curse."

And, all at once, her past rushed forth to haunt her. An overflowing bathtub. Ice cream. Velvet cushions. Distractions that never ceased. Flashbacks to a whistling kettle. A necklace that didn't quite fit her. Forced laughter. Someone hugging her—suddenly, too many people hugging her for reasons she wasn't sure. 

"Velvette?" A voice tugged at the edges of her remembrance. Mentally shaking her from the bombardment of things she'd rather forget. Hawthrone sat in front of her, very concerned. "Where did you go just then?"

"Nowhere, I—"

"I heard about your mother—"

"She's fine—"

"Yes, but still—"

Velvette clawed her hair, "Just stop, stop! Don't pretend you know me. Fine, you know my uncle and probably the rest of my family. But not me or my parents, no one does!" It's why they've spent their lives in the muggle world, as far from magic they could possibly be.

Hawthrone paled. "Yes... you are right. My apologies."

The carriage came to a rolling stop. One in which two things were made certain. The first, being that they arrived to their destination. And the second, being that her Professor was not stepping out. She left him, with some mumbled testament to have a happy holiday, and fetched her luggage from the back of the carriage on her own. 

The imposing gates of Elidah Nightingale's estate stood between her and the place that had always felt more like a mausoleum than a home. Velvette could feel the heavy weight of nostalgia pressing against her chest, its familiar ache more piercing than the frigid chill of December. As the ornate, wrought-iron gates creaked open, she saw the silhouette of her Aunt Mags, her long coat billowing around her. She was running. 

"Oh, my dear," her aunt whimpered, her voice warm and laced with tenderness that made Vel feel like a child. "I'm so happy to see you."

When they at last embraced, her aunt placed a frenzy of kisses into her hair and hugged her tighter than anyone ever had. The gravel drive crunched beneath their feet as they struggled to balance the hug. The estate loomed over them like an old ghost, its chiseled stone walls draped in ivy, its many windows dark and unwelcoming.

The carriage trudged away and her aunt pulled her towards the home, luggage dragging behind in tow. Polished wood floors, brass fixtures, and finely crafted tapestries greeted her immediately. All familiar and still foreign. Each detail a reminder of the legacy that shaped her. Treasures, relics of a family whose wealth had long existed, stood in every corner, displayed proudly as if to prove something to the passing millennia. 

"Come on," Magdalain urged, her voice now softer, as though understanding Vel's reluctance. "It's just like when you were a child, isn't it? I hope you grow to love it in time... I know it's a lot to get reacquainted with. Tea will be at half noon, you have until then to settle in your room. Undisturbed." 

When her aunt winked at her to break the tension, she offered a smile back even though the lingering apprehension remained. Vel's gaze wandered as she was showed to room, where she'd be sleeping. Every corner of this place whispered things she'd rather forget. Everything seemed a little too perfect, a little too manufactured.

They moved deeper into the mansion in relative silence; down long corridors lined with family heirlooms and tarnished silver. Aunt Mags asked about school, asked about friends, and avoided any deeper conversation. Meaning to leave that until later. Until...

"I was sorted into Ravenclaw, of course, you already knew I would be. Must be that family legacy I keep hearing about." Velvette shot out, no preempt needed.

Mags made to answer, and then snapped her mouth shut, smiling in place of remorse. "Yes, well... I look forward to hearing all about to over tea."

The kettle whistled then on cue, its shrill cry filling the silence of the house, and Velvette felt it—the unmistakable sense of suffocation, the reminder that here, in this house, she was nothing more than a piece in a game she never wanted to play. 

"Vel..." Aunt Mag's voice broke through her reverie, but it was too late. The sound of the kettle reached its peak, and with it, came the very thing Vel sought to avoid during her stay here.

Having reached the door to what Vel assumed would be her bedroom, she snuck behind it and gave the lame excuse of needing a nap after the long journey before closing it promptly.

It hit her once the door creaked shut that she'd spent the night here before, in this very room. It hadn't changed much in the years since she last stepped inside, every inch of it still suffocating. Back then she'd been abandoned for the night— dropped off by her father at the tender age of six without explanation.

The maroon velvet curtains, draped over tall windows, were drawn shut, bathing the space in artificial light provided by lit lanterns on the bedside tables. It made her forget the time, and she stifled a yawn while eyeing the bed yearningly. The black tufted bedspread was different, updated through the years. An ornate rug hid most of the wooden flooring beneath it, only visible on the very edges of the vast room. 

It all forced her to relive her past.

She shifted her gaze, drawn to the small reading nook tucked away by the far wall. The worn armchair sat waiting for someone to fill it. Two bookshelves were cornered behind it, complete with a haphazard collection of heirlooms and dusty books. 

And then, with a faint, cruel hiss, the kettle whistled down the halls. An all-day occurrence here; where she pitied the teapot for having to work as hard as it did. 

Tea... easy enough, she assured herself.

***

Nothing about afternoon tea came easy. One had to sit a certain way, hold their teacup a certain way, and even dot the crumbs off the corner of their mouth in a manner deemed acceptable. All the training she once endured came rushing back the moment she took her seat on the velvet loveseat beside Aunt Mags. 

Deep eggplant tones covered the tearoom; it's apparent theme.

Shades of rich purple —a color of opulence— as her grandmother once told her. A symbol of wealth, intellect, and noble blood. 

Even the white porcelain teacups bore delicate lilac accents.

Elidah Nightingale had not changed. Regal in posture, untouched by time's wear, she sat at the head of the setting with an earned air of importance. Even the way she stirred her tea —slow, deliberate, never allowing the spoon to clink against the delicate china— spoke of discipline. 

The Nightingale lineage ran deep, its mark unmistakable. Magdalain and Finneas bore an uncanny resemblance to their mother, inheriting her sharp features and black hair. Whereas Velvette's father, Landon, had taken after his father, or so she'd been told. And though Vel had always wished to favor her mother's features, there was no denying the familial ties binding her to the two women before her— etched in their shared bone structure, the shape of their eyes, even the point of their shoulders.

Now the matriarch in front of her had streaks of grey in her hair and fine lines on her forehead, the extent of her aging. 

"I do hope you're eating enough at that school of yours," her grandmother said, voice too smooth, like silk stretched tight. She placed a single sugar cube into her tea, watching it dissolve with measured interest. "You look thinner than I remember."

Velvette smiled politely and reached for a lemon biscuit from the silver tray. It was easier to put something in her mouth than respond to comments like that.

"She's grown into herself, haven't you, Velvette?  And besides, girls aren't meant to keep those chubby baby cheeks forever, though that would be just doll." Aunt Mags said, topping off her tea with a little less precision than her mother. The way she came to her defense was not lost on Vel, who silently thanked her. 

Elidah made a soft noise of neither agreement nor disagreement, moving on by mentioning, "That reminds me, it's been too long since I've seen your mother. Adelaide hasn't visited for tea, since... Well, since the accident. Next time you visit, for a holiday or other special occasion, I'd love for her to come."

Before Vel could respond, Magdalain filled the sensitive void with stories of family members that Vel hardly remembered, flitting from one topic to the next like a bird too restless to land. Every now and then, her grandmother would offer a sharp observation, a question laden with subtext, but nothing overtly hostile. It made Vel relax into the cushion, for once finding comfort in the upholstery that was her namesake.

Although she bit her tongue more times than she cared to count, she played the role well— the dutiful granddaughter who listened and sipped her tea at the right moments. But her mind had not settled. Not since she stepped foot in this house.

It'd been mere hours and the burning question that grew more unbearable with each passing minute, kindled by the hot tea, threatened to burst. And then, as her aunt prattled on about some distant cousin's engagement, she could no longer keep the words from spilling out.

"Are we related to Rowena Ravenclaw?"

The room went silent. The kind of silence that fell like a lead curtain, smothering all warmth in its wake. Elidah's cup remained mid sip against her lips, and those eyes —so like her own, yet so much wiser— lifted to meet Velvette's. Aunt Mags, who had been reaching for a lemon tart, hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the tray before retracting.

For a long moment, the only sound was the slow ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Then, Elidah placed her cup down with precision, folding her hands atop her lap.

"Why do you ask?"

And suddenly Velvette knew, with bone-deep certainty, that whatever tea had been poured, whatever sweetness had graced the table, was now entirely forgotten.

 

Chapter 21

Two knocks on the open door startled all three women. 

Then, in strolled her Uncle Finneas, wearing his usual dress coat and dashing smile. He provided a needed interruption, for Vel readied to storm out of the room if her grandmother skirted around the question a moment longer. 

"Dear niece of mine, why are you still in your school robes? Did Mags really let you walk out of your room like this?" He strode in with a decanter of some amber liquid and a glass that had a large ball of ice clinking around it. With a glance to the clock, she confirmed that it was just before two in the afternoon... His usual start time when visiting his mother.

Magdalain assessed him with a smirk, "And no glass for me?"

"Unless you want to share..." Finneas retorted as he finished the hefty pour, having sat down in the armchair across from his mother. He took the drink in hand and sipped it casually. "Am I too late for the grueling questions you've no doubt assaulted my niece with or right on time?"

No subtly. 

It segued nicely for Vel, who raised the request once more. "Dear uncle of mine," she mocked his tone and sentiment. "Are we related to Rowena Ravenclaw? These two are being awfully cheeky on the matter."

"Cheeky?" Both her aunt and grandmother shrilled.

Finneas met her eye with wild amusement, "You don't say?"

"Mm, and it's starting to get old. These rumors are interfering with my education, which you all have pushed for. If it were up to my parents, I'd be attending school back in Essex, far from all things magical. Yet the three of you nagged and nagged for years on end until... Here we are. I deserve to know what other students seem to already."

Finneas gulped the rest of his drink back, greedily. When he placed it on the oval end table next to him, he muttered, "Looks like no one is coming to my rescue, must I be the one to tell her all this, mother?"

The older woman shrugged, and the gesture didn't fit her demeanor. Still, it was all she could muster. "If you feel you must. I hoped to do so after graduation."

Velvette wanted to mention how unfair it'd be to make her wait that long, but she bit her tongue and allowed the smoke to clear.

"For all your wonder, yes, we have blood ties that lead back to Rowena Ravenclaw. Many generations separate us, but directly and not simply through marriage... We share a bloodline." Finneas divulged, getting the gist of it out of the way. "We had reasons for not telling you sooner, the prominent one being that we didn't want it to get to your head. It's a secret our family has long hidden, since..."

"Since Rowena had an illegitimate heir." Magdalain cut in, exasperated. "Really, brother. It's not that crass, it happens more and more each decade."

"It makes it tricky to trace, which makes blood purity..." he shook his hand in the open air, tilting it back and forth. "All the more trickier to prove. Regardless," he dropped his hand and reached for the decanter. "It's not something our family boasts. Not that I care. It mostly mattered to my father and," he pointed his glass forward, at his mother. "That one."

"That one." Elidah scoffed.

Finneas ignored her and continued, "Some of Rowena's descendants had a rare kind of magical ability. It trickled down into our family and now, only two remain with the gift. Though... you began showing signs at a much earlier age. That talent of yours manifested at the age of two, I know your parents don't talk about it much. So allow me to tell you that it isn't a curse. It is a gift. One that will shape itself in time to be..."

"An asset," Mags filled in the blank for him. "Once you have control over it, you'll see how useful it can be for the wizarding world. It'll grant you more openings into the ministry than you know what to do with, if that's where you see yourself next year."

"And if not," Finneas ground his teeth, irritation peeking through his composure. "Then you can always walk away from this world and return to Essex, just with mastery of this gift. I know your parents want you to wait before making such a decision until the summer. Adelaide would have my head if you chose now."

"Is there..." Vel struggled to find the right thing to say now that everything was out in the open. She wanted to ask for proof and simultaneously didn't want to be rude. "Can I process this in my room? I need time."

"Again, no choices need to be made before summer." Her uncle reminded, shooting glares at his sister and mother to say no more on the matter. "If you need time to 'process', then by all means feel free. Please understand that we hid this for your sake."

And for yours.

She tucked that comment down into the cavities of her chest and stood from the loveseat, politely excusing herself to all parties. The silent walk to her chambers was recognizable only by the portraits and timeless artifacts she passed. When her shaky hand found her doorhandle, she twisted and pushed with more force than necessary. She stumbled into the expressionless void, slammed the door behind her, threw herself onto the comforter, and rolled until the blankets enveloped her.

Tucked into oblivion, she allowed her emotions to get the better of her and she cried. The comforter immediately soaking up the tears as if they never fell. She cried about missing her parents. She cried about the lies. She cried about spending the holidays with practiced smiles. Any wetness on her cheeks met the thick fabric and it made her sob harder, needing proof of her misery.

Then, a realization hit her and she shot up, still under the weighted covers. To anyone on the outside, she looked ridiculous. On the inside of her manufactured, colorless abyss, she found thinking came easier. 

"Those liars." She seethed into nothingness. No one around to hear or witness her blind rage. "Those liars! They did it again!"

She pulled on the blankets, attempting to unravel herself so that she could march back in there and—

She stopped struggling. And what?

If she informed them that she already knew most of what they told her, she'd have to confess from whom she got such information. Any avoidance of the truth and her uncle would consult his friend, Hawthrone, and Ominis would be discovered. After he made such an argument to Hawthrone and Garlick that her family needed to be the ones to tell her.

Once again, they danced around the truth and provided only what benefited them.

A tale as old as time.

Something she should have come to expect, with them. Lies, half-truths, anything to cover up a scandal. For once, many lifetimes ago, she sat in this very bed as they told her whatever they needed to— to appease her young, troubled soul. They stuck to a script. Clung to the perception of reality that suited their narrative. 

It had been the mention of choosing that made Velvette abruptly leave the drawing room. It made her stomach turn and flip and contort awfully. With no desire to get a second taste of her favorite sweet treats, she left the room to avoid disaster. Because throwing up all over her grandmother's tea table would certainly class as a disaster.

She dropped back down onto the bed, still cocooned in the comforter, and laughed. Delighting in the scenes her imagination crafted about ruining teatime. Little air could crawl into the mess of blankets, but she managed to steady her nerves with long, exaggerated breaths. 

It was there where she fell asleep, soundly, for too short a time. With a lingering thought of: What will they serve for dinner?

***

Mags cooked a feast; enough to fill an entire dining table in the Great Hall. 

It meant guests were expected at any time, which she had been briefed on upon her arrival. Such were the holidays— open doors meant an open guest list. Her aunt dallied in the kitchen, at first giving reign to the house elves to craft dinner before she excused herself to assist them. 

When she returned at the top of the hour, people began to arrive. Strangers who, from what Vel assumed, were from other pureblood families. And here she hoped to get her uncle alone to gruel him for answers...

"Velvette, look sharp." Finneas winked at her before opening the door for the second time in five minutes. She bristled, expecting him to make some snide comment on her attire.

She attempted a different approach to her grandmother, this evening. Picking an outfit she'd no doubt approve of. 

Elegant dress robes adorned her figure, the fabric flowing like ink spilled over parchment. Midnight-black velvet that cinched at the waist with an intricately woven silver clasp shaped like an interlocking raven. The high collar framed her throat regally, softened only by a blue undershirt peeking through the top and at her arms. It was an outfit she picked out before attending Hogwarts, at a time when she never doubted what house she'd be sorted into.

A Ravenclaw, at heart, from the beginning of time.

The robe fit more like a cape, with a subtle train that followed her movements, just enough to command presence without dragging impractically. Tonight, she played the part they craved her to— at least on the surface.

That was until a familiar face waltzed through the front door and began greeting all in the main gathering space, and all well-mannered inhibitions flew out the window.

"Professor," she interrupted him coldly as he shook hands with everyone within arm's reach. He stopped, looking down at her sideways. "It's been... what, eight hours? Couldn't bear to stay away?"

"Seven. Perhaps I should adjust the lesson when we return from break to include standard mathematics?" The facetious remark landed with intent to scold, and she brushed it aside, unperturbed.

"That may cause some discernment amongst my peers if the curriculum shifted so, yet I suppose any change could be an improvement to the current lectures." Vel met his challenge, head on. 

Hawthrone shook his topcoat off, hanging it on the stand before he approached her with a measured gait. "We are not at Hogwarts, Miss Nightingale. Therefore, your respect for me can very well start and end at the gates. I only wish to know one thing," he bent down to whisper, "Has Ominis already poisoned you to the people who genuinely care for your safety?"

She took a half-step back, "How dare you. Ominis, he—"

"Ominis?" He uncle quipped, unconcerned with Hawthrone's proximity to his niece as he sipped some more firewhiskey. "Is that the Gaunt boy? The one, you know," he waved a hand in front of his eyes, "who can't see?"

"Blind, uncle. The word is blind." If agitation had a breaking point, she neared it. 

"Hush, Vel. I meant no offense. If you play your cards right, I bet I can convince mother to allow you one drink. So, what will it be? Wine? Butterbeer?" Finneas sought to lighten the mood, seemingly. Even if he hadn't overheard her qualms with her Professor, he sensed the tension.

"Firewhiskey, two fingers." As an afterthought, she tacked on, "Please and thank you."

"Right cards indeed..." he wiggled his brows and raised his glass. Then he addressed Hawthrone, "And for you, my friend?"

"Same as her," Hawthrone jut a finger in her direction, backing off as he did so to not appear hostile. "Though now I'm curious to see how this ends."

Both Nightingales chose to ignore his implication, as the high pitched chime of the dinner bell sliced through the room, summoning everyone to the dining hall. People began filtering in, their murmured conversations and laughter muting to a low hum as they found their predetermined seats. 

The dining table stretched long and imposing, adorned with an extravagant feast— silver platters heaped with roasted meats glistening under candlelight, vibrant vegetables steaming beside golden-crusted pies, and goblets of cut crystal catching the flickering glow of the chandelier above. Their delicate surfaces refracted the light, scattering prismatic fragments across the pristine linen.

In truth, it put the feasts back at Hogwarts to shame and Vel wished to tell her aunt so, but the woman had already taken her seat. Whereas Vel lingered near the doorway, her eyes scanning the table with apprehension, waiting to see which seat would remain unclaimed. Only to soon realize —to her great dismay— that the only available spot was directly beside Professor Hawthrone. Though she inwardly noted that it placed her at the furthest end of the table from her grandmother, whose piercing gaze she had been avoiding all evening.

Sliding into the chair, Vel kept her movements small and unobtrusive, hoping to blend into the background. She picked delicately at her plate, as the conversations around her flowed like a river, without touching her ears. The topics were predictable— mundane updates about the comings and goings of pureblood families, thinly veiled gossip about who had fallen out of favor, and the occasional jab at someone not present to defend themselves. 

Perhaps these adults were not so different from her own peers, who indulged in gossip as second nature. A learned trait from their parents, no doubt. She hadn't caught a single name all evening, despite having many thrown at her. None of them sounded strikingly familiar, so she assumed none of them had children Vel's age at Hogwarts. Even still, she was lousy when it came to names, so there could be a parent of a classmate in her midst.

As the final course was cleared and the last drops of wine were sipped, the atmosphere began to shift. The formal rigidity of dinner gave way to a more relaxed air as guests were invited to retire to the foyer for drinks and dessert. With the grand fireplace crackling warmly, glasses of amber firewhiskey were passed around to accompany the ambiance. Laughter grew louder, and the conversations turned lighter, though no less calculated.

One by one, the guests began to trickle out, their farewells echoing as they disappeared into the night. Some apparated away, others had a carriage awaiting them, and seldom few took leave via the floo network. 

Yet, Hawthrone and her uncle remained, their presence anchored in the lounge by the steady pour of firewhiskey. The liquid caught the firelight as it splashed into their glasses time after time, and they grew more animated; reminding Vel that they'd been friends since first years. 

Perhaps it was the way the fire danced in Hawthrone's eyes, or the way her uncle's laughter seemed to carry a story she wasn't yet privy to. Whatever it was, she couldn't bring herself to leave— not yet. The night felt unfinished, something she needed just out of reach.

"You played your cards right," Finneas praised her suddenly and coaxed her over by pouring her a glass of firewhiskey, dangling it for her to come get. When she palmed the glass, he pulled it back half an inch and reminded her, "Just one. I'm a man of my word, but I will not carry your drunk arse all the way to the other end of this bloody palace."

Before, she'd been lingering on an armchair near the entrance of the foyer, a silent observer, and now she chose to plop down in one of the seats surrounding the fireplace, utterly exhausted. She hardly spoke a word all evening, a fact that made her grandmother happy. If complacency is what she wanted, then Velvette could oblige. Even her uncle played his part until the last guest dispersed, not counting his lifelong friend as a guest.

"Say, Harlan, do you still think your broom is tucked away in the shed out back?"

Hawthrone and Vel sat up straight and chastised the drunk fool.

"No!" Hawthrone bit.

"Absolutely not!" Vel said at the same time.

All three of them broke out into sudden laughter and her uncle tipped back in his chair until the footing inched off the ground enough for it to fall back. Which only made them laugh more. Harlan picked him up, but dropped him a few times when his friend fought against him, too drunk to care. 

How had they gotten this... The decanter sat on the end table, nearly empty, and she realized all too late how gone they were. 

"Harlan! Harlan, don't you dare leave me here!" Finneas shouted at the man, who was now backing away, bent over in pain from laughing. 

Finneas' arms splayed on the ground, his feet stuck up in the air, sitting on the chair still. He huffed, aggravated and unable to right himself, looking like an overturned turtle. When his pleas for help got too loud, Vel and Harlan rushed to pick him up, a sudden realization that Elidah may hear them and end their fun.

"Merlin, you're heavy." Harlan grunted as he pulled hard on his friend's arm, nearly ripping it from its socket. When they righted him, her uncle dipped his head forward to stop the world from spinning. "Now look who's dragging your drunk arse around."

"Ugh," Finneas groaned. "Go to your room, Vel. You shouldn't see this. No one should."

They ignored him altogether and sat back down, Velvette stealing the chance to refill her crystal glass with the rest of the firewhiskey left in the bottle. If anything, she was doing them a favor by drinking the last of it. This way they would live to see tomorrow.

"So, Vel— Miss Nightingale," Harlan leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass in front of his eye, closing the other to peer at her through the crystal. "About that boy."

"What about him?" She bristled in an instant.

"I went to school with his father, he was a bit older. A fifth year by the time I first entered the front gates of Hogwarts. Your uncle and I found each other after the sorting ceremony and became fast friends. But your uncle... Well, Finneas loved confrontation. Found some kind of sick joy in pushing someone's buttons that I never cared for. And one day, he set his eyes on Cornelius Gaunt." Harlan took a long, steady sip of his drink before holding the glass close to his chest— an anchor. His stare wavered between the flickering flames and his nearly passed out friend, who barely heard a word of the story. "It was our third year, an Ominis's father and Finneas loved to hate one another. Some teased them for flirting, but I knew better."

The image of Meredith and Clarissa taunting each other flashed in Vel's mind, knowing her Professor spoke of something vastly different from their borderline flirtatious jabs and taunts. 

"You see, Cornelius was a seventh year by then and vastly skilled in the Dark Arts, per his family's legacy as Slytherin heirs. He'd been taught..." Harlan shook his head, needing another sip of his drink for encouragement. "Seventh years are told about the Unforgivable Curses. It's something we shall cover later in the year, as well. But Cornelius learned them before even coming to Hogwarts. He'd been taught, trained, and had practice using such deplorable spells."

"Pissed my pants, I did." Finneas hiccupped, fiddling with his empty glass. He chose then to become self-aware and insert a detail of the story that hadn't arose yet. 

Harlan winced. "Yes... yes, you did. But I'm not there yet. I suppose you fast tracked my storytelling, something Velvette must be grateful for."

Another hiccup erupted from her uncle. "Pissed em'!"

She kept quiet, wanting desperately for the end of the tale. 

The Professor went on, telling the story as though it were a lecture. One with a warning buried in its depths. "So, Cornelius and your uncle found themselves in the courtyard one day, right after Transfiguration lessons. And Finneas here decides it'd be a swell idea to turn Cornelius into the lesson itself. He pulled out his wand, ready to transform him into some type of rodent, I'm sure, and Cornelius was quicker. He fell back on one of his favorite spells... The Cruciatus curse."

Velvette wanted to ask, although she knew that's where the story was headed so she thinned her lips and didn't interrupt.

Harlan rubbed his face, clearly disturbed. "It was awful. To watch someone under that curse. Especially a friend. You must understand, it's a torture beyond comprehension. Only those who have been under the curse can describe its cruel magic."

At that, her uncle shuddered and sunk into his chair further. 

"And despite all the screams— from your uncle and everyone around— Cornelius smiled. The sick freak enjoyed it. It wasn't until a Professor intervened that he finally stopped, and by then it was too late..." He flushed at the memory and Vel assumed this was the point when her uncle pissed himself. In front of his classmates, his friends, and his supposed enemy. "Finneas dropped out... what was it, two weeks after?"

"Three!" Finneas grunted. He'd sunk so low in the armchair that his chin touched his chest and his legs were stretched to the carpeted floor, barely holding him afloat. 

"Three..." Harlan went somewhere far away then, staring past the crackling fire, absorbed by the memory. "I missed him so much, and still I understood. He wasn't my brother, he had his own back home. And your father loved him, I was no match for such a bond. Although..." His eyes flickered to her uncle mischievously, "I did get revenge. When his son was in my class many years later, I was a new Professor and assigned the DADA position despite inexperience. The Headmaster at the time saw something in me that I still don't see in myself."

She paled. "Ominis?"

"Heavens no! That boy is too detached from his family's illicit affairs. No, no... On his oldest son, Marvolo Gaunt. He also took a liking to the Unforgivable curses. He looked too similar to his father for me to differentiate the two, so when it came time to teach the Cruciatus curse, I called him forth for a demonstration."

"You did not!" Vel gasped, hand to her mouth to hide the creeping upturn of her lips.

Harlan nodded, a tad ashamed. "It was brief, if that helps. And I'd never do it again to any other student, no matter what their family name was. When I hear the name Gaunt... I associate it to losing my best friend."

The confession lingered in the warm air of the parlor. By now, her uncle had fallen asleep— passed out of the chair but steadily inching down onto the ground, unable to hold himself up in his deep slumber. They looked at him and decided that his condition could wait a few more minutes.

"Ominis is different, I can assure you." Velvette swore to the silence.

"I know..." Harlan swirled his drink in hand and sighed, "It doesn't make me want to protect you any less. Especially after your aunt fell victim to that sinister family's whims."

"My aunt?" Her nose crinkled. "What did they do to her?"

"That's her story to tell, for I was not involved in any manner." He finished his drink and it aside with a complacent hum. "So, care to help me drag your uncle's arse to his room?"

 

Notes:

Just a heads up, this story is cross-posted on Wattpad but I update them at the same time. It's gotten to the point where I'm almost caught up with the chapters I've pre-written so now you're on real time. I do try to write every day but sometimes life gets in the way. If there ever comes a time where a long break is required, you'll be the first to know! (But I don't see that happening because I love this story).

If you see any mistakes, please comment!! Do not hesitate.

Chapter 22

Having survived —unscathed— the first day, Velvette steeled herself for day two. Since no guests were expected until later that evening, she dressed simply. A sweater and fitted trousers should do, although her grandmother would have something to say about it. 

"If only you knew!" Aunt Mags declared to the skies above, frustrated as she imitated her mother, "Did the gardener come today? Were the linens pressed? Has the silverware been polished?"

"You play her game so well, though." Velvette mused after listening to her aunt prattle on for twenty minutes about all the burden that came with being Elidah Nightingale's daughter.

"Pfft, like you can talk. I saw you last night, looking no more or less the spitting image of a perfectly complicit pureblood." Mags twisted around, walking backwards through the snow-dusted gardens, to admire her niece. "Can you at least admit that having a gardener in the winter is overkill?"

"I'll admit that all of it is overkill, just never to her face." Vel winked as she trotted alongside her aunt, who now turned to entwine their arms. 

The two all but skipped, arm in arm, along the cleared path. Each allowing themselves this moment of dropped falsities, a moment where they could be who they were in their core. It reminded Vel of her summers at her aunt's estate— one not as grand as this one, yet still decadent and refined all the same. Her aunt played her part well. Never dropping her shield except for in these fleeting moments where no prying eyes watched them.

Tea parties in her aunt's garden that turned into mud fights. Lunch in the kitchen that became food fights. And sleepovers that were sleepless nights in which they divulged their silly secrets.

Still, her aunt never told her about... "What is your opinion on the Gaunt family?"

The abrupt line of questioning led her aunt to falter in her next step, quickly making up for it by skipping in line beside her nosy niece. 

"Why do you ask?"

Vel shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Something that Hawthrone said to me last night. He mentioned you knowing the family and having some kind of grievance with them."

"And why do you care?" Mags saw right through the facade. 

Again, another half-hearted shrug bounced her shoulders up and down. "I attend classes with a Gaunt, I just want to know if I'm in any trouble."

Magdalain stopped walking then, a sullen and rather displeased look etched into her cheery face. "The Gaunts are a... complicated family, as I'm sure Harlan told you."

"He said as much." Vel stated, without going into detail.

"Did he tell you about my brother's encounter with them?" Mags chuckled darkly, not ready to reveal her own sordid past. Except when Vel nodded, solemnly, she knew her time came to fruition. "I suppose I was your age when the courtship began. When Corenlius declared himself at every twist and turn. It was after..." she swallowed her grief and muttered, "After what happened with Finneas. I suppose he told you all about that last eve?"

"Mhm," was all Velvette supplied.

"Then he failed to mention how kind Corenlius was, in his youth. I was a year younger than him, but he always made me feel special. Even in the summers, when so many contacts went cold, he was always there to brighten my spirits in these stale halls. Even after what transpired between Finneas and him, I tried to love him for who he was."

Velvette saw herself in her aunt, then. They both adored men who had done morally corrupt things. Even when Vel stayed up in the night, trying to reason with herself, a part of her knew that Ominis was capable of her wildest atrocities. She saw him admit to such. 

"What happened? Why did you..." Stop loving him? The words refused to leave her mouth.

Her aunt sighed, drawn into a recollection that she'd rather forget. "His family hated me, for reasons still unknown. He broke my heart one summer after we graduated. Said we were better suited as friends. And that my purpose... my purpose as his friend, had long expired."

"I don't understand, if he loved you..." Why did it end?

Magdalain braced herself before telling her impressionable niece the hard truth about love. "Velvette, not everyone ends up like your parents. Sometimes love is a struggle. It's a battle between two hearts that ultimately want different things. He broke my heart, life moves on." Mags plucked a stray bundle of weeds from hibernating vines, casting it to the ground with a look of disdain. "Sometimes people aren't meant to be together."

If her aunt believed this, she would have said so with more conviction. The lasting remark carried Velvette until dinner, where more guests arrived —different faces from the night prior— and she forced herself to dress in her best clothes and display the kindest of smiles, although insincere. The night landed her between Auntie Mags and Professor Hawthrone, both equally drunk and stuck in delusions of a childhood long past.

"You were abysmal at potions! Admit it, admit it now or I'll challenge you!" Magdalain roared, oblivious to way she spat overtop Vel's head and pressed into her to confront Harlan. 

Harlan produced a throaty laugh, one that revealed Mags may be right. "I will do nothing of the sort, little bird. I swore to your brother that I would never have a faceoff with you, no matter the circumstances. And some drinks and comfort food will not change that."

"Little bird?" Mags threw her head back and seethed into the open air, "I'm older than you! Stop calling me that!"

"Perhaps I will when you act your—"

A tapping at the window halted their tangent, alerting everyone in the parlor that an owl sought entry. It was late for such an occurrence, yet Mags got up from her seat to usher in the tired bird, offering it a treat as she took the letter. When she read over the heading, her eyes flittered to Vel's and then back down to the letterhead. 

"It's..." Mags swallowed. "It's from the Gaunt family, for you."

The letter was thrust in front of Vel with such force that she knew it had to be opened now. There'd be no waiting to open it in private or else her aunt would follow her around until she read it. She crept a finger beneath its folds and ripped it along the seam; breaking the seal to peel open the envelope and fetch the folded letter within. She unfolded it, skimmed it hastily, and then let it drop in her lap.

It wasn't from Ominis.

Vel's face whitened to the color of the parchment sitting in her lap. "It's a letter... an invitation. From Lenora Gaunt."

Both Harlan and Mags shot to their feet, vying to get their hands on the letter. They reached it at the same time and there was a brief struggle, one in which Mags held him under a piercing glare until he backed off. He released the parchment and held his hands up, surrendering.

"Well, I'll be damned. That harlot keeps finding ways to one up me." Her aunt's resentment, made evident by her sour tone, rolled off her in waves. It made everyone back up, even Finneas flinched. She crumbled the paper in her hand and chucked it into the fire, before she surprisingly declared, "You absolutely have to attend. I'll speak with mother, Finneas will be your—"

Finneas reeled to his feet. "No, I will most certainly not!"

"This is our niece we're talking about here, suck up your ego and—"

"I'll go." Harlan stated, tilting his whiskey glass forward. "I'll be Velvette's chaperone."

Sometime between last night's dinner, Harlan had dropped all formalities, no longer calling her by her surname. It still felt odd to have him address her like that, but she followed suit and began calling him by his first name, too. An oversight that would be rectified when they returned to Hogwarts.

"Very well, thank you, Harlan." Mags smoothed a hand over her form fitting dress, regarding him with a look of sincere gratitude. "Then it's settled, my dear. You'll attend their Christmas Eve ball and..." She raised her hand to the protest that shone in her niece's eye, dismissing it. "And you will do so with the grace and dignity of our family name. The Nightingales never shy from a challenge. Except your uncle, clearly."

While the siblings bickered back and forth —with Harlan doing what he could to minimize damage— Vel sat back in the armchair and watched as the last remnants of the letter became ash in the fireplace. 

A proper ball... With Ominis in attendance. 

An anxiousness manifested in her stomach; gripping at her heart and clouding her mind. Though it was overshadowed by excitement, and she succumbed to daydreams of all the things that may happen in just two days' time. 

***

Velvette made it through two more afternoon teas with her grandmother, two more days of strolling withered gardens with her aunt to escape the stuffy mansion, and two more nights of parties where the guest list rotated with faces she cared not to remember. Though, she should have for many were going to the Gaunt's Christmas Eve 'spectacular' and it would have been nice to find a friendly face once there.

"Stop fidgeting, my dear, you look radiant. And if any boys approach you for a dance, just run it past Harlan first. There are some shifty families attending this ball, or so I've been told. I wouldn't want your heart to be broken by some egotistical pureblood who only sought you out because of the Nightingale legacy."

Harlan snorted. "Oh, I don't think you'll have to worry about other boys dancing with Velvette. Not with—"

"Not with my chaperone present!" Vel shouted to interrupt him. In her short days here, she hadn't once brought up Ominis in front of her aunt. She decided it'd be better that way, given her family's history with the Gaunts. 

Magdalain shifted back to give the pair an incredulous look before ushering them out the door. Nothing got past her keen eye. But Vel was the picture of perfection, representing the Nightingale family admirably, so she let their awkward exchange slip past. 

Velvette's attire for the Gaunt gala radiated an ethereal allure— a harmonious blend of dark mystique and refined elegance. Her dress, a luxurious shade of indigo blue, molded her silhouette like a work of art, its satin fabric catching the light and sending ripples of gentle luminescence along every curve. Draped over this enchanting gown was a sheer black cape—a cascade of midnight that flowed with an almost liquid grace. It billowed softly behind her, just dusting the floor. Intricate beadwork of black gems were embroidered delicately into the fabric, scattering sparks of stardust with every subtle shift. 

At her collarbone, a silver clasp kept the cape in place upon her slender shoulders. And since she rarely had the occasion for jewelry, she took the opportunity to adorn her mother's onyx pendant, and the oval gem sat nicely upon her dress in the center of her chest. 

Her chaperone complimented the hue of her gown by matching his tie to the shade. Other than that, Harlan wore his standard black dress robes. Though they were polished this time around; fitted to him perfectly without a wrinkle in sight. 

He took her arm gently and began escorting her toward the carriage where Velvette climbed in; heart pounding as she accepted that this was happening. For the next thirty minutes, the ride stretched out in silence until they reached a cobblestone drive and turned onto it. Each jolt from the uneven stones amplified her unease, the clattering of the wheels a distant symphony that underscored her inner turmoil.

As twilight deepened, the Gaunt estate emerged at the end of the drive— a brooding mansion of gothic design that loomed like a dark omen against the fading light of the sun. Flickering windows were the only signs of life coming from the mansion, and if not for them she would have declared the building long abandoned. 

The carriage rolled to halt and Harlan put a steadying hand on her shoulder to keep her from falling forward. It was a polite gesture, one marred by his obligation as her protector this evening. They'd come to a stop, with carriages in front of them and behind on the circled path in front of the estate where ushers awaited to open carriage doors and guide them inside. 

Harlan stepped out first and turned for her, but she hesitated at the threshold. Was it too late to turn back? Without even thinking, she stepped out and the sound of her heels hitting the damp stone felt unnervingly loud. A monument to time stood before her, its aged stone and creeping ivy a monument to a lineage both majestic and melancholic.

Cold eyes were on her and whispers floated to her ears on the tempestuous winds. She steeled herself —leveling her head high upon her shoulders— and took Harlan's offered arm for support. They were led inside, though the hardened stares did not end there and only worsened once past the doorway. Worse than even her first week at Hogwarts.

"Ignore them," Harlan muttered, leading her through the estate with an air of familiarity that led her to assume he'd been privy to a gathering here before. He dragged them past two parlors, down a long stretch of hall, until they found themselves in the main ballroom. People were scattered all over the home, but he wanted the fully stocked bar. "One glass of merlot, and a champagne for the lady."

"Clever." Vel complimented his ability to make even the worst situations a touch bearable. She took the flute of bubbling effervescence and clinked his wine glass, "Cheers. To the worst form of social torture I could submit myself to."

"There's worst modes of torture, I can assure you." He tilted his glass at her before sipping it, the wine staining his lips to accentuate the cracks in them. Then, he paused and straightened, "Besides, you never know where tonight may end you."

After his grim warning, she tracked his stare and found what hardened his composure. 

Ominis's gaze locked onto her the moment he entered the estate. He fit the vision of refined wealth and quiet power that drew every eye without uttering a word, but his attention focused solely on her. Rather than the ostentatious flaunt of fashion, it was the way he carried himself —not solely his attire— that marked him as someone of importance.

In one hand, he cradled a single rose stem close to his chest. He approached them with determination set in his gait and people cleared a path, all fawning over the Gaunt heir as he passed. When he neared the bar in the corner of the ballroom, he flicked the wrist holding the rose and it began to change— the scarlet bloom deepening into a dark green. As if sealing the moment, he extended the enchanted flower toward Vel with deliberate elegance.

Ominis first addressed Harlan, never taking his gaze off Vel, and intoned, "May I steal her away?"

The question hung in the air —a challenge wrapped in charm— and left Velvette breathless. She realized that this was no ordinary encounter. It announced his intentions with her for all the room to witness. A declaration, of sorts.

"So long as you return her without a scratch, Gaunt." Harlan had set his wine glass down atop the bar, losing all desire to let his guard wane. "I hold grudges for a very long time, you see. Speaking of which, where are your parents this evening?"

Malice laced every spoken word and every unspoken word, equally so.

Ominis brushed over it with practiced poise. "They're occupied in the front parlor, why don't you grab a drink with them and catch up... for old time's sake?"

"Perhaps I will," her escort nodded to both of them, before sizing up Ominis with a glare. "And you'll stay in this room as I do. When I come back, you better not be out of sight." 

"You have my word, Professor." Though the twinkle in Ominis's cloudy gaze told a different story. 

Again, Harlan nodded to them before taking his leave to the front parlor. It'd purchase them enough time to catch up, and that's precisely what Ominis sought to do. When Vel visibly relaxed and took the proffered rose, he swept an arm behind her back and drew her in tight. All the move conveyed was lost on her as he spun them away from the bar and to the dance floor. The music graced her ears then, and she wondered if it had been playing all along. 

"My, you know how to make an entrance." Ominis said as they stepped into tune, matching the tempo of those around them. 

She remained caught in the afterglow of his arrival, momentarily untethered from her surroundings. So, when her response came, she stuttered, "Hm? O-oh, I— Come again?"

"Velvette," he leaned down to whisper for only her to hear. "I want you to leave the room, go down the hall to the right and up the stairs. Wait for me there, I won't be long behind you. Speak to no one along the way."

When he pulled back and sightlessly looked down at her, she hesitated. He mouthed the words, 'Go, now' and it roused her into action. She didn't glance behind again as she darted off the dance floor and left the room, taking a sharp right turn as Ominis instructed. The path was blocked by statuesque bodies who conversed in small huddles, only leaving a narrow path in the halls. She found the stairs and rushed up them, her sheer cape billowing behind her. Once there, she clung to the wall in an empty space between portraits that regarded her with great scrutiny. 

They all resembled Ominis is some way, and she sheepishly smiled at them just to be polite. The portraits gawked when he came up the stairs minutes later and pulled her behind him, not hesitating in his steadfast path that led them deeper into the mansion. 

She did not ask. She dare not speak.

When they arrived at a door not dissimilar to the rest and he palmed the knob, her heart hammered. It opened to a bedroom —his bedroom— and it reminded her vaguely of the Slytherin common room. What with its grandiose furniture and decor, shelves lined with ancient tomes, and even its own fireplace. Hints of emerald hues speckled the room here and there, though the primary color was black. 

Everything so neatly... in its rightful place.

She knew him to be a neat freak, yet never imagined it pertained to his own living quarters. Or had he picked up, already knowing he'd bring her here this evening?

The aroma of cedar lingered in the stiff air, underscored by a hint of... ginger? Or something eerily similar— a bold, pungent scent that wavered between warmth and citrus, laced with a peppery bite that burned if drawn in too deeply. If it was remnants of a cologne, he'd never worn it around her before.

Ominis walked her over to a mahogany chaise in front of the fireplace and, for the first time in days, she sat upon upholstery that wasn't velvet. The luxurious fabric felt silky under her hands, which she firmly planted on the cushion when he sat beside her. 

"We... we have to return to the party soon," she argued when he leaned in.

"We do," he breathed, letting his forehead rest on hers.

Vel blanked. "I missed—"

Ominis closed his eyes. "I missed—"

They spoke in unison, yet their voices felt hollow— mere echoes of what their bodies ached to express. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23

The moment their lips met, all sense of control unraveled. It wasn't soft, it wasn't careful— it was hunger; all tongue and desperation. Ominis grabbed at her like a man who never felt touch, his hands roaming, clutching, dragging her closer until there was nothing between them.

Velvette's fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard enough to elicit a guttural, nearly inhuman noise from deep in his throat. He responded in kind, his nails biting into her waist to tighten his hold before sliding lower, restraining her body against his. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue swept in, greedy and unrelenting. 

Wanton touches. Immoral and indulgent. Hovering the fine line of depravity and salvation.

He somehow managed to sneak a hand up to her neck, where he unclasped the cape and shifted it off her shoulders, giving him better access to her neck. He broke the connection at their lips, only to swoop his head down to suck on the sensitive tendon on front of her throat. His teeth raked against it and he trailed down to her collarbone, sucking in the flesh there until she cried out. 

All that ground her to the present, all that reminded her to remain in her body, was the way his hands explored her. Fingertips ghosted up her spine before digging in, his way of anchoring himself to her, afraid she may disappear the second he released her. Then he was in her face again, pulling back her hair in a tangled mess to force her to look at him.

"You made me angry that day..." he rasped against her wet lips. "That day in the library. You wouldn't let me in," he groaned, pushing his desperate hips into her arched form. "Let me in, Velvette. Please, let me in."

She barely had the chance to nod before he tilted her head, kissing her with a throaty groan that vibrated against her lips. A dull, sweet throb coiled low in her stomach, and she pressed into him, needing more, needing everything. When she did that, his jaw clenched and he started to tremble. 

It took his last ounce of restraint to pull back. Leaving her dazed— lips swollen and tingling from the brutal assault on her mouth.

"You—" He cut himself off with a shudder.

She swallowed, pulse roaring in her ears. 

"You started it," came her whimper; half-desperate, half-daring.

His entire body tensed as if waging a silent war with itself. "And if you make me forget myself any further, I may not stop."

Perhaps she didn't want him to stop.

She kept those words to herself, locking them away for later if her intent could not be declared by her actions. Instead, she arched into him again, rolling her hips upward as she gripped the front of his robes for leverage. And this time, she kissed him. 

Vel dragged his lower lip between her teeth and rolled it slow, before giving him back control and he snatched it ravenously. Ominis groaned curses in the brief moments their lips separated, and she sensed the urgency changing. The kiss morphing to something else entirely... A new tune began, a new dance.

He hitched one of her legs up and over his waist, and she swore when the seam along her dress split, making a slit in the side. He delighted in the access, saying so with his hand that ran up her bare leg until he reached her hipbone again. Firm, yet still mind-numbingly delicate, he massaged her there, rolling his palm over her hip. Her stomach tightened. 

They didn't stop there, no turning back now. 

He fumbled with the front of his dress robes, despising the button on his tailored undershirt. But the urge to be as equally bare and exposed hit him harder than a train, the sudden need to be on equal grounds as her. 

Ominis dropped his wand in the process and paid no mind, until—

Vel hesitantly reached up to help him with the buttons and, in doing so, she brazenly returned his earlier squeeze of his hipbone. He groaned and fell forward, suddenly needing his wand to see her, feel her— to anticipate her every move so that her boldness never creeped up on him again.

He leaned into her, pressing down so that his hand found purchase on the floor, where he blindly felt around for his wand. He panicked when he couldn't find it.

"Hey, hey..." her voice hit him like silk weaving into his eardrums and he shivered. "Shh, it's okay. You don't need it. I'm here, you have me."

Admitting to this weakness never came easily for Ominis. Except his need for control even when his shields dropped was just that... A weakness. It left him few advantages when it came to loving someone. To loving them without restriction. 

She found his hands, placing her own atop his to guide them to her face. "Here. You said you know me more than anyone else, prove it."

He palmed her cheeks, cupping them softly. "So beautiful, you're so—" 

All sensibility left him when she tightened her leg around his waist and dragged him down into her. Where they joined was hot and throbbing and left them both desperate to find out why. He braced himself with one hand at the other side of her head, while the other drifted down... and down... and... he bit back a groan, all resolve fraying around the edges of his brain. Whatever tethered him to this earthly plane unwove itself until it was only her.

He had pushed up her dress, careful not to ruin it any more than he had. Underneath, she was bare for him. He felt skin and nothing else. Small circles were drawn into the expanse just below her navel, as he waited for her to push him away. When she made no move to, he tracked his fingers lower and that's when he discovered her panty-less, exposed heat.

Vel shifted beneath him, trying to spread her legs wider for him, but the fabric of her dress stopped her. 

"Ominis," she whispered, his name a plea and a promise all at once. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feather-light, before sliding into his hair. He leaned into it.  "Don't think, just feel."

And he did. He felt the warmth of her skin, the way her breath hitched when he finally gave in and dropped his wand-calloused fingertips between her thighs, finding that sensitive place and feeling how wet she was for him. With every glide of his fingers, her breaths came more erratic. 

He explored with quiet reverence, soaking in every moan and gasp she offered him. It told him where she loved being touched most. And when he coaxed one slick finger into her, her entire body tensed and then shuddered, a silent surrender. 

Trembling hips pushed up into his palm and he slid in a second finger, giving her precisely what she wanted. More. All of him. It would never be enough.

Each stroke and curl of his fingers inside her was a deliberate motion. Even still, he craved dominance. He sought out her mouth, so that every moan she released was swallowed by him. The slack-jawed kiss left strings of saliva and he swirled a tongue around them, swallowing those too.

The storm hidden in his cloudy eyes darkened. "Velvette, I need—"

"Take it, then." She stopped him with a dizzying kiss.

"No, you don't—" Any desire to explain left him when she pushed her hips upwards, taking his fingers deeper into her slick core. Her heavy-lidded eyes screamed at him to stop talking, not that he could see them or interpret it without his wand. He snarled, curling his fingers within her up harshly, hitting a sensitive spot. "Fine, then. Remember that you asked for it."

He withdrew his fingers in a slow drag, relishing the way she whined at the loss. With one arm scooping behind her lower back, he found her thigh and gripped it, nearly bruising it, as he lifted her with ease. Vel hardly the time to register and he stood up off the chaise, bringing her with him. With newfound willpower, he staggered over to the bed with her wrapped up in his arms. Along the way, he bumped into an end table and something else, nearly tripping twice. 

The moment his thighs hit the edge of his bed, he threw her down. Plush comforters swallowed her whole and formed around her figure like a silken grave. Before she could adjust, he followed suit and caged her in with own body. His weight pressed her deeper into the luxurious bedding and he kept her there, pinned.

Determined hands found her dress, the fine material bunching in his fingers as he shoved it higher, unconcerned if it wrinkled or ripped further. There'd be no barriers —no obstacles— between them.

A suffocating grasp to the front of her throat held her down and he reared back, only to stare down at her with sinful reverie. It was a look laced with obsession, possession, and need. 

His fingers slid to his waistband, his touch impatient, pushing down the fine slacks he had worn for the evening's pomp and pageantry. He barely managed to pull them past his hips before—

The door crashed open, hitting the opposing wall with a loud bang.

Velvette jolted, the haze of desire vanishing in a blink. She barely managed to shimmy her dress down before Hawthorne's voice rang through the room.

"You snake!" He accused vehemently, "Get off of her. Get away from her now!"

Ominis' breath came ragged, his hands trembling as he forced himself to sit upright, resting on his haunches to shield her indecency. "Get. Out."

Hawthrone, entirely unphased, came up behind the boy and physically dragged him off the bed by the neck, throwing him onto the floor. He hadn't time to check on Vel, as he pulled out his wand and shoved it between Ominis's eyebrows, digging the polished wood into his forehead. "Where's your wand? Take out your wand. I refuse to strike a wandless opponent."

"I don't have it." Ominis bit out. 

"Liar! You always have it on hand, now take it—" 

By now, Vel had managed to slide her dress down enough to unfurl from the bed and rush in front of Ominis. He gathered himself up from the ground behind her, wrapping an arm around her midsection to pull her close. 

"Enough." She spat at Harlan. "He wasn't... we weren't..." The way she stammered over her explanation reminded her of when she tried to explain what their relationship was to Meredith and came up short for answers. This time, she decided to stand her ground. She met her Professor's hard glare to declare, "I wanted this. If you're going to point your wand at him, then you'll have to point it at me, too. I don't care about his family's history with mine, none of that matters. And frankly, we are not them."

"Miss Nightingale—" Harlan began to argue.

"No! You'll listen to me because I'm saying this for the first and last time. I care for him, and he... he cares for me. We're young, so if you think you can protect me because you have it in your head that you failed to protect my aunt and uncle, then you're sorely mistaken. Young people fall in love every day, and hearts break more often than not."

Harlan lowered his wand. "If you think this is about heartbreak—"

"Listen to me," the warning bite in her tone made both men stiffen. "Whether it's due to our family's trouble past or something like petty jealousy... When we split ways, it'll be of our choosing and not the choice of some adults hung up on old qualms."

Her chaperone struggled with this briefly. He wanted to argue his point, obsessively so. 

Any words would be futile... "We're leaving."

She blanked. "What—"

"Now." Harlan lunged forward to grab her hand and she stumbled back, Ominis along with her. He righted them both, oblivious to why she suddenly preened back like that, and it made it easier for Harlan to ensnare her wrist. 

When he successfully had her, he forcefully dragged her from the room. Ominis tried reaching out for her and came up empty. Their mingled shouts could be heard halfway down the hall and he fell to the ground, petting it frantically in search of his wand. 

They'd be to the stairs by now.

He felt around, a cold sweat breaking out in the back of his neck.

They'd be making their way through a crowd.

He cursed his lack of sight endlessly when he smacked into the back of the chaise. 

Ominis knew his bedroom with or without his wand, why was it suddenly an issue?

He dove under the chaise, lifting its legs up slightly when he inched himself under in a mad search for his last salvation. Now, his pulse beat so loudly that it was a melody all its own. Frantic pulls at violin strings that left the instrument in disarray. 

When he, at last, landed his palm on his wand, he careened back and hit his head on the underside of the chaise. The bump hardly registered and he crawled backwards until he found proper footing. He ran from his room, down the long corridor, down the stairs— where— where— Ominis scanned the room madly. 

People cleared a path for the young heir. Whispers followed him. A crowd began to form, coming from other rooms. But they weren't just watching him... 

"Hawthrone!" Ominis shouted over the sea of faces.

The Professor straightened, half turning to glare at the boy over his shoulder. To his side, Vel struggled in his grasp to go to Ominis, not caring at the scene they caused. And in between them and the door, stood Ominis's parents.

Lenora, his mother, was a spectral presence— too gaunt, as her name may suggest, her bones protruding even beneath the delicate drape of her shawl. The emerald dress she wore, meant to flatter, barely clung to her wasted frame, as if gravity itself hesitated to claim her. She resembled a mannequin from a high-end London boutique window— lifeless, frozen in time. The hollow of her cheeks bore a desperate smear of ruby rouge, a feeble attempt at imitating vitality.

His father, Cornelius, fared no better. A single push to his shoulder might have sent him crumbling like brittle parchment. His sunken eyes, framed by dark shadows, mirrored the cruelty he had long since mastered. Many said he looked like his father had when he was younger...

Terrifying. The both of them. Even to their own son, who now hesitated to approach them. 

Hawthrone refused to fully take his gaze off the Gaunt behind him and the two in front of him, making his head swivel to-and-fro comically. When his father made to move aside and allow the Nightingale and her chaperone pass, Ominis raised his wand. 

A flash erupted from the tip; a wordless, desperate cast. 

Guests pushed back against the walls in a frenzy. Some ducked into nearby drawing rooms for cover. Harlan barely saw it coming... barely. He pushed Vel away in time for the spell to land on its desired target and ropes began slithering of his form, binding him. 

Not ropes... snakes.

Ominis smirked at the display of raw magic, forgetful that his parents stood on the other side of his victim. He lowered his wand and awaited their disapproval.

It never came. Somehow, Hawthrone dispelled the serpent reins and now had his wand aimed at Ominis. 

"As your Defense teacher, I really thought I'd taught you better than to attack a man with his back turned." Hawthrone made to bend at the waist, signally the official start to their duel. "I suppose the element of surprise is... wise. Especially when up against someone far more skilled than you."

Ominis hesitantly returned the bow, though his grip on his wand tightened. A low murmur spread through the room as guests backed further into accompanying rooms, leaving only the duelists in the vestibule. Even Velvette was forcibly pulled away, although her desperate, pleading eyes spoke a tale otherworldly, begging them to cease this nonsense.

The Gaunt heir was known to be proficient, talented even— but to duel his own Professor? It was madness. And yet, something about the way Ominis lifted his chin, the way his stance squared, told them all that he had no intention of losing.

Hawthrone struck first.

"Expulso!"

A shockwave burst toward Ominis, shattering a marble bust just behind him as he dodged with a swift sidestep. His wand moved with ruthless precision.

"Infernis!"

A roaring flame launched from his wand, twisting through the air like a viper. The crowd gasped as Hawthrone barely managed to deflect it with a quick Protego, the impact sizzling against his shield like acid rain.

"You've been studying, I see," Hawthrone mused, flicking his wand in a practiced motion, wordlessly casting his next spell.

Ominis' legs jerked involuntarily, a sudden and humiliating loss of control. Magic crackled at his fingertips. With a wordless counter-curse, the enchantment shattered, and he retaliated. "Obscuro!"

Hawthrone flinched as a thick black blindfold materialized over his eyes. It was a cruel taunt— one that would've rendered any other opponent helpless. But Ominis wasn't naive enough to believe it would slow his professor for long.

The blindfold vanished as swiftly as it appeared, dispelled with a lazy flick of Hawthrone's wrist. "Is that supposed to unsettle me, Gaunt? Because you fight without sight every day? Trying to make me pity you?"

Ominis ignored him. He was already moving, sending another volley of magic straight for Hawthrone's feet. "Deprimo!"

The floor beneath Hawthrone groaned and cracked, splintering apart as if struck by an invisible hammer. He barely leaped aside in time before the floor gave way beneath him, his shoes scuffing against the jagged edge of the rupture. He looked down at the hole, then back at his opponent. A flicker of amusement crossed his face. 

"Now that is interesting. We haven't studied that yet, either." Hawthrone smirked. "I wonder— what else have you learned?"

His voice was light, taunting, but his wand lifted with intent. A curse Ominis didn't recognize cut through the air like a blade, slicing past his cheek. He turned his head on instinct, the heat of magic scorching the air beside him.

"That one was experimental," Hawthrone admitted. "You should be flattered, really."

Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose. "You talk too much."

"Reducto!"

The blast sent splinters of the floorboards below towards Ominis. All the shards went soaring past his swift block and the gallery of surveyors gasped, ducking behind doors and walls to avoid them.

"Ah, but you're holding back," Hawthrone accused, brushing dust from his sleeve. "Aren't you, Ominis? We both know what you're capable of." He tilted his head, voice dipping into something silkier, more insidious. "What was it your father once said? A spell is only as powerful as the intent behind it?"

Ominis' breath hitched. He knew where this was leading.

"There's one spell," Hawthrone mused, circling him now like a predator. "One spell that would end this in an instant. But you won't do it, will you? Because then you'd be just like them. And you don't want Miss Nightingale to see what you truly are."

The room was silent now, the audience forgotten.

Ominis lifted his wand. His knuckles went white.

His lips parted—

And then—

He stopped.

His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

No.

He would not give him the satisfaction. 

And Hawthrone smiled, condescending. "Good boy. I've taught you well."

The duel simultaneously ended and just began.

 

Notes:

double upload day! (what can I say, except, you're welcomeeee)

Chapter 24

Hawthrone never came for another dinner party after that night. He'd uninvited himself from the remaining events and the Gala on Sunday, held in the Nightingale name. 

"Velvette? The sugar, please." Although her aunt could have enchanted the object to float her way, she sought to do things the old-fashioned, muggle way. Vel, tongue in cheek, handed the ceramic dish of sugar cubes over. Still refusing to speak after the horrid affairs at the Gaunt estate two days prior.

Magdalain subtly rolled her eyes at the child. "Not like I asked you three times. Thank you."

For this afternoon tea, her grandmother was not present. A blessing and late Christmas gift. 

The entirety of the holiday she spent moping in her room, wondering if Ominis hated her for leaving with Hawthrone after their duel. Halfway through the day, her uncle forced her out of the room but did not question what occurred. Likely, his best friend gave his version of the story. How he bravely rescued Velvette from the clutches of a slithery snake that threatened her virtue. 

The way his parents regarded Hawthrone with blatant hostility made her wonder...

"Mags?" She broke the silence.

"Mm?" Stirring sugar into her tea, not particularly interested in what broke her niece's self-inflicted muteness. 

"Why does Hawthrone hate the Gaunts?"

Magdalain stopped stirring, though did not look up from her cup. "Oh, are you finally ready to tell me what happened?"

"I assumed Professor Hawthrone did..." Now Vel felt poorly for keeping her aunt in the dark.

"It's back to formalities with him, then? No more 'Harlan'?" Mags scoffed and set down her teacup. "I should have asked, but he told us only to give you space until you were ready. It's been so hard not to ask, believe me. Mother had to practically put a silencing spell on herself to stop herself. And Finneas... he blames himself for not escorting you."

"Nothing bad happened!" Vel rushed to assure and then grimaced. "Well... nothing bad happened to me. Hawthrone and Ominis ended up in a duel."

"Ominis? The young Gaunt, am I correct? Why should that matter?"

Vel closed her eyes tight. Before she could stop herself from admitting the truth, she blurted it out. "Ominis and I... we sort of... are involved, in some ways. I like him, and I think he likes me. We..." Her eyes stayed closed. "We were in his room when Hawthrone burst in."

One eye opened. She peered at her aunt, heart spasming as she awaited her next words with bated breath.

Magdalain hung her head to stare at the ground, distant. "You... were in his bedroom? Doing what?"

The last word came out as a barely concealed squeak and Vel's heart hammered even more than before. She tugged at the lace cuffs of her sweater. "Nothing too obscene, don't be silly. Just... kissing?"

"Kissing? Alone? In his bedroom?" Mags pieced together.

Vel smoothed it over with, "Yes, just kissing. And when Hawthrone came in, he dragged Ominis from the bed—"

"The bed?!" Mags roared, shooting up from the loveseat and nearly knocking over the tiered trays of biscuits and delectable pastries. Vel placed a hand on the coffee table to steady it and save the pastries. Meanwhile, her aunt grew more enraged. "Go to your room! You're on house arrest until you return to school!"

"I—" Vel glowered and stood up, nearly matching her aunt's height if not for the heels she wore. "I already am on house arrest! I have been since the moment I stepped through those doors and into this... this... stuffy, depressing house! I hate it here!"

All those 'I-statements' left her in a tizzy, and she suddenly felt the urge to cut deeper.

Vel squared her shoulders and, full of spite, she cursed her own family name. "If being a Nightingale means being made to eternally suffer, alone and afraid of love, then I want no part of it! My father had the right idea to get out young, but what about you and Finneas, hm? Didn't you ever want to marry? Have children? Make some kind of life outside of the one Elidah crafted for you?"

"That's quite enough, child." The devil has ears everywhere. 

She spun on her heel, meeting her grandmother’s unflinching gaze with a defiance that burned at the back of her throat. "Oh, perfect! Since you're here, you may as well hear it from my own lips— I'm in love with a Gaunt!"

The words left her before she could stop them, a reckless flare of emotion she hadn't meant to set alight.

In love? 

The very thought made her stomach twist. Love demanded sacrifice, and that was something Vel had sworn never to offer. Never compromise her beliefs. Never lose herself to anything beyond the comfort of a well-loved book or the warmth of her mother’s arms. And certainly never cast aside all restraint to openly confess affections to someone who did not matter.

And her grandmother did not matter. 

Because she had never been part of Vel's life. So why was so suddenly declaring so brazenly her love for someone when her own grandmother never loved her?

Vel shoved the thought aside, forcing herself to believe it was nothing more than a slip of the tongue, a product of her own indignant fury. A meaningless outburst. Nothing more.

"Well... that is quite," Elidah mulled over the outburst and sighed, "Unexpected."

"Unexpected?" Mags repeated. "Mother, do you forget—"

"I never forget." Elidah cut off her daughter, "Yet, I find myself thinking this rather advantageous. A Nightingale and a Gaunt, finally uniting the two pureblood houses that date back to two historically formidable names? It... It may just be cause for celebration."

Vel staggered back, rounding the other side of her chair to put distance between herself and her grandmother. All her life she sought to avoid being a pawn in this woman's game, and now...

"We shall invite them to the gala on Sunday." Elidah expected her daughter's protests and held up a hand, dismissing them. "The entire Gaunt family, see to it that the owls are sent within the hour. This is important for our beloved heir's future."

The twinkle in the older woman's eyes could not be misinterpreted. This unexpected news had set her aglow and nothing could bring her down to earth. A rolling stone set in motion by Vel's careless words.

***

If the Gaunt family's gala had been grand, this was extravagance beyond reason.

The masquerade ball being held in the Nightingale manor was a vision of exorbitance. Each detail meticulously curated to flaunt power and prestige. Towering candelabras lined the vast ballroom, their golden arms dripping with wax that never fell; enchanted so. Opulent chandeliers refracted light like shattered stars. And gossamer drapes cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, pooling like mist around the guests who glided through the space in whispers of silk and velvet. 

Exotic perfumes and aged wines clung to Vel's nostrils, making her dizzy. 

Although she intended to wear the same gown —having only worn it for a short time before leaving the previous ball— her grandmother insisted on making some improvements to suit the theme. Something about the stars in the night sky...

So, adjustments were made with lackadaisical spells and the gown now sparkled black, instead of indigo. The tear in the seam that hiked up her thigh was also repaired; only this time made to look like the design was intentional. 

Masked figures twirled across the ballroom floor, their laughter muffled behind delicate filigree disguises. The music, a haunting waltz played by an unseen orchestra, curled around them like a spell of its own. Bodies and shadows merged into the drapes from the ceiling, becoming one with the ambiance. 

Even in a room full of illusions, Vel felt exposed. 

Her aunt insisted that if she were to wait near the door all evening, that she'd look a fool if Ominis never arrived. So, she clung to the darkness on the outskirts of the dance floor, where she felt safe and secluded. 

"May I have this dance?" 

Velvette threw herself at him; the moment of pure elation and embrace soon hindered by the presence behind him. His parents stood there, haunting as ever. And... someone else. They held their masks to the side of their faces, though she supposed they had one on at all times.

"Velvette," Ominis took her hands in his and spun around to his family. "You haven't formally met my father, Cornelius." Vel bent her head in acknowledgement and did likewise when he said, "And my mother, Lenora. That brings me to..."

"Marvolo Gaunt, at your humble service, Miss Nightingale." The stranger jut out his hand and that's when Vel remembered that Ominis had an older brother, one that he never spoke of. Her only perception of him being that of Hawthrone's accounts. 

Regardless, she met his handshake with no reservations. If she were to decide her own fate, it needed to start with making her own opinions of the Gaunt family. Marvolo looked like an aged version of his brother, only with brown hair instead of dark blonde. Both boys wore it in a similar fashion, no doubt their mother's influence— slicked back and down their necks, only a few loose strands falling forward.

"My brother." Ominis resumed introductions, glaring at his older —though strikingly similar— sibling. 

Lenora half-smiled at the exchange, though it did not meet her sunken eyes. "We were most surprised at receiving the invitation for tonight's gathering. Though, no one as shocked as my dearest, here." 

In a sickening display of affection, Lenora began rubbing her hand up and down her husband's chest, almost purring into his side as though to publicly claim him. Vel found herself unable to maintain eye contact after that.

Cornelius gripped his wife's hand, stopping her antics. "Yes, I was most surprised. Until I remembered how much I admired your father—"

"Uncle." Ominis quipped, although it seemed they had this talk a few times before arriving. "Finneas is her uncle, remember?"

"Finneas, yes." His father attempted a polite smile and it faltered into a solemn downturn of his lips. "And that would make Magdalain your aunt, then. Who are your parents?"

Vel hesitated. Every ounce of her being screamed at her to lie, to spin some tale that would make this conversation less of an ordeal. But under their scrutiny— Lenora's hollow-eyed curiosity, Cornelius' barely masked condescension, and Marvolo's quiet anticipation— she could not bring herself to fabricate her lineage. They would find out eventually, and she had no interest in being caught in a lie.

She inhaled slowly. "My parents are not here. They... they're squibs. They cast themselves out of the wizarding community at a young age."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The music of the masquerade, the murmurs of distant conversation, all faded to nothing in the wake of her admission. Lenora blinked once, twice, as if waiting for Vel to correct herself, while Cornelius' expression curdled into something akin to distaste.

"Squibs," he finally echoed, the word laced with derision. "How... unfortunate."

Lenora let out a quiet chuckle, "And yet, here you stand. A witch, despite such unimpressive breeding. That is rare, indeed. Which parent is a Nightingale?"

Vel's jaw tightened, but she willed herself to remain impassive. "My father carries the Nightingale name, proudly. As for my mother, her maiden name is Prince."

Lenora nearly choked on her inhale. "Both pureblood families? 

That garnered a reaction. Cornelius hummed thoughtfully, his gaze flickering with intrigue. "Well, well," he mused. "The Princes and the Gaunts, each producing squibs? That is rather... unseemly. A defect in the bloodline, wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Lenora tutted, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "A disgrace, really."

Ominis stiffened beside Vel, but she spoke before he could, her voice poised yet firm. "They simply lacked magic. One does not choose the gender of their child, let alone the magical capabilities. If such were a possibility to craft a perfect baby, all children would be born with blue eyes. Their... misgivings make them who they are. And they're fantastic parents."

Cornelius dismissed her sentiment, waving a hand in the air as if brushing away a floating speck of dust. "Even so, there are ways to ensure such an... incident does not happen."

Vel felt the air shift, the temperature of the room dropping despite the warmth of the candlelit chandeliers. Lenora leaned in, a sly, knowing smile curving her lips. "There are rituals, you see," she purred. "Old magic. Dark magic. Traditions of noble bloodlines to ensure a child is born with magic."

Cornelius nodded. "You and Ominis, should you ever decide to continue our line, would be wise to consider it."

The invisible thread in Vel's mouth pulled tight, drawing her heart up from its cavity. It landed on her tongue and she readied to use it, until Ominis cut in, flatly. "I do not practice rituals that require blood sacrifices, you know this."

Cornelius chuckled knowingly. "You may find that there are greater prices to pay than a few drops of blood, my boy."

It would seem this masquerade had more horrors lurking beneath its gilded masks than Velvette anticipated. Why had her grandmother insisted on sending them an invitation? Surely, she knew they were like this...

Ah. That's precisely it.

Vel realized, with sudden clarity, that her grandmother wanted for this to happen. It's likely why their conversation had not been interrupted by either her or Aunt Mags. That, and everyone around craved to avoid the Gaunts. Now outside of their own estate, with a room full of people in masks... The Gaunts were the outcasts.

And she pitied them. 

Forgetting all said thus far, Vel ushered the family outside the ballroom and to the bar. She knew what it meant to be an outsider. If firewhiskey helped her unwind, then it may do the same for them. She asked each party member what poison they wanted for the evening and made sure to get them all. When everyone had a drink in hand, the conversation turned far less volatile and blood purist. 

They laughed.

Ominis at her side.

A hand on her waist.

Marvolo even went to the bar for a second drink.

Until the thrill of his hand on her hip reminded her— of her body trapped beneath him, of his fingers sheathed inside her— the muscles at her neck constricted and she willed herself to calm down. Not here. Not in front of his family for Merlin's sake.

The cacophony of music and voices around them lulled her back to the present. If she just focused on that, then she may make it to the end of this evening without pulling Ominis into some dark corner so they may take off where he left her; wanting and desperate under his touch.

Something his mother mentioned then, about the fashions of today, made him drag up a lost thought. "Oh! Vel, that reminds me..." From the inner pocket of his robes, he pulled out a folded item, "Your shawl. I wanted to return it before term resumes."

Lenora dragged her husband away then, noting that their son was in good hands. Marvolo, however, lingered by the pair and gagged on his drink when Vel looked upon Ominis with such adoration.

"Thank you." She took it and wrapped it around her shoulders— the missing piece to her ensemble. Boldly, she stuck of her leg to show off the slit in her gown. "My grandmother made some adjustments to my dress, although she seemed to favor your input. Maybe you have a future in fashion."

At his side, the hand holding his wand visibly flexed. 

"Vel... Velvette." He said her name sternly before dropping his head to whisper in her ear, "You're going to be the death of me, do you know that?"

She smacked his chest. "Don't be so ridiculous, saying things like that."

Finneas chose then to swoop down upon the group, a hawk looking for its next victim. He cozied up beside Marvolo and put a fist underneath his chin, propping it up as if intrigued. "Well, share it with the rest of the class, Ominis. What has you so close to my beloved niece's ear?"

"And the Ravens descend." Marvolo stated bitterly, holding up his glass to cheers the crowd. "That took all of forty..." He checked his watch, "Forty-six minutes, I'm impressed by the restraint."

Although Finneas had years on Marvolo —and they certainly never attended Hogwarts at the same time— they looked to know one another. Something else she had to bring up with her uncle later, but she noted that now was not the time. Her uncle sized up the younger lad, and then Ominis, promptly after.

What Finneas found in the mere seconds of his scrutinizing glare unraveled him. His lips parted as he sucked in shakily. Distraught. "You... you both look so much like your father."

The bitter remark never meant to leave his lips. His inner turmoil manifested itself into words that should not have been spoken aloud. Meager attempts to cover up his fluke fell on Vel's deaf ears as she struggled to see in them what her uncle saw. Sure... there were vague resemblances. If one could even call them that. Honestly, all the people in this room vaguely resembled one another. 

A clear trait of pureblood inbreeding.  

Very few families present were distinguished by either skin color, hair color, or even eye color. The Malfoys with their white-blonde hair. The Zabinis with their skin so flawlessly sunlit bronze. Even the Nightingales, with their lithe forms and obsidian hair. Velvette knew who a distant cousin could be by just those traits, without even having to know them. 

Yet the Gaunts held no distinguishable features. Nothing to discern them from the rest of the purebloods or even half-bloods present.

"Strong blood, old friend." Came the hair-raising cold voice of none other than Cornelius Gaunt. He interrupted his old classmate's rambles with a bony hand placed upon the other man's shoulder. "And even stronger magic, need I remind you?"

Not again. 

Velvette was acutely aware of the hawk-eyed stares and owlish orbs that surrounded them. All thinking the same thing... 'Why this girl? What makes her so special?'

And she shared their nuances with unabashed animosity. At her family. At the Gaunts. Even inwards, at herself. 

"Uncle." She warned, when all he managed to do was stiffen at the not-so-concealed threat. 

Finneas woke up then, spinning around to smack away the hand on his shoulder. His other hand inched towards the inside pocket of his robes, where she assumed he kept his wand. Learning from her own mistakes by not bringing hers to the last party she attended, she slipped a hand into the tight fit sleeve of her dress where her wand sat waiting, the perfect length of her forearm so that she could still bend at the elbow. 

She raised it to the back of her uncle's head and pressed it into the soft spot there. Then, she shot a pointed look at Cornelius, who took two great steps backwards. For if she willingly turned her wand on a family member... what would the wild girl do to him?

"Now, gentlemen. I do suppose you have a lot to catch up on, but I planned to get at least one dance in tonight before any infighting breaks out. Now, can I trust you two to behave until then?"

Tension crackled in the room. 

Everyone around them gawked. 

Especially as both men raised their hands, terrified of what consequences awaited them if they did not 'behave'. Satisfied, she stuffed her wand back into her sleeve and ignored everyone in the vicinity. If she met any of their gazes, she may falter on her next emboldened move.

She stepped into Ominis, who had been watching her with awe. Thoroughly bewitched. 

"Dance with me." Not a request. A demand. One that came from the lips of a seemingly harmless girl. Those present now knew otherwise and she quite liked the power rolling off of her.

Marvolo threw his head and howled with laughter. "If you don't, brother, I will!"

Ominis's cloudy eyes shimmered down at her. Locked onto her and her alone. He leaned down a bit to press his lips onto the flushed skin of her forehead, sensing the power high she came down from steadily. "Dance, we shall."

Chapter 25

Tangled in the sheer drapes that hung from the ceiling, they were lost to time. Or, lost in time. Velvette could not distinguish which. Not that it mattered.

In this realm of sashaying gowns, dazzling jewels, and a contempt to just do everything right —where blood purity meant more than diamonds— they came back to each other. Numb to the world around them. Oblivious to the weight of their implications. Entangled in one another until the end of time.

"I think people are staring..." she muttered into Ominis's chest as he twirled her about. A means to mark his claim. 

He bent to her ear to mutter, "Let them."

Never had a Gaunt or Nightingale strayed from their proposed offers to continue a strong bloodline. Each family designated a marriage claim that would ensure the blood purity until the ends of time. It seemed his parents had his planned out before birth— to a cousin, no less. And Velvette would no doubt find a similar fate within one of the twenty-eight noble families. 

Vel rest her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes when the repetitive thump of his heartbeat sang to her. "I want to disappear with you. It'd be easy, really. We can go out into the courtyard and apparate away from here. Not that I know how, but I assume you do." She nuzzled into him further when he commandeered their presence off the dance floor. "We don't even have to go far. Just to the seaside. Maybe for a few hours. I don't want to go back to school yet and I certainly don't want to stay here a second longer."

She spoke as though the end of this night marked their return to Hogwarts. Which may feel true, even though a few days separated them from boarding that train. 

"It won't come between us." Ominis assured despite reservations of his own. The very essence of being in different Houses separated them. That was before other factors; such as class schedules, friend groups, and so on. They'd kept a balance with their time in the library on the weekends, but now that felt obsolete. 

Vel pressed for reassurance. "Take me somewhere. Anywhere. Just beyond the gardens or front gate are where the apparition borders cease. Let's leave for the night and return before anyone is the wiser."

"Where would you like to see?" He entertained her blissful daydreams.

"Anywhere." She repeated, so sure of her devotion. "As long as I'm with you."

"Hmm..." he hummed against the nest of her hair, "Let's say I take you away from here. Far away. What comes next?"

Thoughts scattered across her mind's landscape in a flurry. They took to the countryside, unhindered by their family's burdens. In another dream, they married before all their family to see, uncaring of disapproval. The next dream... She returned to Hogwarts, made a life for herself, and then found the embrace of Ominis later on in life. It seemed the most reasonable option. 

The most like her true self. 

She never found joy in relying on others. Even her own blood. They'd all be a disappoint at some point and she couldn't stomach another disaster. 

Grimacing, she pushed down such thoughts. An overflowing bathtub. A bloodied forearm. Screams. Something... someone...

"Velvette?" Ominis inquired softly. He sensed her building panic, a direct link with her erratic magic. He felt the need to soothe her, "We can go anywhere. Tell me the place and I'll take you there."

"Rose gardens." Vel sucked in a shaky breath, unsure why she declared such an obscure place. 

Ominis straightened and repeated her words as a question, "Rose gardens?"

Before she even the chance to respond, he took her hand in his own and lead her out into the enclosed gardens behind the Nightingale estate. Lead there by pure indulgence and foolish will. He felt his magic settle once past the apparition borders and looked down at the girl in his midst, who hadn't second guessed his motives. If he took her from here, who knows where they'd end up and for how long. She already admitted to lack the skill of apparating.

"Trust me?" Half statement, partial inquiry. 

Velvette hid herself in his robes once more, burrowing into his chest. "Always."

The act of apparating itself did not shake her. Though it unsettled her nerves, forcing a piece of herself inwards until it blended and mingled with his own sense of self, until they landed in the proposed destination. Their very essence merged during the side-along apparition, something that Ominis felt and knew and therefore expected. 

It took her a mere second to steady herself. Ominis watched with bewilderment as she took her first side-along apparition by storm. It made him want to envelop her with praise and show her such by kissing every inch of her skin. 

"You..." he stopped himself from voicing impure notions, shaking his head. "You surprise me each and every day."

Vel shrugged. "I've read up on the subject matter to know what to expect. Maybe next time, it'll be me bringing us to some far away destination."

Ominis laughed, "A date, then?"

"Don't be facetious. This is a date." As though to ascertain her own belief, she brandished her wand to create a dozen or so candles from thin air, before casting them into the gardens before them. 

A rose garden. One that Ominis knew to exist, a famous garden by its own right. Yet his magic brought them here in the dead of winter. What did they expect?

The gardens were long dead or —as Vel so adamantly declared— dormant. Waiting for a spring soon to come. To the naked eye, one might assume these gardens to be long abandoned. Yet she noted the clippings of overgrowth and care given to ensure they bloomed by next season. Where she saw growth, he saw decay.

They walked, hand in hand, around the grounds. A warming spell the only respite to the brisk chill in the winters air. She explained to him each species of rose buds they came across, detailing the coloring and splendor of each plant. He knew she had a penance for herbology, but never to this extent. Perhaps she found solace in the gardens where her melancholy knew not where to find her.

As they paraded about the empty gardens, he mulled over how to bring up her constant state of panic. The very panic that led her to warp people's minds into something she found palatable. 

"Where do you go," Ominis began, twisting his fingers into hers so that she couldn't pull away like all the times before. "When you shrink into your mind? It's always fascinated me and equally disturbed me. I can't chase you there, wherever you disappear to."

Vel tried to tug her hand free, as he expected. Yet his hold only tightened. She glowered down at their joined hands, refusing to meet his probing gaze. "Nowhere. I'm always present, it's actually a curse. In divination, the Professor said I was destined to write history, not only be a part in it."

Ominis hummed, amused by this. "Why would you bother your extracurriculars with something as foolish as divination? Surely, a free period or two a week could only help ensure you good grades for your N.E.W.T.s, unless you..." he paused, not wanting to even consider it. "Unless you don't plan on staying in this world. I know you only surrendered to a year at Hogwarts to appease your grandmother."

She ran a finger along a thorny branch, uncaring that it scraped her skin enough to mar a thin, white scar along it. Even if it didn't piece her flesh enough to bleed, she enjoyed the bite of pain it offered. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I'm undecided until the end of term."

End of term... That was something Ominis could work with. A hundred different avenues to make her agreeable to stay in the Wizarding world already began to cross his mind until he felt supple lips upon his jaw. She leaned up to kiss him, inching closer and closer to his lips, unable to quite breach the distance even on the tips of her toes. He tilted his head upwards, looking to the stars for answers though he could not see them and only imagined their dismay at this union. 

"End of term." He repeated, allowing her to place tender kisses along his neck. "Promise me you won't make a decision before then."

"Promise." She vowed into the crook of his neck, trying desperately to reach his lips. At long last he leaned down, giving her leeway to kiss him. When their lips met, the world faded away. Even if the rose gardens around them were in full bloom, they'd pale in comparison to the beauty before him. And she thought the same. 

Somewhere along the lines of lust and depravity, they met. Two souls meant to be entangled in fate. Though, also some way down the line... meant to be challenged by that very fate itself.

***

Without many further disruptions to her own self-preservation, Velvette made it through the holiday season at her grandmother's estate and managed to board the Hogwarts Express with minimal complaints about her family. They never divulged much about her ancestry, only forgoing bits and pieces that she already gathered from literature. She'd studied the Ravenclaw line while at the mansion to see what her aunt or uncle could substitute where the books failed. 

Although not much, unfortunately. 

Even they were not afforded the luxury of knowing how the lineage unfolded. 

The rhythmic clatter of the train did little to soothe the tempest in Velvette's mind. The resentment she held for her own blood. The holiday break had left her with more questions than answers; cryptic half-truths weaving a tangled web she could hardly navigate. She stared out the window, watching as the Scottish countryside go past in a blur, the gray Winter's sky mirroring the heavy weight in her chest. 

Somewhere in the cabin, voices drew her back to the present. She troubled to land on the faces of the speakers until, with great effort, she pieced Meredith and Clarissa into view. 

"Oh, it was lovely," Meredith sighed dreamily. "Clarissa's parents are such gracious hosts. They insisted I stay the full break— her mother practically wouldn't let me leave."

Clarissa laughed, a gleeful sound that Vel never heard from her before. "My father won't stop talking about how much he enjoyed playing wizard's chess with yours."

Vel barely heard them. Their words were warm, filled with the ease of belonging, the seamless intertwining of two families who welcomed each other without complication. It was so different from her own experience that she found herself recoiling from it.

Someone pressed their face into the frosted glass of their cabin and then the compartment door slid open with a reluctant creak, and Monty slumped into the doorway, looking as though he had just emerged from a funeral. His usual neat ginger curls were disheveled, his robes not yet properly buttoned.

"Tell me I wasn't the only one who had an absolutely miserable holiday," he groaned, flopping onto the seat next to Vel, seeing as the row across from her was taken up by two girls who couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

Meredith laughed, shaking her head. "That bad?"

"That bad," Monty confirmed, rubbing at his face. He slung one leg up to luck under himself, lazily laying himself over the seat and protruding greatly into Vel's personal space. "Family dinners were a disaster. My grandfather nearly hexed my uncle over a bet gone wrong, my mum cried over some nonsense about family longevity, and my little sister broke her wand trying to transfigure a bloody pheasant." He looked up at Vel under heavy lashes and bushy brows, "You're awfully quiet, though that's the norm, I suppose. Please tell me your break was equally insufferable, so I don't feel so alone."

She blinked, dragging herself back to the present. "Oh. Yeah. It was..." she hesitated, weighing her vulnerabilities, then exhaled, "Eventful."

Monty saw right through the facade. "That bad, then."

She shrugged, offering a hollow smirk. "Not too bad, your recounts may beat mine."

She replayed it all in her mind, turning over each detail like the pages of a scandalous novel. A close family friend —who also happened to be her professor— had walked in to find her pinned beneath Ominis, half-dressed and wholly indecent. Then, as if fate weren't finished toying with her, a duel erupted between her professor and... her good friend, right in the heart of his own home in front of countless pureblood aristocrats. And to crown the spectacle, his father had nearly clashed wands with her uncle— an altercation that could have turned her family's estate into a battlefield.

Some might call such a holiday break eventful.

She chose to keep those memories tucked away, sealed like a secret letter, to be opened on some dull, uneventful day— should she ever find herself in need of chaos to reminisce on.

"I need Quidditch to start again, immediately," Monty declared, stretching his legs out. "If I don't get back on my broom soon, I'm going to lose my mind."

Vel latched onto the change in topic, grateful for the escape. "Did you at least train over the holidays? You can't let that stamina go to waste after days of roasts and gluttony—"

A clamorous bang rattled the compartment as the pocket door was slid open with enough force to shake the glass. A few gasps rang out —Clarissa actually flinched— but Vel knew who it was without having to look. 

After their little rose garden soirée, he had departed with his family shortly before midnight, leaving behind little more than the ghost of his touch and the echo of things unsaid. The next day, an owl arrived— his handwriting unmistakable even before she unsealed the parchment. She hadn't responded. Not out of forgetfulness, simply from a lack of words. Words had never failed her before. So why now?

The answer coiled deep within her. They were getting close. Too close. And Ominis had begun to unravel parts of her she had long since buried, parts she refused to acknowledge even when staring at her own reflection in the mirror. His presence was prying; peeling away at the carefully constructed armor she wore so well, exposing the half-formed, raw, trembling child beneath.

She spent years ensuring no one got close enough to glimpse those fractures. Yet, he had slipped past her defenses with effortless grace, as if he belonged there. As if he had always belonged there. And that terrified her.

And here he was, stood in the doorway, patience thinning and breaths measured with restraint, his wand gripped loosely at his side. Those sightless eyes were trained on her as though he could see her every movement, his jaw set with something between irritation and urgency.

"Come with me," he ordered, not bothering to address the others in the cabin.

Being closest to the door and the menacing figure, Monty stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He created a sort of barrier between her and Ominis, one that was wholly unnecessary. Vel inwardly rolled her eyes and raised from the seat before things got out of hand.

"Monty, it's okay. Down boy," she chuckled as she gathered her belongings and inched around him to make leave. She pat his arm, reassuring him with a soft touch and then she winked, "He's not too bad, for a Slytherin. I'll be back in a bit."

Ominis turned to stalk down the narrow corridor, each step purposeful. She struggled to keep pace, nearly tripping as she maneuvered past students who shrank against the walls, wary of the Slytherin heir's dark mood. He didn't slow, didn't acknowledge her, just kept pushing forward, railcar after railcar, until they reached the very back of the train.

This car was nearly empty. The few students lingering took one look at Ominis and scurried out like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Some even abandoned their bags in the mad rush. The cabin held four tables bolted to the walls, two on each side with space between them, and benches around them for students to sit. He did not take a seat. 

Vel began tapping her foot as the silence stretched unbearably long. He hadn't turned. Hadn't spoken. Just stood there, hands braced on the window ledge to watch the passing terrain, shoulders tense enough to snap.

She knew the storm was coming.

The one where he'd demand answers for her silence. Where he'd press, prod, and tear through every flimsy excuse she might conjure. A duel all their own making. He wasn't the kind of man who let things linger in ambiguity— his mind thrived on logic, resolution, and finality. When he set himself to a task, he saw it through to the bitter end. Whether it be a book, a new field of study, or something as mundane as a bowl of soup, he finished what he started.

And Velvette had made the fatal mistake of becoming unfinished business.

It was left to her to disrupt the silence. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised, though I really thought you'd wait until we got off the train." She sauntered over to the adjacent window and mirrored his stance, setting her eyes on the blur of Scotland's highlands. "And I was just about to get a chocolate frog from the trolley..."

A humorless laugh escaped him. "You always know what to say. So, why'd you go silent?"

"I needed time."

"Time for what?" His jaw tightened. "For your family to spin their lies?"

Her stomach twisted, "No, it was nothing like that. They hardly spoke of you again. My aunt said you were cute... and scary. Even my uncle avoided talks of your family. No," she shook her head and turned to face him, the walls of her resolve crumbling. "I needed time to think."

"Think about what?" His voice was softer now, but it wasn't kindness— it was control, barely leashed.

The muscles in her neck twitched. "About us."

With terrifying gentleness, he probed, "And did you reach a conclusion?"

She opened her mouth and... Nothing. She couldn't admit anything. Not when he looked at her like that, as if the answer would either break him or set him free. 

His fingers rapped on the windowsill when she did not speak.

Taking the easy way out never seemed more impossible. Her usual lightness and ignorance to such intensity brought her this far in life. Even now she craved to bump shoulders with him and make some lighthearted joke, all to continue this charade a little longer. 

Nothing tore her concentration off him. Nothing could. No matter if the entire train lit aflame. If people began screaming. If the entire world shifted on its axis. She'd remain staring, contemplating. Locked in the side of his face and how he looked beautiful in his fury. What did he want her to say? 

"What do you want me to say?" She hated the way her voice trembled.

He spun away then, seeking out the window behind them and assuming his pose. Except now he stood stiff, anger hardening his every bone and muscle. Not as casual as he appeared seconds before. She did not join his side this time and continued speaking with their backs to one another. Somehow, this made it easier.

"My family has nothing to do with my choice to avoid you the last few days. I just needed time. To think. About us." At his incredulous groan, she went on, "As I said before, because it's true. I didn't make any decisions that involve you during that time. Also, the truth. I'm not the kind of girl that bases acts on a whim of frivolous emotions. I need time... time to... compose and recompose a scene in my head. All my life I spent trying to make two halves of my family love me for two different versions of myself. My parents want me in the Muggle world after school ends and the Nightingales... they..."

She cleaved a sign from her chest. The window in front of her created a fog in the glass from the hot air. "What they want confuses me even more! Because I want it too and you're not making it any easier! But I can't leave my parents behind, and that's... that's what they'll feel happened. I can't... not my mom... she's too... I just can't."

Never had she stumbled over speaking like this in her entire life. Even as a child, she spoke articulately and to the point. Her shoulders hunched and she felt herself sway, so she leaned forward onto the cool glass, forcing her body to remain upright. If she had a panic attack here and one of her classmates saw... No. She refused for that to happen. Even if that meant rebuilding that wall between her and those stupid, relentless emotions that were on the precipice of spewing forth. 

If she just walked away now...

He didn't let her escape. A few short steps, and he was behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. Not touching, but there, an unspoken challenge. She hadn't heard him move from his side of the railcar, only felt that now he was closer.

He needed this. Wanted this. To back her into a proverbial corner until he broke down her walls. He craved for this space between them to crumble. Manifested it in dreams and in waking moments. Even pushing her as far as he had today...

"My mom isn't strong enough to lose me to this world. Please, Ominis," she sobbed, tearlessly, against the glass, feeling her own breath bounce off the plane and back onto her lips. "I can't choose. Don't ask me to choose. I just want to be happy for now, can't we just have that?"

"When did I ask you to choose, Velvette?" He moved then, slowly, deliberately, until he was beside her and not a dark, looming force over her shoulder. "You think too much. You analyze, dissect, convince yourself that every feeling must be examined before it can be felt. You ask for happiness without giving over to it. I'll be anything you need me to be, for now, and when you come to your conclusion in days, weeks, or months from now... Just talk to me about it."

A commanding hand took hold of her chin to turn her face up towards his own. "Tell me. Just this once— don't think. Don't hesitate." His head tilted, almost pleading. "Tell me what you want."

The train rattled over the tracks, the sound filling the space between them like the heartbeat of something restless and writhing. Except then it was just that— a creature told to wait in chains in the darkness. In some cruel, misshapen enclosure where it got no food, water, or sunlight. And all that energy came from him. It was his magic manifested this starving creature; the heartbeat of his soul yearned for her.

 

Notes:

The next chapter is going to be a heavy one with a pretty gruesome flashback scene of a suicide attempt/child endangerment. I wanted to give a head's up here but there will also be a reminder when I post the next chapter. If this content disturbs or triggers you, please do not force yourself to read it.

Chapter 26

Notes:

A/N: There's a scene of a semi-graphic suicide attempt in a flashback. If this triggers you to read, please skip after Ominis enters Velvette's mind. And if you have ever struggled with depression, please know there are many resources available to you to get help if you ever need it. You are not alone. <3

Steady tracks. Steady breaths. But nothing about this felt steady.

She could sense him behind her. Every fiber of her being was attuned to him, drawn in despite the chasm she tried to keep between them.

The words echoed in her skull, relentless.

'Don't think. Don't hesitate. Tell me what you want.'

Deep down, the answer was simple. Obvious. And yet, saying it aloud felt impossible. So instead, she reached for the safest response and bypassed his demands.

"It's too soon to answer that," she murmured, her voice betraying the war inside her.

Ominis scoffed, the warmth of his breath tickling the nape of her neck. She held back the involuntary shiver that made her spine tingle.

"Too soon," he mused, his voice dripping with quiet derision. "Too soon to admit to your own desires? Do you even know them? Have you laid them bare as I have? Stripped them down to their very marrow, night after night, until there is nothing left to hide?"

He spoke too poetically for someone his age. Every word measured; sharpened like a blade designed to cut through her defenses. She longed to match him, to meet his fervor with something equally devastating, but the right thing to say evaded her.

He sensed it —the hesitation, the struggle, the war of her thoughts— and with it, his restraint fractured. Whatever vow he silently made to himself to maintain distance until she spoke the truth crumbled.

Fingertips skimmed down the length of her arms. A shudder trailed in their wake, goosebumps rising beneath the layers of fabric. It wasn't even skin against skin, and yet she felt him— through her robes, through flesh, down to her very bones.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought the urge to pull away from his hold.

"You flinch from confessions but not this?" His fingers lingered at her elbows, waiting for her to pull away.

But she didn't.

Ominis tilted his head, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips. "I don't need your words to know the truth, Velvette. You tell me with your silence. With your breath. With the way you—" He inhaled slowly, as if savoring something only he could sense. "—don't move away."

His presence suffocated her in all the best and worst ways. She fell back into his embrace and those strong arms circled her, pinning her to his chest. With her guard down, she felt a torrid flow of declarations come forth.

"I told my grandmother that I love you." She blurted out, nonsensically. And then she backtracked before the damaging sentiment could settle on his ears, "But I don't. Not... At least, I think I don't. You have to understand that it's just been my parents and I against the world for so long. I never had friends. Or, ones that really mattered, anyways. And I always wanted to hate this world for how unfair and discriminating it was."

The train rumbled beneath them, steady and unchanging, but inside this small, secluded space, everything else was shifting.

"So, that's why..." she let her head fall forward, immediately missing how warm and comforting Ominis's chest had been when cushioning the back of her head. "That's why it's too soon for me to be answering all these questions. I know you have your whole life figured out and years of consideration for your feelings, but that's new to me. It's a luxury to be this free. To not have people looming over me and dictating how I should feel."

Her parents, always yearning for her safety, had built a world where love meant sheltering her from their past. Her grandmother had craved a different path for her dear granddaughter— one where power meant survival, and to turn away from it was to be devoured. They had been at war for as long as she could remember, each pulling her toward their own vision of what her life should be.

One wanted her to stay hidden, to be small enough that the world could not harm her. The other wanted her to rise, to take her place among those who shaped history, no matter the cost.

Why couldn't she have both?

The weight of their expectations settled deep in her chest, a constant ache, reminding her that no matter which path she walked... she would be betraying someone.

Perhaps even herself.

Velvette wet her drying lips and struggled against the crushing silence. "Say something. Please. I'm rambling now and I want you to stop me before I say something stupid." Nothing. More silence. "Ominis, please! I need one person in my life who doesn't expect anything of me. You were last person before the holidays, what happened?"

"What happened?" At long last, his facade cracked. He spoke with venom coating each syllable. "Did you seriously ask that? As if you didn't have me at your mercy, wandless and truly blind, with my fingers—"

"Stop!" She shrieked, attempting to rip away from his grasp. He held firm.

He rolled straight through her protests, uncaring. "— inside you, begging you to let me in. In more ways than one, Miss Nightingale. I assure you that my manners were long gone in that moment and still I wanted for you to just let me in! Into your mind, your very soul, not only your body. You knew that. You keep shutting me out but I will not tolerate it a moment longer."

Ominis shoved their bodies forward, against the glass window and leaned down to snarl in her ear, "Figure it out. You're toying with me now and I will suffer no longer. Go ahead, be my guest and claim ignorance for the rest of your life. That's one way to stay alone forever, Velvette. And you will be alone forever if you persist in this fruitless endeavor of shutting everyone out."

"I don't—"

He growled low, deep within his chest and pressed her against the glass. "You do! And... and if you won't let me in, I'll have to force it to figure out why." 

Sudden determination set in him as he reeled away from her, causing her to lose balance and fall onto her knees. With his wand already in hand, he pointed it at her head and set his intentions with one word, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he shouted, "Legilimens!"

Visions and memories swarmed his mind. He first saw Velvette declaring that she loved a Gaunt to her grandmother, with her aunt present. The gala. Ominis's bedroom, her unbidden lust for him as he carried her to the bed. Hawthrone. Drinking with her uncle as he made a fool of himself.

He dug deeper, ripping into the memories without mercy.

Hogwarts. Meeting Meredith for the first time. Seeing Quidditch for the first time.

Ominis needed to go back to her youth.

Her uncle, picking her up from her parent's house. Taking her to Diagon Alley and picking out a wand. Something piqued his interest there— a memory he'd have to revisit at a later time. But not now. Not when he was searching for the root of her refusal to get close to anyone.

Visions of a backyard surfaced. Teatime with her aunt, who looked troubled as she watched her little niece pour the tea. No one else was present, just the two of them. 

"It's not your fault, you know." Her aunt surmised, startling the little girl and making her spill the tea. She steadied the poor girl's hands and took the teapot from her, vanishing the mess with magic. 

The little girl hung her head, ashamed.

Magdalain sighed and then the memory warped into a new one as the young Velvette remembered something that haunted her each and every day. Until the end of time.

The sound of running water... a steady trickle, almost peaceful if not for the fact that her mother had been in there far too long. Her tiny fingers curled around a brass doorknob, cool beneath her touch. A hesitant push. The door creaked open, and the scent of iron hit her first. Then the sight—

The bathroom, rather Muggle in its lack of magical elements. Black-and-white checkered tiles covered by a thin layer of water, rippling outward from an old clawfoot tub. The faucets still ran, unbothered by the flood they evoked. The pitter-patter of her feet splashed as she stepped into the room, but the sound was drowned by the ringing in her ears.

An arm dangled over the edge of the tub, pale as candle wax. Thin, fragile. Lacerations carved into the flesh in deliberate, parallel lines. Too many. Too deep. The skin gaped where the blade had kissed it, blood diluting in the water like ink spreading through parchment.

The knife lay abandoned on the tiles. Its handle dark with bloody fingerprints. Its edge glinting beneath the flickering bathroom light.

The water kept running. The body did not move.

"Mom? Mommy?" Little Vel ran to her mother's side and clutched her arm, trying to drag her scantily clothed body from the tub. She was sobbing now, screaming for help. She couldn't have been more than six or seven years old and her pitifully weak voice broke as she begged for someone to come. 

Her mother's head was submerged under the water and no signs of life were apparent. The older woman hung limp, head only bobbing out of the water when her daughter attempted to drag her out. 

Little Vel screamed until her throat burned, her tiny chest heaving, sobs wracking her fragile body. Her cries echoed off the cold bathroom walls, mixing with the relentless sound of running water. Tears blurred her vision, spilling freely down her blotchy cheeks, while thick discharge clogged her button nose. She gasped between wails, choking on the air. 

Tiny lungs drowning in grief. 

Her little hands —so small, so useless— pressed desperately against her mother's arm, slipping over slick, tacky skin. Something peculiarly warm seeped between her fingers; staining her hands, her nightgown, and the already-drenched checkered floor. 

She didn't understand. She couldn't.

What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. 

Magic. Her magic.

It lashed outward, a force beyond her control and knowledge. The bathtub lurched violently, sending waves of crimson-streaked water sloshing onto the tiles. Her mother's limp body was yanked from the tub by an invisible hand that seized her from it and deposited her with a sickening slap against the flooded floor. 

The child's hands glowed. A luminescent golden light pulsed from her fingertips, wrapping around her mother’s arm, searing into the torn flesh. The wounds —deep, angry gashes— began to stitch themselves together, the magic working in frenzied desperation to right this unnatural wrong. The blood remained, unable to dry in the damp environment, but the cuts closed. 

Only pale scars were left behind.

Vel collapsed over her mother's unmoving chest, her frail body trembling, her sobs coming in broken, hiccupping gasps. She screamed for help, over and over, until the sound cracked and became nothing more than a rasp. But no one came.

Not for a long time.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, curled against her mother’s still body, the cold water seeping into her bones. It felt like hours, like years. Her voice grew hoarse, the cries reduced to weak whimpers. Her small hands gripped at the soaked fabric of her mother’s clothes, as if holding on would keep her here and keep her from slipping away entirely.

And then—

The door opening. A sharp intake of breath as her father heard her pitiful sounds. The heavy slam of grocery bags hitting the floor. Steps bounding up the staircase.

"What happened? What did you do?" His tone accusatory until he further took in the scene— the bloody knife, the overflown bathtub... His wife's scarred arm. Only then he knew what transpired and horror settled into his features as he struggled to find a pulse on his wife's limp form.

She thought he might yell. Thought he might cry. But instead, he pulled her away, wrapped his arms around her shaking body, his own voice trembling.

"Shh, Vel, shh. It'll be okay," he murmured, over and over, rocking her as she breathlessly sobbed. "She's alive. Someone is coming to help her now. You did so good. Look, see? She's breathing, she's going to be okay. Shh, Vel, please."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to. But the weight in her chest didn't lift. Her lungs still burned. Her head pounded. Her nose was clogged with snot, her face sticky with tears. Her entire body ached.

And then, another presence filled the room shortly later.

A stranger.

The man stood in the doorway, taking in the scene with a sneer that barely masked his distaste. His robes were pristine. Bound by an oath to save lives, he strode forward, kneeling beside her mother. He did not react to the blood, nor to the destruction. He merely pressed his fingers against her mother's wrist, assessing in silence, and then got to work to restore life to the weak woman who attempted to take her own.

A Healer... Vel realized distantly. Someone her father must have contacted. The Nightingale name carried weight, even for a Squib. The two men argued, the unknown Healer claimed that the girl should be brought to her magical family if they could not handle her or held prejudice against her.

This notion bewildered the child, still drying her tears in their presence as they argued. The voices reached a crescendo and Vel’s breath hitched. She wiped at her eyes with trembling hands, trying to understand, trying to grasp what was being said.

But then another shadow filled the doorway.

A figure she knew... Aunt Magdalain.

Before Vel could react, Mags scooped her up, lifting her small, drenched body with ease. The child clung to her without thinking, fingers curling into the familiar fabric of her aunt’s coat, pressing her face against the warmth of her shoulder.

Mags turned without a word, carrying her out of the bathroom. Away from the voices. 

"Wait! You can't just take her!" The girl's father shot to his feet, running down the stairs after his sister.

Vel cracked her swollen eyes open just in time to see him stumble on the stairs, his desperation bleeding into every step as he gripped the railing, barely catching himself.

"We love her," he rasped. "She’s safe here. Please, Mags, you know she’s safe here. Her mother would never hurt her. She’s in no danger."

Magdalain whipped around, still clutching the girl in her arms who clung to her like a baby koala bear. Too tired to fight any longer.

Even at her young age, Vel understood.

She understood that whatever battle was being waged in that moment, her father had already lost.

"Safe? Don't make me laugh, brother. You've traumatized her! I can't even put into words what I just witnessed but in no world was Velvette safe in there!" When the man tried to approach with arms outstretched for his daughter, now crying as the fear of losing her hit him, Magdalain backed away. 

Then, readied her wand if he tried anything. 

The man looked at it and scoffed. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'm taking her to mother's house for the time being. Do not attempt to contact us." Magdalain shuffled the girl in her arms to better raise her wand to point at her own brother as he stumbled forward two more feet. 

"Velvette?" A feminine, scratchy voice croaked from the top of the stairs, where the bathroom was just beyond. 

At the sound of her name leaving her mother’s lips, the little girl wrenched herself from her aunt’s hold, landing unsteadily on her feet before taking off. She tore past her father, her tiny hands and feet scrambling against the stairs as she ascended on all fours, desperate to reach the woman who had called for her.

She found her mother exactly where she had left her —collapsed on the floor— but all evidence of the tragedy had been wiped away. No blood. No murky bathwater creeping across the tiles. Just her mother, as if she had merely dozed off on the cool floor. 

The stranger who had healed her lingered nearby, shaking his head with a solemn air, muttering about how the child would be better off with her aunt before turning on his heel and leaving. 

Voices clashed downstairs as the little girl collapsed onto her mother’s body, arms curling around her to shield her from the world. Their breath synced— shaky, agonized.

The mother whispered sweetly to her child, a siren's lullaby. "We can go together. We can leave this all behind, my little star. We'll be happy up there, in the sky. And that's where stars belong... in the sky. Don't you want to return to the world above the clouds?"

She muttered this all too beautifully to the child, who now looked down adoringly on her mother's face. A face that mirrored her own. With shining brown eyes that reflected a muddy galaxy of wonderment. 

"Can daddy come with us?" The little girl chirped, tears making her eyes sparkle like stars. 

A faint, sorrowful smile curled her mother’s lips as she reached up, cupping the girl’s face with a reverence that made the child lean into her touch.

"Maybe one day, he will." Out of the girl's line of sight, her mother’s hand crept along the floor, fingers brushing against the hilt of the knife she had once wielded against herself. She wrapped her grip around it without a sound. "For now, it will just be us. No one will take you from me and we can be together forever. No magic. None of this mess. Only you and me, my little star."

Little Vel smiled, beaming so brightly it could have outshone the sun. "Okay! When do we go?

"Right now." Her mother’s voice hitched on a sob. Then, in a blur of motion, she swung the knife down, aiming straight for her daughter's unsuspecting back. Planning to do the same to herself seconds after.

A crack of energy split the air before the blade could land. The girl's magic sensed the threated and acted on pure instinct. It lashed out; flinging the knife from the woman's hand with such violence that it clattered against the porcelain sink, then skittered across the floor.

The sound of the commotion made the two adults downstairs take action as they ran up the stairs just in time and into the bathroom to see the little girl put both hands on her mother's face —one on the forehead and the other on her cheek— crying out, "No, you love me! You love me! You would never hurt me!"

Hands were already pulling the girl up, but not before something flashed across her mother's eyes and then her face crumpled, confused beyond her senses. "What are you doing? Let go of her, let go of my baby—" The woman struggled to get onto her knees, hands outstretched for her daughter. "Velvette, come here sweetie."

"Mommy!" The girl ripped free from her captors, flinging herself into her mother’s embrace. Warmth. Familiarity. The only safe place in the world.

Behind them, voices rose to unprecedented levels, fading in and out.

"—tried to kill her!"

"You don't know—"

"Landon! I've heard enough of this, the girl is—"

Vel shivered uncontrollably and tuned out the noises, hugging her mother tight. "You'd never hurt me..."

And her mother shook her head fervently, still confused as to what was happening around them. The tears, the shouting, the bathroom floor... All of it had no merit. 

"What happened?" She croaked —voice too hoarse to be her own— into her daughter's nest of hair.

Silence devoured the small room. 

Magdalain and Landon stopped shouting then, turning to the woman and child on the ground. 

Landon knelt beside her, his hand ghosting over her cheek before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Addie, you don't remember?"

Adelaide shook her head with such force it sent a fresh ripple of dread through him. But at the same time, relief. Her expression was soft again, familiar. The tension in his shoulders uncoiled. 

The once-tense man looked to his sister, imploring her to see reason with a pleading look etched into his very demeanor. 

Magdalain sheathed her wand. "Fine, I will not report her to the authorities for endangering a magical child. But the girl will be coming with me, for at least a week until we reach an amiable solution, and when she returns there will be wards placed to ensure this never happens again."

"Endanger..." The girl's mother blanked. She searched her memory and came up empty. "I love my daughter. I'd never hurt her."

The words made the skin between Magdalain's brows crease, creating three wrinkle lines that Vel had never seen on her aunt's flawless complexion. "Velvette, child, what did you do to your mother before we came in?"

"Nothing..." Little Vel glanced down at her hands and then at her mother's worried face, before shrugging a little too innocently. "I wanted her to remember that she loved me. And that she'd never hurt me... I needed to remind her."

The siblings exchanged a look, one that the young child could not decipher. Worry? Panic? Resolve? It left their faces a second later when they turned back to the child in unison. 

"You will go with your aunt now, sweetie." The betrayal struck harder than any blade. Her own father. Ripping her away. Handing her over. "You'll have so much fun and have tea parties and—"

"No! No! No! I have to stay with mommy!" She kicked against him, her little legs and feet slamming into any part of him that she could connect with. 

Landon cried, desperately wishing her to understand. "Do it, take her." 

A light erupted from behind the little girl and at last, she stopped her efforts to stay with her mother and went limp in her father's arms, before he handed her over. She still maintained consciousness, but that was taken away a moment later.

The last thing she saw before the world faded to black—

Her mother’s face. Twisted in agony.

Arms outstretched.

Reaching.

Calling her name.

 

Notes:

Your Kudos & comments let me know that I'm not writing to the void! (also... I'm sorry about this chapter >.<)

Chapter 27

"What was that? What did you do?" Velvette swayed, falling from her upright position on her knees and onto the cold ground of the train car. She curled into herself, shivering from the aftereffects of having relived her worst memory without consent to do so.

Ominis fell down to the floor beside her. "You... your mother..."

She fought back the tears and refuted his mindset that likely saw her as a victim. "She would never! She loves me! It was a bad day. My grandmother verbally attacked her for not allowing me a training wand and threatened to take me away. My mother... she didn't want a world without me. She wasn't strong enough back then, but she is now."

He laughed, a bitter and foul thing that made his chest go numb. "Because you warped her brain, like you did with Thaddeus. Told her that she would never hurt you and now she never can again. No matter if she wanted to or not."

"You don't understand. No one ever will!" Vel refused to allow this slander against her own mother. The woman who gave her life and brought her into this world, selflessly. Knowing that her daughter would likely be born with magic since it ran strong through both family's bloodlines.

"I know what I saw, my little star. And what I saw was sick and repulsive. I don't know how or why your aunt ever allowed you to step foot in that home again. Why didn't they Obliviate you so that you never had to live with that memory?"

"They... tried." She admitted, sinking further into the cocoon of her body, curling up like a snake seeking warmth and protection. "My ability protects me against being Obliviated. Every time they tried, the memories came hurtling back into place, and it hurt me. Though that didn't stop my grandmother from trying with quite a few talented Healers, who then denied to ever try again because it was torturing me... Reliving it each time."

She shuddered. 

That's exactly what happened again today. Forced to bear witness against her will. Even at night, when sleep comes to claim her, if Vel focuses on something else —anything else— then she manages to keep the memory at bay. 

"I'm sorry, Vel. I didn't know it would be that traumatic. I just..." he sat down fully now, dropping onto his rear end as the weight of what he just saw pressed down on his mind. "I thought you had a bad experience with some young romance. Or that your friends bullied you after a magical outburst. I never thought..."

Fighting to right herself, she pushed her palms into the floor and rose into a sitting position, with her legs pulled to her side as she reclined onto her hands. No small effort, considering how awful she felt. She allowed the boy to work through his fruitless endeavor of convincing her to turn on her mother, done with speaking. 

Now she knew he could simply take whatever he desired from her mind, regardless of her consent.

"What your mother did was inconceivable. Horrid. Wrong. Do you understand that? You have to understand that. You having magic cannot be the blame for her actions. To kill herself, fine. That's her choice. But to take her child with her?" Ominis shivered, closing his eyes as if he saw it happening all over again. She knew that in these recollections —like the pensieve— that he truly saw what transpired.

He tapped his wand on the ground, thinking too deeply on this. Something that happened long ago and that should remain in the past. Yet he failed to let it go. "I have many questions, but the train is about to come to a stop, and I have to go gather my belongings. Meet me in the library tonight, our usual spot?"

"Why ask anything when you can rip it from my mind?" She pushed off the floor, dusting off her hands from the dirt and debris that stuck to the heels of her palms. 

Ominis stood as well, pinning her down with a hard stare. 

"This isn't over, we will talk about this later tonight. Only talk. I will never perform Legilimency on you again. I was frustrated and my own ambitions pushed me too far, I am sorry." He stepped closer. "Though I will not apologize for how this memory rattled me to my core and what I will do with the knowledge."

"Y-you can't report her. Ominis. Swear to me." Vel gripped at the front of his robes to drag him down to her level and he stood strong, resolute.

He plucked her hands off his robes and stepped away, needing the distance. "I can make no such promises."

When he spun to leave the train car, she fought the urge to tackle him. To throw a curse at his back. To scream at him until his ears bled. He'd see the assault and spells coming before she ever managed a hit. As for the screaming... It'd do little good to draw such attention to herself. 

Instead, she grated her teeth together out of pure frustration. If he wanted to meet in the library later to hash this out... So be it. She'd be ready this time. Being caught off guard allowed him to think he had some say in all of this. But he didn't, no one did. 

***

Upon returning from Christmas and Yule, the student body had a certain cheerfulness about them that Velvette struggled to relate to. Monty began sitting with them from that day forth. In the dining hall, in study rooms, in the library when they were shrugging off their studies, and even in the common room. 

It added a new dynamic to their group that Vel leaned into earnestly. 

On the other hand, every interaction with her protective Slytherin shadow made her want to burrow in the snow and never emerge. His audacity only increased with every exchange. In the library upon their return to Hogwarts, he attacked her mother's sound of mind. After classes, he caught up with her to walk in the halls and berated her for being so careless with her own safety. In the rare times they met in the Undercroft —like right now— he dared to threaten her once more with calling in the authorities. 

He paced in front of the loveseat, where she so casually sprawled across the soothing fabric and fought the urge to throw a silencing spell at him. 

"Perhaps a little time in Azkaban could serve her well! The dementors may even be able to pull the memory of what she did to her child and force her to remember!"

And that's where Vel drew the line. 

"I don't want her to remember! Did you ever stop to think that it would damage me far more with her knowing? No, of course you hadn't! She's my mother, I love her, and I'll never be apart from her so long as we both live. Please— stop this incessant, brain-numbing idea that you need to protect me and let's move past this!"

"Brain-numbing? Me? When you still refuse to acknowledge that your mother tried to kill you?"

She flipped over and squished her face into the cushions, releasing a fury-induced scream that was only muffled a little. Then, her head shot up and the rest of herself soon followed, something dawning on her in that moment. 

"I don't have to listen to this." She bemused, headed for the door to escape back up the passage that led out behind a cabinet. 

He stalked behind her, adamant that she listened to him instead of ignoring him, as she'd be doing all week. 

"Come back, Vel. We aren't done here."

"Ha, I don't have to listen to this!" She repeated her suddenly acquired self-awareness. 

All the way back up to the Ravenclaw common rooms, he followed behind her silently. She knew he was there and did nothing about it. The more steps she took, the more strength it gave her resolve. She did not owe him the torment of sitting through another lecture about her past. 

Especially not after the way he treated her.

When she reached the entrance and spoke the answer to the riddle, Ominis grabbed her upper arm in a last effort to voice his concerns. "I've pushed you away with my unease over your past, I see that now. Do not blame me for feeling this way about it. Anyone in their right mind would have ripped you from your home by now, but I am not in my right mind because I don't want to lose you..."

When she shook free of his hold, he let her go. 

"You'll lose me like this." Came her whispered confirmation of what he feared most. It shocked him to his core and his balance teetered. She entered the common room, closing the door behind her as she murmured, "See you in class."

***

Academic endeavors found themselves in the very back of his mind as he floated between classes. He remained her shadow at a distance, watching her mingle with her three Ravenclaw familiars who stuck to her like leeches. The sight incensed him.

Every chance he got, he stole glimpses at her. May she remain unaware of his stalking long enough to come crawling back to him. 

He picked through his meal, not impressed with the contents of it. Every so often, his mind's eye supplied the sight of that Muggle kitchen knife —crude object that it was— inches away from young Vel's exposed back. Now, whenever people got too close to her, he tensed. Like that spiny, talentless seeker who kept swinging his arm around her shoulders as if he had the right to touch her.

The nerve...

"Um, Ominis? You're boiling your soup again." Someone from his class pointed out. 

Fates against him, Thaddeus overheard that quip from not far down the table and dragged himself into the conversation without a moment's hesitation. He gleamed at Ominis, smug with the boy's struggle to calm his own magic. 

"Having trouble with sharing her?" The vermin dared to insinuate. 

Ominis composed himself, ignoring the blatant taunt, and reached for his spoon again, only to find the handle scalding. The surface of his soup hissing with the residual heat of his unchecked magic. His fingertips burned, but he made no move to shake them out, no indication that the pain even registered. 

Pain was tolerable. This conversation was not.

Thaddeus, ever the opportunistic bastard, leaned in with a smirk. Glaring at his Slytherin classmate. "Ah, I see," he mused. "You're not used to competition. Is that it?"

Ominis exhaled, slow and measured. He set the spoon down deliberately, his movements precise despite the rising tension beneath his skin.

"Competition?" His voice came out quieter than intended, which only made it more unnerving. "Is that what you think this is?"

Thaddeus flicked his gaze toward the Ravenclaw table, where Velvette sat— still too close to that insufferable seeker. "Honestly, mate, I almost feel bad for you. She looks happy enough without your brooding."

Ominis's grip on his wand tightened beneath the table. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

How little they all understood.

He knew her better than any of them. He knew her voice when she was forcing laughter, recognized the shift in her breathing when she was uncomfortable but too polite to shove someone away. That idiot seeker — Lial Montgomery, was it not?— had no idea that the reason Velvette hadn't moved from his grasp wasn't contentment, but calculation. She was waiting for the right moment to pull away where it would seem natural.

That truth burrowed into his chest like a jagged thorn, his fingers flexing uselessly in his lap. He could still see it— the scrape of a knife against tile as her mother struggled to grasp it, followed by the breathless moment before the child's magic protected her.

He needs to protect her. 

Did she not understand how fragile she is?

That moment, that sliver of time where —if her magic had not reacted instinctively— something as menial as a kitchen knife could've ended her existence, had carved itself into his mind with excruciating permanence. 

And now, to see her so casual, so unbothered by the proximity of another... As if they would never stab her in the back. Too trusting of everyone. 

Thaddeus sighed, as if bored. Yet his taunts bore meaning and depth, slithering into Ominis's pre-existing doubts. "You can't hoard her forever, Ominis. Sooner or later, she'll be in someone else's bed... Might as well be one of ours."

That remark earned a few snickers from the nearby boys and a few disgusted sneers by one or two girls that happened to overhear.

"Meet me outside." Ominis intoned.

Both boys stood from the bench at the same time, locked onto each other's movements.

"Oh? Are we settling this the proper way?"

Ominis didn't answer. Didn't need to. And as he stepped away from the table, he didn't look back.

The shuffling of feet, the hushed murmurs of anticipation, told him enough. 

They were following.

But there was one more pair of steps. All the Slytherins who overheard the banter were hoarding around Thaddeus, giving him encouraging jeers and muttering what spells he should use. Only a few girls bounced up beside Ominis, saying something about how amorous it was to be defending Miss Nightingale's virtue. Did they think him a saint? A savior?

Then they surmised all the wrong reasons why he initiated this duel.

He desired to prove something... Something to himself. To Thaddeus. And to—

Velvette. Right on cue.

She had slipped out of the castle, blending effortlessly into the steady stream of students trickling into the halls. With dinner ending and most returning to their common rooms, the movement provided a perfect cover. No Professor seemed the wiser as a cluster of Slytherins slipped through the massive front doors.

They formed a loose ring around the duelists, their hushed anticipation thick in the air.

Only one outsider joined them— a lone Ravenclaw who cut through the gathered crowd, her gaze locked onto Ominis with unsettling intensity.

She'd been watching.

This only confirmed what he already knew.

He'd sensed her lingering stares at meals, the not-so-furtive glances cast over her shoulder. Noticed how she hesitated after classes, loitering just long enough to catch the sound of his retreating footsteps. And to think— he had once considered stalking to be in poor taste.

For reasons lost to him, when she did it, it was almost... endearing.

Thaddeus rolled his shoulders, a slow, deliberate motion that cracked the tension in his joints. He readied his wand, knuckles paling. There would be no formalities— no bow, no measured start. Ominis knew this before the duel had even begun.

A streak of dark purple energy split the air, aimed straight for Ominis's chest. A calculated opening strike, cruel in its intent. Ominis spun to the left, the curse grazing past him, crackling as it struck the ground behind him. And just like that, the battle began.

The evening air outside the castle pulsed with magic; the quiet buzz of onlookers barely registering beneath the rapid exchange of spells. Thaddeus fought with unrelenting aggression, a duelist who favored force over finesse, his wand an extension of his arrogance. Ominis, on the other hand, moved like a ghost— unpredictable and ever precise. Each curse sent his way met a calculated dodge or a silent, near-effortless deflection.

But then Thaddeus faltered.

They veered off their predetermined paths, the duel slipping from its intended course. And then someone in Thaddeus' peripheral disrupted his focus. His body went rigid mid-curse, wand faltering as his head snapped toward the crowd.

Or rather— toward her.

His eyes locked onto Velvette, a flicker of something foreign crossing his features. Fear. Not from the wariness of a potential secondary opponent— but genuine, rattling, wide-eyed fear. His wand arm hesitated; his next spell half-formed. And then, as if caught in a snare, he turned towards her completely, wand raised, as if warding off something far more dangerous than the Gaunt standing before him.

Ominis did not hesitate.

"Stupefy."

The stunning spell hit Thaddeus square in the back. His body stiffened before he crumpled, wand slipping from his fingers as he hit the ground in a graceless heap. The fight was over.

As the dust settled, Ominis found his focus shifting and he stepped over the unconscious imbecile, lowering his wand as the observers dispersed. Grumbles of how the fight ended reached his ears and he drowned out the background noise until only Vel remained. He caught the shift in her demeanor— the near-imperceptible flicker from anger to uncertainty.

Thaddeus had been afraid.

And Ominis wanted to know why.

"I've been giving you space," he stressed the point, raising his hands in surrender. "Remember that it's you who approached me, this time. What did you do that had him all riled up? The vermin had his next spell on his lips and you stopped him without casting a single curse. Was a potion in play?"

Vel flicked a glare at Thaddeus' prone body lying on the ground. "No potion, charm, or curse could hurt him enough to satisfy me. I want to alter his memory to the point where he forgets about magic, but his family has access to the best Healers available. I found a way to... convey my intentions. Mentally."

"Mentally?" In all his years of study and extra-curricular academics, he'd never heard of such a thing. "He'd need to be Occluding in order to access your thoughts, unless a bridge between your minds was open..."

"I've been reading up on... some things." 

"Is that so? I haven't seen you in the library."

She narrowed her eyes. "Have you been spying on me?"

"What if I have?" He gave her no time to bite out an angry retort before he accused, "Haven't you been doing the same? Is that not the very reason you followed after you saw me arguing with Thaddeus and then get up and storm out of the castle with him tailing me? I've told you before that I am so attuned to your person that there's nothing you can hide from me."

"Mhm, like my own memories." The venom in her tone poisoned him. 

Naturally, he coiled to strike back. A snake in the very sense of the word. "Until the day you can be trusted to keep yourself safe, I will have to do it for you! Sometimes, I swear, it's as if you're punishing yourself for your mother's choices. Is that it? Do you hold yourself responsible for what she did— to you and to herself?"

He audibly hissed when she flinched, shame plaguing her soul.

"You do..." he realized, sensing the vibrations in how she trembled, full of guilt and grief and everything between. Then his realization took him further, "You do and that's why you refuse to be happy here. Hogwarts is the steppingstone to have a perfectly falsified, Muggle life with your parents. Bet you'll warp your father's mind too. Convince everyone in your life that everything is just peachy and perfect, all with the help of your little mind tricks."

Now Vel's sharp intake of breath sounded like a hiss. "You're vile for even insinuating that! How dare you. Why I choose to forgive my mother has nothing to do with you or anyone else! Why can't you forget this and stop torturing me?"

"Because it's all I see! Every waking day and sleepless night, I can't even escape to my dreams. It's all I see..." If her magic failed and the knife plunged into her unsuspecting, innocent back... His eyes squeezed tight to dispel the very thought. 

"That's not my concern." She steeled herself as she backed away from him and towards the miraculous castle behind her. "And it shouldn't be yours either."

Then she tugged open the great doors using both hands; their weight no match for the force behind her desperation. She stormed toward the Ravenclaw common room, the sting of tears ever-present, threatening to spill with every hurried step. But not yet. Not until she was safe.

It wasn't until the warmth of the common room enveloped her, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows along the stone walls, that she finally allowed herself to break. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of the raven's den, she let go.

And who would find her in a moment like this? Who would gather the pieces before they shattered beyond repair?

Her friends.

Monty caught sight of her first. After a soft nudge to Meredith, a glance exchanged, and then Clarissa, too, was pulled from the loveseat. All three closing in before Velvette could escape. They embraced her without question, without hesitation, ignoring her half-hearted murmurs of 'I'm fine' and her feeble attempts to wiggle free. 

They held on, unyielding, until any passerby would see not four separate students, but one unbreakable force— woven together, shielding her from the world, from her own thoughts.

And when the tears dried, when her mind quieted at last, one thought remained.

'I'm so lucky.'

Notes:

“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.” — Haruki Murakami

Chapter 28

Luck played no part in what transpired mere days later. 

Stupidity, on the other hand, played a massive role.

The dungeon air settled heavy in her lungs, thick with dampness and the ghost of something meant to be forgotten. Shadows loomed in the corners, shifting as her torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls. The castle above her had long since quieted, the distant hum of students tucked away in the Slytherin common room began to fade away the further down she ventured. 

Down here, there was only silence.

Velvette exhaled, steadying herself as she reached into the folds of her robe and pulled free the pendant. 

I shouldn't be doing this alone.

Pushing that lingering doubt aside, she knelt and pressed the pendant into the indentation on the cold, damp floor. A whisper of ancient magic tingled against her fingertips. The stones beneath her pulsed, then, as if inhaling a deep breath, the ground shifted. Velvette took a step back, heart hammering, as the enchanted basin solidified before her.

The last time she had done this, Rowena Ravenclaw had shown her a glimpse into the past. She had seen things that were never meant to be seen— memories long buried in the literal depths of Hogwarts. What would she see this time?

She hesitated only a moment before leaning forward, pressing her hands to the cool stone rim of the Pensieve.

And then she fell.

Velvette landed in another memory that shifted and blurred around her before it became a solid landscape. And, oddly enough, she found herself back in the hidden chamber that her body remained in. But an earlier version of it— less worn by time, yet no less imposing in its coldness.

Before her, Rowena Ravenclaw stood in front of the Pensieve, her long dark hair flowing like a river of ink over her shoulder. The witch's hands moved with slow, deliberate care as she lifted the tip of her wand to her temple. A thin, shimmering thread of blue light unraveled from her mind, slipping from her wand and into the swirling basin below.

Velvette had never seen memory extraction like this before. It wasn't just a singular moment Rowena was removing... It was many. A slow and painful severing.

"You're certain?" a voice murmured from behind.

Velvette turned, barely suppressing a gasp. Not like they could hear her, regardless. 

A tall figure stood near the edge of the chamber, half-hidden in the flickering torchlight. His robes were dark, lined with silver embroidery, and his dark hair showed signs of aging with greys peppering the locks that fell past his shoulders in thick waves. But it wasn't his face or hair that caught her attention— it was his wand.

Long, twisted wood, carved with intricate markings. Even in the memory, it hummed with power.

Velvette knew that wand.

It had called to her.

Back in Ollivander's, when she had searched for the one meant for her, that wand had sung in the back of her mind. The way it resonated, the way it ached to be held in her hands. It was the same one clutched between the fingers of the man in front of her now.

Rowena exhaled, bracing herself against the Pensieve as the last strand of memory drifted away. "It is done," she declared without a hint of remorse.

"Then we must ensure they are never taken," the man replied. His fingers curled around the wand, his grip tightening. "The chamber has been sealed with blood magic. Only an heir will be able to break the seal. I have done the same to my own."

Rowena turned, regarding him with wary eyes. "And if there is no heir?"

"Then it will remain untouched for eternity."

Velvette's breath caught. An heir. The very thing that had led her down this path in the first place. This only proved her family's suspicions. That they were, indeed, descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw.

The man lifted the wand, its tip glowing faintly. For a split second, Velvette swore the glow brightened— as if it recognized her even now, across time and space.

Then, the memory dissolved, and she was falling back into her own body.

Velvette hit the dungeon floor with a sharp gasp, knees buckling as the Pensieve receded back into the stone. The pendant lay inert before her, its purpose fulfilled.

For a long moment, she only breathed.

Then, realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

That wand belongs to me.

She had felt its pull before, but now she knew— it was bound to her, connected in some way she couldn't yet explain. And she had to find it. Possess it. If the wandmaker denied her, then she had to steal it.

And for that... she needed Ominis.

***

Working up the nerve to confront him the very next morning, the perfect opportunity struck when he wandered into the library and sat in one of long tables in the center, a carefully selected arrangement of books around him. He avoided that spot like the plague, unable to bring himself to even look at those plump armchairs for fear of seeing her there one day. With someone else. 

The memory in the Pensieve set her blood alight, every nerve in her body screaming with urgency. She hadn't slept. Had barely made it through breakfast without dragging Ominis out by his hair. 

Naturally, she needed to corner him. Yet he sensed her coming the second she opened the library doors and he began packing up his belongings, tempted to leave a mess for the librarian to clean up so that he could flee. 

"Ominis," already her voice glistened with feigned sorrow. "I'm sorry, will you please listen to me?"

Cornered. Trapped. How could he deny her when she sounded like that?

"How did you do it?" At her utter confusion, he gestured to the books piled on the table in front of him. Many of them pertained to memory charms and Occlumency, but there were titles completely unknown to her. "I've scoured them all for mentions of a way to project thoughts and intents without a bridge already connecting the two people and, do you know what I found? There's no such magic."

Ominis slammed his fist on the stack of books and that drew the interest of other students sat at tables around them. 

"I'll tell you, I swear. But not in the open... Can we go to our spot?" She whispered, avoiding the accusatory stares of her peers.

"Fine." He twisted up from his seat and beelined for the overstuffed armchairs on the second floor, walking there through pure muscle memory. He imagined, by now, most of the castle was mapped in his mind even without the help of his wand. But here, in their little corner tucked away from prying eyes... He knew every inch of. No different from his own bedroom at home.

Vel settled in her chair, its cushions embracing her like an old friend. She wasted no time in making her intentions known, "I need your help in acquiring a new wand. Can you take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

Before he got distracted by this rather bizarre request, he steered them back on track.

"No, not until you tell me what you did to make Thaddeus so terrified."

"I told you, I've been reading."

"Explain it then, Velvette. I'm quite perplexed and not even magical theory has helped in this circumstance. How could you, someone with little to no experience with magic before entering these halls, create a new branch of magic never before discovered?"

"It... it's not my creation." She admitted sheepishly.

Oh? Now Ominis inched closer to the armrest, practically leaning over it to get nearer to this perplexing, beautiful creature next to him. "Explain."

"I've been reading Rowena's correspondence in that diary... book... thing. She discusses some aspects of her memory abilities in it, and I thought it'd be good to learn from her own words, so that harnessing it came easier. It's practically in code. Whoever she exchanged this diary with must have known her talents and he... they... helped her explore it further. I can show you, if you want, but I think one would need this ability in order to do what I did to Thaddeus."

"And what did you do to him, exactly?"

She shrugged, drawing circles into the fabric of the armrest. "I needed him to know what it meant to threaten us. Between Rowena's diary and practicing on my own, it came naturally. My own thoughts and memories burst forth and I focused on sending them to him."

"Your memories, too?" This had potential to be a problem if Thaddeus, someone who possessed ill-will towards them both, knew her weaknesses, secrets, and desires.

"Not really memories, just a feeling. One of..." she stopped, biting her lip while debating between telling the truth or more lies. The truth came forth before her mind caught up, "Feelings of protection, for you. I needed him to feel it and not discard my threats. So I showed him that I'd protect you, just as you've protected me. Nothing in the form of solid memories, only the emotions surrounding them. And then I released my warning..."

A weighted sigh, and then she continued, "I suspect he believed it. Given the way he turned his back to you and left himself exposed, truly moronic. Losing control like that was not my proudest moment. The only thing I saw was him firing dark curse after dark curse and I snapped. I knew you had that duel on the cusp of completion. A few more minutes and he'd be flat on his back with numerous injuries. But my powers reacted before I could stop it."

Ominis allowed this new information to sink in. Although he did not understand how she did it, he deduced that she hardly knew herself. For sake of patching up their unstable relationship, he conceded.

"You speak as though this power you have is separate from you. Why?"

"Rowena managed to control it. I can't. It feels more like an extension of my ancestry, something bestowed upon me without my consent. If I ever discover a way to rid myself of this horrible 'gift', then I'll gladly do so."

Ah, so his accusations had settled in her conscience. 

"Velvette," he reached out to place his hand over hers, ignoring how the armrest dug into his ribcage. "I never meant what I said. My anger got the better of me and I wanted to hit you where it'd hurt. Your family is the only way to get under your skin. The worst part of me is still that serpent Animagus and he craved to burrow into you until you felt the pain we did."

"So... your Animagus form is separate from you, just how I see my powers?"

"Not quite. I assume it'd be easier for me to just say yes, but I need you to understand that this gift of yours is exactly that, a gift. My serpent form is a curse, in the truest sense of the word."

Vel bit her lip again, as she did when something troubled her and she battled with how to respond. When she released her withered lip, she met his unseeing gaze. "It's not though... it saved me. Just as my gift sought to save you."

"Hm. I hadn't thought of it that way." Truthfully, he never had. If this sentiment allowed her to begin seeing her gift for what it was, then he willfully played into it. "Then I suppose it's not a curse. I amend my previous statement and trust you'll do the same. Never again wish to be rid of something that makes you special."

Something that felt like a blush graced her cheeks. 

Now, came the hard part. Although all was not forgiven between them, this next admittance may enrage him and erase all the word they'd done in the past half hour to mend their friendship. 

"I went to the Pensieve again." Vel blurted without missing a beat between each word. 

Ominis forgot they were in the library. "You what?!"

From a few bookcases to the side of them, they overheard people shushing him. But that did little to calm his fury. He withdrew the hand resting atop hers and the brisk cold hit her skin.

"Alone?! Are you insane?" 

His body tensed with frustration, but there was a flicker of concern beneath it, barely masked.

"I watched another memory..." she stated, as though her earlier statement did not make this clear.

"Obviously." He hissed. 

She went over to him and pulled at his wrist before he could say anything else, guiding him out of the library before a protest reached his lips. 

"Let me show you," she breathed. "Please."

When she miraculously pulled him out of the library's doors and towards the Slytherin dungeons, she knew that meant victory. He numbly followed her, unable to pull away from her as, hand in hand, they trekked across the castle and descended into its belly. 

The Pensieve room lit up upon their entry, those enchanted torchlights flaring to life. 

Repeating the steps from last night, she placed the pendent into the carved-out place for it on the ground and allowed the basin to rise with bated breath. Impatience nearly had her pulling on the damned thing for it to raise faster. 

Without knowing if it'd show him the proper memory, she decidedly plucked it from her own mind and cast the silvery blue wisp into the basin, just as Rowena had. It swirled between them, luminescent threads twisting and curling. Ominis dipped his head into the murky waters and then, he saw.

She remained by his side, curious to what he'd make of the memory. 

Vel watched and saw the subtle changes in his expression— the tension in his jaw, the slight crease in his brow, the way his lips parted, likely in response to when the man in the memory spoke of blood magic and a supposed heir. 

Then, it was over.

The memory collapsed into nothingness, leaving only silence. The flickering fires surrounding them seemed louder than they should have been.

Velvette swallowed, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. "The wand in that man's hand... it called to me, Ominis." She clenched her fists. "Even across time, it was mine."

His fingers twitched at his sides. "You're sure?"

Velvette took a step closer, desperate now. "I felt it. I felt it the same way I did back in Ollivander's shop. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know it's meant for me."

Desperation leaked out of her very pores. Ominis felt it rolling off her in waves that threatened to drown them both in this cavernous chamber. 

She searched his face, pleading. If only he knew... "It's mine. Just as your wand spoke to you and adapted to you and became your eyes, I know that wand will help control my gift."

The nail in the coffin. What point could he argue against that? He knew little about wand lore, only one thing for certain... Wands chose the wizard. Or witch, in Vel's case.

He entertained her whims. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do about it?"

Her pulse stammered. "We have to steal it."

The words tumbled out before she could rethink them, before she could phrase them in a way that might sound less criminal. But there was no point in masking the truth.

Ominis's expression darkened. "Are you out of your bloody mind? The Ollivanders are a noble lineage, dating back centuries of wandmakers and experts in wand lore. Do you think someone hasn't tried to steal from them before? They'll have defenses against such an act. This is foolishness beyond my wildest dreams and I will take no part in it."

She grabbed his hands before he could turn away. "Ominis, listen to me—"

"No," he snapped. "Absolutely not."

"Please, it's within reach but Gerbold refused to let me even touch it. Said it's linked to some dark wizard. Wands aren't... they aren't evil, right?" At the subtle shake of his head, she implored him to see her side to this. "Then help me. I'll never convince him to let me near it and it'll never be mine without your help. Together, we can create enough of a distraction and—"

"A distraction? He'll realize the wand is missing, remember who was last in his shop, and connect the dots easily enough. My parents may have connections but not to that extent. We'll be expelled the second word gets out."

Velvette bit the inside of her cheek. "Not if we're careful."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You want to steal a wand tied to a dark wizard from a man who has dedicated his life to wands and expect him not to notice?"

She flinched at the bitterness in his tone.

Seconds stretched between them, wrought with unspoken fears. Ominis had every reason to say no, every reason to pull her away from this madness. Hope fled her heart as she flickered through all the possibilities of this ill-conceived plan succeeding and came up empty each time. She was no mastermind. She needed one in on this mad scheme and the only one she trusted enough was pulling away from her.  

His shoulders dropped slightly.

"...We'd have to be smart about it." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Also, if we end up arrested, I am blaming you."

She smirked. "Fair enough."

Between each of their secret talents, the pair made a formidable coupling. One with the ability to shift into a snake and the other to warp people's minds... They devised a plan. A rather simple one that required layers of deceit and would test the limits of their magic. Tomorrow, they would go to Diagon Alley and take back what belonged to her.

The two of them climbed up from the dungeons, side by side once the passage widened enough for them to do so. Velvette felt lighter than she had in weeks, slipping her hand into his without regret seeping in. Happy. Elated. Free.

Those feelings did not last. Her bank of luck ran dry.

As they emerged into the corridor, they were met with quite a sight. 

Headmaster Black stood there, arms crossed, his usual expression of disdain replaced with something unreadable. Beside him, Professor Hawthorne stood stiffly, his face drawn, lips pressed into a thin line. Remnants of drying tears coated the hollows beneath his eye sockets.

Velvette felt the weight of their stares immediately.

Her stomach twisted as she first addressed the friend to her family. "Harlan...?"

He looked away— casting his harrowing gaze downwards as Headmaster Black filled the silence.

"We've been... looking everywhere for you. Where— nevermind." The man shook his head. "That doesn't matter for now. There's no easy way for me to say this... Your aunt, Magdalain, was found dead earlier this evening."

The message didn't land immediately. It hung in the air, dangling in front of her awareness, refusing to sink in.

Vel blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"

Hawthorne shifted forward, his voice softening. "I'm so sorry, Velvette. I tried finding you as soon as I heard. Mirabel has been searching everywhere as well. We... we wanted to be the ones to tell you. 

She heard them. She registered every syllable. She understood what they were saying.

And yet...

It was like watching a memory from the outside. Like being back in Rowena's Pensieve, stuck in time without the power to do anything at all. A dull ringing filled her ears. The stone beneath her feet felt suddenly distant, unreal. Her body didn't belong to her anymore.

Aunt Mags. Dead.

Ominis' voice reached her, but it sounded muffled, distant.

"Vel...?"

She couldn't respond.

She couldn't do anything.

The world had gone silent.

 

Chapter 29

Murdered. The official report stated.

A victim of the Killing Curse. An 'Unforgivable', in the eyes of the Wizarding world.

The Nightingale family suffered its greatest lost that day, at the end of January. She hadn't even taken her Christmas decorations down...

Vel sat in her aunt's bedroom now, not the one at her grandmother's mansion, but the one in her rather quaint home that made her seem more Muggle than pureblooded witch.

She shifted through the books on her aunt's nightstand, a smirk ghosting her lips when she saw a handful of Muggle titles. Perhaps her aunt craved to break free of her own mother's reigns, after all. Something that Vel only guessed at by how she lived her life. When free of Elidah's clutches and judgmental glare, her aunt often did things by hand. Foregoing her magic to garden with her own hands so that the dirt got under her nails. Learning new recipes to impress her niece with rather than relying on the house elves employed to make their lives easier.

A knock on the door did not startle her from her reverie. This was not a new place for Vel to run off to when the guests' recollections of her beautiful aunt became too much to bear.

"Miss Nightingale. You're needed downstairs." The unfamiliar voice floated to her, and she just bobbed her head in understanding.

But she did not understand a single thing. No one spoke to her of how her aunt was found. Who found her. If there were any suspects. Three days of apparating between here and her grandmother's house, and still no one spoke to her as an adult.

Surely, by now, someone should have realized that she was no child.

"Velvette?" Now there's a voice she recognized.

Though no more tears remained in her body, some sort of liquid clouded her eyes as she looked up to find her mother and father in the doorway. Both glancing around the room as though a trap may set off if they step foot inside. She held out a shaky hand for them and they did not hesitate, rushing to embrace their daughter with the most forceful of hugs she'd felt in days.

Adelaide rocked her daughter from side to side, a mockery of how she'd rock her as a baby. "Shh, shh. You don't have to be strong now, my little star. Cry if you need to. We're here now."

Landon wrapped up both women in his arms and leaned into them, weeping silently for his sister. Much of her spirit rubbed off on Vel, and he knew that she'd feel the loss harder than anyone else in this godforsaken house. Even his own mother, who hardly spared them a glance when they arrived.

"Finneas told me that everyone is departing to Elidah's house for the service, did you want to go or stay here?" He tried to maintain neutrality with his questioning, but Vel saw clean through it when he called his mother by her first name.

"I have to go..." she dried her tearless eyes on her mother's shoulder, rubbing into the soft fabric of her rather plain attire. Black. The color of those in mourning.

But Landon shook his head, "No, you don't have to do anything unless you want to."

"I want to." The mask of bravery washed over her features as she steeled herself.

"Then, it's settled. We will go with you. Any chance you know how to apparate?"

Hearing her father speak of magic with ease startled her. He avoided the topic as much as possible... Seems she wasn't the only one donning a fake mask.

"Not yet. I'll go get Finneas." Only, a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her from moving. Her mother got off the bed, announcing softly that she'd be right back with him. That left Vel with her father and she had no clue what to say to the grieving man. Except... "I'm sorry. She loved you, you know that? Whenever we had tea here instead of Elidah's, she spoke fondly of you and she clearly missed you."

Though the truth in the words superseded all else, Vel knew why she mentioned it now instead of years prior when the sentiment would have mattered more. People shared stories of the dead, did they not? A way of getting through the loss. No matter how morbid it felt speaking on her aunt's feelings without her being here... It also felt right.

Calming, in some twisted way.

Landon smiled. Eyes downturned. "Oh yes, she loved me. Because I had you."

"That's not—"

"It is most certainly the truth, I assure you. I do not wish to speak badly of my sister, especially today of all days. But you know, as well as I, that she never moved on from that day."

They never spoke of that day. Velvette forbade it long ago after the nightmares followed her even in the daytime. When the sight of a knife, or the bath, or even anything red sent her into shock.

Putting it behind them without the worry that it'd slip into conversation was the only way forward for her. In retrospect, it also meant those around her could not handle it the way they needed to. Everyone except for her mother —who had absolutely no recollection of that day— desired closure and Vel kept them from obtaining that.

Finneas returned just in time with her mother closely behind, and Vel looked at her father, wanting to say so much and then nothing at all. The two in the doorway caught the awkward atmosphere the second they arrived and began backing up into the hallway.

"Let's go then," Landon grumbled before meeting the pair by the door.

Vel pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, wishing that she could let the tears just fall by now to get it over with. After crying for three days straight, she got accustomed to the comfort the tears provided. Now they remained trapped behind her eyelids like a dam about to burst.

"You lot go ahead. I'll take the Floo. All this apparating has me dizzy."

They left without putting up an argument. Finally... At least those three saw her as an adult.

After listening to the ticks of the clock for too long, she dragged herself from the bed and ventured downstairs. Not a single person remained, the last of them having traveled through the Floo network long ago to the Nightingale estate and Vel numbly walked through the house from room to room.

Her home away from home.

She remembered the nights here. Always sad the first few days as she adjusted to being without her parents until Aunt Mags distracted her with some magical display to show her just how wonderful this world was. Unlike her grandmother, Mags never pressed her to stay. She knew the importance of family over power.

A picture sat on the mantle above the fireplace. Just one. It was of her and her aunt, clinking their teacups with a pinky out. Wearing dresses that resembled costumes of some long-lost era where frivolous fabrics and lace were stitched together to make something truly gaudy and borderline revolting.

The two ladies in the moving, enchanted picture frame were happy. Twinkling eyes and open hearts. Velvette hardly recognized herself...

Something caught her eye then. Something obnoxiously orange. She turned to the right to see what was in her peripheral and was met with an overflowing basket of oranges. Without needing to read the note attached to the wicker handle, she knew who sent them.

The once hollowed out cavity in her chest constricted painfully.

"Ominis..."

An unsteady hand reached out to touch the basket and then snapped back, as though burned by the mere thought of accepting this gift.

The fireplace roared to life. A sign that either visitors were arriving or a Floo call was incoming. After waiting a moment, she took the hint that they were summoning her and grabbed a handful of the black powder from the ceramic pot on the mantle. Upon entering the heatless flames, she waited. Then waited... and waited some more...

"Gaunt estate." When she threw the powder down, determined to set things right between them, nothing happened. Frustrated, she grabbed another handful and cried out, "Gaunt estate!"

Again, nothing happened. The flames refused to consume her and transport her to desired destination. Meaning their Floo must have been sealed to prevent unwanted visitors... A fact that Vel refused to stop her sudden urge to apologize. She stormed out of the fireplace and dragged her hands through her unbrushed hair, vexation mounting.

"Why won't you let me in?!"

Orange after orange, she chucked the entire basket's contents into the fireplace. With enough ferocity behind her throws, she managed to explode quite a few and their contents caked the inside of the charred bricks before long. It did little to appease her. She next took to the flowers people sent. So many damn flowers, for what? Did they bring her aunt back?

"Stupid fucking—" The vase of white lilies went next and shattered on impact. Nope, that didn't bring her aunt back. She stormed through the house, searching for her next victim. Food! Why did people bring that much damn food in a time like this? "If I see another casserole, I'm going to throw it back in the person's face!"

This, she declared to the empty house; all while pilfering the fridge of all its contents. Once it was empty, she heaved up an armful of dishes and food, carrying it back to the parlor where she promptly tossed it into the fireplace.

"This won't bring her back, you imbeciles!" Vel screamed as she lit a match and tossed it into the brick structure. Still, the tears refused to fall but they welled in her eyes, nonetheless.

Once the fire had enough fuel, she made trip after trip throughout the house to purge the so-called 'gifts' people brought along with them. Flowers, casseroles, and gift baskets— They were all thrown into the flames.

"...Velette?"

Hope had her warping the sound of that pitiful voice to sound like Ominis. Fate hated her, so of course it was her uncle.

"Hey." She mumbled, not breaking her fixation on the blue and red hues of the crackling fire.

Finneas came to sit beside her on the floor, curling his legs to his chest. "They're about to begin the service. Your parents sent me to fetch you. Did you want to stay here, though?"

Yes. Yes, she did. "No..."

Finneas plastered a smile on his face for his niece's benefit. "You don't have to be strong all the time, do you know that? All your life... Always protecting those you love... Just like..."

He had yet spoken his sister's name since her murder.

"Yeah..." she surmised he meant Magdalain. "Guess her bleeding heart rubbed off on me, for better or for worse."

As the flames began to die down —due to lack of her providing kindling— Vel accepted that today had to end. The service needed to happen. With or without her, they would scatter her aunt's ashes in some magical ritual that ensured her passing on to grant Merlin's greater wishes and woes.

"I'm not..." Vel sniffled, hating how weak she felt. "I'm not ready to say goodbye."

Her uncle leaned over to rest his head against hers. "Me neither, kid. If you're anything like me, you want closure and... revenge. Please do not go seeking it without first consulting me. I know you have a Gaunt in your back pocket. That does not give you anonymity to do whatever you please."

Denying it may prove futile. Her uncle, a renowned Occlumens, may very well pluck the recent events from her mind and see that Ominis agreed to a dangerous mission to steal from Ollivander's. Then, what would be the point in lying?

"He... We understand one another." Her shoulders slumped forward, relenting to her uncle's suspicions only so that he did not dive further. On the path of admittance, she divulged, "Revenge has crossed my mind, yet I have no leads. No one talks to me. Those people who came by the first day... Aurors? They never spoke of the details when around me. I'm left in the dark, so how could I seek revenge on a ghost?"

Finneas pried himself upright, no longer leaning on his niece for support. He glanced between her and the withering flames.

"Mags would not wish for you to consume yourself with grief. Please, Velvette, for the sake of her memory itself... Do not seek recklessness. Your Ravenclaw heritage may draw you to answer the unknown, and paired with that young Gaunt's ambition... I fear the worst for you. Promise me not to seek vengeance. The authorities will handle this."

Even her uncle's conviction seemed uncertain. Could they rely on outsiders to protect this family? Velvette felt inclined to disagree. Still, she nodded, feigning complacency.

Together, hand in hand, they apparated to her grandmother's house where she spent the better of four hours being pleasant to strangers. They shared fond memories of her aunt that hardly landed on her conscience. If it eased their sorrows... Let them tell their stories. The only ones present that mattered were her parents and uncle. Everyone else could disappear, for all she cared.

She vaguely remembered the ceremony held to honor her deceased aunt. The ashes that were scattered to the winds held some semblance of importance; a lingering motif that the remains would find their way to aide Magdalain's living relatives.

How? Why? None of this mattered.

Those who sought reconciliation for their rocky relationships with her aunt found Elidah, asking the matriarch of the Nightingale family for forgiveness. For all the dozens of ministry officials who saved face after the ceremony, a dozen more showed their true nature. Good riddance. The elderly woman needed a wakeup call. 

"Magdalain never conformed to society's standards." One ministry worker stated, uncaring how their words traveled to the ears of the deceased's family.

Velvette pressed on.

"If she had only chosen a husband..."

The voices contemplated what may have happened if her aunt had secured a place amongst the thirty noble, pureblood families. Once again, not taking into consideration that a Nightingale lingered amongst them.

"Do you think she sympathized with her pathetic brother?"

Mm... this was expected. Where the night gathered, so did betrayal.

Velvette seated herself in the conversation then, done with ignoring their uncouth remembrances. None of them honored her memory or morals. Not a single one knew the woman behind the witch. All these people, all these faces...

As she loaded her carefully selected ammunition in its chamber, strangers continued on with half-hearted accounts of her aunt's bravery and dedication to the wizarding world. She readied to tell them of all the Muggle ways in which Aunt Mags lived—

"Velvette, there's someone I wish for you to meet." Finneas abruptly tugged on her arm, preventing her assault of the guests parroting egotistical fables of Magdalain's devotion to the wizarding community.

Vel grimaced. "Fine. You owe me."

Finneas chuckled before bringing them face to face with a rather disturbed woman. She resembled the Nightingale family by only her hip-length, midnight colored hair and pompous presence. Other than that... This woman was a ghost. An apparition meant to haunt the living. With sunken eye sockets —like the Gaunts— and bony limbs that clung to the little life she had reserved. Death did not disturb this woman; the living did.

"Dear niece, this is—"

The elderly woman interrupted him, "Isla Nightingale. My child... do you not hide your thoughts?"

"Ah, what?" Velvette paled.

"Occlumency may help you against the powerful, yet nothing guards you from the wicked. I can see your beginning to your end with one look... Best to guard those whims from people like us."

Like... us?

Vel shook her head— attempting to clear her mind. "I sense your intrusion. You're like me, right?"

"No... You are like me." The old woman chuckled. Isla Nightingale... "Tell me, child. Do you see the future or only predict intent?"

"N-neither? I don't have a grip on this curse yet, only brief encounters with it. I... can alter memories? Project my thoughts?" And now she wondered why this woman deserved this knowledge when she hadn't even told her parents this much. Finneas wound his attention to another some minutes ago, oblivious to this exchange.

Isla tilted her head, "You do not hold affiliation with Rowena?"

"Ah, affiliation?" Vel backed away from the obscure woman, wondering where exactly she fell in the family tree and how broken that branch may be.

"Rowena will find a way to speak with you. Listen when she does." Came the woman's warning.

"Thanks for the... words of wisdom?" 

Breaking free from that strange encounter, Vel meandered over to her parents and sought their comfort. Although her mother's memories of 'I love my child, I'll never hurt her' still maintained, it felt genuine. The service twisted into some semblance of a nurturing comradery and that's when Vel sought the gardens.

She trotted along the overgrown bushes, running her hand through the thorns without feeling their soft pricks. Before she knew it, her fingertips were littered with pinpricks that swelled with little droplets of blood. All her limbs were numb to any pain.

"Velvette."

She groaned, spinning on her heel without opening her eyes. "Yes, uncle?"

Throughout the day, whenever someone called her name in full and not a nickname or by surname, it was always her uncle. By now, her brain assimilated the calling with her uncle. Except...

"Omin—"

He swept upon her as a bird did on its prey. Wasting a second not in formalities or condolences; stealing the kiss upon her lips with such reverence that it parallelled past declarations of war. For this is what men fought for— the right to a woman they knew belonged to them.

"Let me in," he muttered against her dry, unmoving lips.

If the Ravenclaw descendent held any shields against the heir of Slytherin... they faded into oblivion. For no curse or bloodline may keep them apart.

"Always." She whispered to counter his plea; all promises to remain safe and guarded be damned. Ominis was here. He was now. He was... Forever.

 

Notes:

I never really ask questions here but... who do YOU think murdered sweet Aunt Mags?

Chapter 30

Lavender incense. Honeyed tea. Feathered comforters.

A few comforting things that transported Velvette back in time, when she once slept in this very room where Ominis and her apparated to, further testing the boundaries of their rekindled romance. 

Once, when she was very little, she laid in this very bed that their bodies were now entwined on, and asked her aunt about love...

*

*

*

The room smelled faintly of lavender from the sachet Magdalain had placed beneath her pillow, an attempt to lull the restless child into sleep. But Vel wasn't tired, not yet. She clutched the blanket with small fingers, her dark eyes wide and curious as they studied her aunt, who sat beside her on the mattress, stroking her tangled locks which contained knots that refused to yield.

"Aunt Mags," Vel whispered suddenly, voice cotton-soft, afraid the night itself might hear her question. "Are my parents in love?"

Magdalain's hand paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its soothing motion. A wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "Yes, Velvette. They are very much in love."

The little girl shifted onto her side, resting her cheek against the pillow. "How do you know?"

Mags knew why the child asked. "Love isn't always easy. It's not just in the sweet words or the happy moments— it's in the fight. In the choice to stay, even when things are hard. Your parents have been through something that tested them, but they're still holding on to each other, and that means everything."

Velvette traced a pattern into her blanket with a tiny finger. "Do you think I'll love someone like that one day?"

"You have a heart too big for this world, little star. Love will find you, even if it has to chase you down. One day, I know someone will fight for you in the same way my brother fought for your mother."

Lacking the filter most children do, Vel asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

"I have."

"Are you still?"

A pause. Then, quieter than before, Magdalain murmured, "Yes."

Tiny elbows propped herself up so she could peer at her aunt with growing curiosity. "Where is he? Why don't you marry him?"

"Because it wasn't meant to be."

"What do you mean?"

Her aunt hesitated, then smoothed her palm over Vel's small hand. "It was unrequited, darling. He doesn't love me back. Sometimes it's not enough if both people aren't fighting for it. There's a finite give and take in love, and his take outweighed my give."

Vel's heart squeezed as she imagined a loss like that. She curled her little fingers around her aunt's where they now rested on the pillow. 

"Well, I love you, Aunt Mags."

A quiet breath of laughter escaped Magdalain as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the girl's forehead. "And that," she said gently, "is more than enough. Now go to bed."

*

*

*

Velvette tilted her head away from Ominis, gasping for air in the brief moment of respite. He used that time to work his lips greedily down the column of her throat and then back up to lick her jaw. The action felt more snake-like than human and she, surprisingly, did not mind. 

Resolute fingers tightened on the fabric of his shirt as he kissed her again— full of hunger and burning passion that she may let consume her entire being. As his tongue memorized every crevice within her mouth, she moaned and pulled away only to tug his shirt over his head. They continued in this fashion, exchanging saliva for pieces of fabric like some sort of currency. 

It maddened her to no end when he trapped her in his arms, refusing to let her go as she struggled with the hem of his trousers. By now, she laid bare beneath him and he only had one last —albeit troublesome— piece of attire left to shed. 

When his tongue flicked lightly along her jaw, she let out a breathy laugh, surprised by how much she didn't mind the almost predatory edge to his touch. It was Ominis —her Ominis— and every part of him felt like it belonged to her, just as she belonged to him. His hands, usually so careful and restrained, now roamed freely, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine. 

Mapping her. Committing her to memory.

"I... I'll keep fighting for you. For us." Vel whispered suddenly. A declaration that had been building for days. Weeks. 

For what was love if not this? Love without Ominis felt... futile. Pointless. She could not live in a world devoid of this. Of him —of them— forever wrapped in this embrace. Without it she'd become a shell of a human, someone much like her grandmother. 

He lifted his head, his hazy eyes somehow finding hers with an intensity that made her chest ache. His wand-calloused fingers brushed her cheekbone; tender and reverent.

"You don't have to fight alone. Not anymore. I'm here and I'll always be here." He murmured, rough and raspy with want. No... pure need. 

The words shattered something inside her, a wall she hadn't even realized she'd built. Her hands moved to his face, cupping it as means to pull him closer until their foreheads touched. She could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath her fingertips. He was so close, so real, and yet it still felt like a dream— One she never wanted to wake up from.

Their lips met again, softer this time, but no less urgent. It was a kiss that spoke to months of yearning, of stolen glances and unspoken words, of moments when they'd been so close and yet so far. Vel's fingers tangled in his pale blonde-brown hair, pulling him closer as if she could erase all the time they wasted. Ominis responded in kind, his hands gliding down her hips; guiding her to nestle between his thighs, effortlessly lifting her to position just where he wanted.

She arched into him. Soft pleas left her lips, urging him to remove the last barrier between them.

"Ominis," she breathed, raspy.

He paused, hands stilling as he leaned back to admire her naked, pliant form— or rather, to sense her in that way only he could. His head tilted slightly as if he were listening to her very soul. "Tell me to stop... And I will."

She shook her head and moved her hands to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Don't stop."

Yet her soul said: 'Don't stop loving me. Never stop.' 

His answer came in the form of undressing. The last piece of clothing stripped until both young souls were bare and naked, raw and vulnerable. Clumsy with urgency, she reached down between their bodies and made to touch that dangling flesh that taunted her, but he was faster. 

Ominis fisted his cock, stroking it methodically as he rubbed a hand over her cheek before placing two fingers at the entrance of her mouth. 

"Suck."

Something in her belly melted at the demand. Obediently, her jaw dropped, and she sucked the two fingers into her mouth, past her swollen and red lips. Methodically moving her tongue around the appendages, tasting the proffered skin and finding it no different than the taste of his tongue. 

He tugged them out without warning and a loud pop sounded in the otherwise silent room. Using those two soaked fingers, he focused on the glistening sex between her legs, rubbing small circles over her clit until she relaxed enough for him to ease those same fingers inside her warmth.

His thumb rubbed her tender bud as he eased her into submission with his fingers, assaulting her without pretense. A perfect little magical being whimpered and pleaded beneath him as he acted in the only way he knew how— pure instinct. It was what moved the hand stroking his cock just a little faster until he reached his set limit and needed more. 

More flesh. More... Velvette.

And that was precisely what he found in her skin. Velvet. A soft and sultry textile.

She embraced him in a way no one else ever could. He had found his salvation.

Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, their bodies entwined in a way that was both new and achingly familiar. As though past versions of themselves had ventured down this path and found deliverance in the arms of a sworn enemy.

The stark scents of sweat and desire permeated the room, enough to weave into the wards and have them recognize this union. Magic swarmed around them, blessing the act they were about to commit. Be it sin, sacrifice, or a combination of the two.

His hands found her hips, abandoning his mission to warm themselves up to it all. Those same hands moved her body until the tip of his cock pressed against her slick opening. He hovered back, on his haunches, waiting. Neither of them could wait a second longer.

"Ominis," her voice trembled. "Please..."

For reasons unknown, he hesitated. Every part of his being craved to dive into her and claim her before any other bastard dared. After this... there was only him. Only them.

Forever and always.

Parting her thighs wider than before, he nestled closer and hooked his palms under her knees to draw her in. He moved one hand down to his cock, guiding it to her pussy, where he could see how wet she was for him. Even without his fingers, she ached.

"You're so beautiful," he muttered before, with a shuddering breath, pressing forward.

Slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust. The sensation overwhelmed them both, a beautiful concoction of pleasure and pressure that made her gasp with every inch introduced into her. When her nails dug into his shoulders, he stopped. His body tensed as he awaited her signal to continue.

"Are you okay?" The way his question strained like broken violin cords made her release her grip.

Shallow moans escaped her as she nodded.

He obeyed, sinking deeper into her. The feeling was indescribable, a perfect blend of heat and friction that left her trembling. When he was fully sheathed inside her, he stopped again, his forehead resting against hers as he let out a shaky breath.

"Gods, Vel," he exclaimed, full of awe. "You feel like... like fucking velvet. You took me in so well, like you were made for me."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, her body clenching around him instinctively. He groaned, his hips jerking slightly, and she could feel the effort it took for him to hold back, to keep his movements slow and controlled.

"Please," she rasped, though she had no idea what she begged for. "Please, Ominis. Please..."

After pulling out almost completely, he slid back in, his movements slow and deliberate. He was working her up for more, and intuition told her as much. Every sensation, every thrust sent waves of pleasure through her body. The epicenter was that blooming warmth between her thighs that she had avoided her entire life, never sure she'd find someone who loved her.

Ominis fucked into her slowly, rolling his hips with careful precision. "You're so tight. I can't get enough of you. Maybe I never will."

All the admirations and confessions that rolled off his tongue were lost on her deaf ears, which knew nothing but the sounds of their coupling. It was full of moans and the slapping of bodies. He worked her at a gentle pace until she could no longer breathe. Every gasp for air felt meaningless.

Even when she wrapped her legs around his hips, her heels digging into the small of his back, he didn’t relent. His control was infuriating, his gentle pace a cruel tease that threatened to drag this need into eternity.

She keened, her back arching off the bed. "Ominis! For the love of all things magic and holy, please—"

Something in her plea shattered his restraint. And suddenly, his movements changed. The careful precision gave way to raw, unbridled need. He fucked into her harder, deeper, his hips snapping against hers with a force that stole her breath. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with their cries as he finally gave in to the desire that had been consuming him.

She wanted this —wanted him— with every fiber of her being. Her nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake as she clung to him, her body trembling with the force of his thrusts.

He captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her cries as his hips pistoned against hers. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her open for him as he drove into her. He filled her completely. Every inch of her body was made for his.

"You're mine." With his words, she knew what he longed for.

Confirmation. She gave it to him. "All yours," she choked out. "Forever and always."

His pace faltered for a moment, his breath hitching as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I love you," he confessed, the words raw and unfiltered. "I love you so much it terrifies me."

"I... I love you, too." And she did. Enough to terrify her.

His thrusts became erratic, losing all tempo. His control slipped by the second. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled with the effort to hold on, to make this last. A heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, twisting as a snake might when making its nest. Something burrowed itself there and grew.

Each roll of his hips only watered the festering seed that manifested into more. More than she'd ever known. What was it? Its very existence coerced a dormant hunger to come forth. Her lower gut pulsed, and she felt compelled to press her hand against it, holding in that gnawing ache as it pulsed out of control.

Once more, she arched into his hold, and he gathered her into his arms, pulling her up until he sat on his haunches with her on his lap. This did not stop him. Didn’t even slow him. His hips now thrust upward, and it was a maddening sight— the pair of them so lost to bliss.

He barely maintained control. Seeking it, he bit down hard on her shoulder until something tacky and bittersweet coated his teeth. A mark that he vowed never to heal. It stained her ivory shoulder blade; dews of crimson splattered down her front and back. He drank greedily, as only a vampire might.

Only... He was a different creature of the night. A serpent that wished to embed its venom into her veins until she knew nothing but his inescapable rapture. The snake in him wanted to burrow its fangs into every pressure point until he consumed her...

Ominis pulled back and jerked his hips up, his thighs finally catching up and crying out in strain.

"Velvette!" A plea. A confession. All wrapped into one outcry of a name.

Forgetting how he had drawn blood, Vel took one look at the boy beneath her and began lifting off of him, only to slam back down a millisecond later. Dirty and desirous junctions clashed; his cock slammed into her relentlessly at the pace they each set. Lost to translation was the way they sightlessly felt one another. Never to be explained nor interpreted as anything other than pure, destined connection.

A mingling of two souls. Becoming one as—

She cried out. Her pussy convulsed around his thick length as pleasure consumed her. To say that her mind blinked might have been an exaggeration. But to say that her mind went haywire... Well, that wasn’t far from the truth. She connected to every fiber of his being until the only thing that remained was him.

Them.

Her breath hitched on each downstroke, her own thighs on fire as she stuttered atop him. Chasing a tragic euphoria that pulled her further into his darkness.

Following her into the abyss, he jerked up in one final thrust, spilling himself inside her. He dropped his head onto her shoulder, shuddering through the spasms his cock shot forth until he emptied.

More than simply an afterthought, he spelled away the buildup of his cum inside her— wordlessly and wandlessly. No more an effort than a command of his will. Though he wasn’t quite sure how he had managed such a feat.

For a long moment, they held one another. Trembles of aftershock ran through them. All that remained in the after— sweat-kissed skin, bloodied souls, enraptured beings not of earth— faded away until none of it existed. They sealed the moment with a kiss. One so tender and heartbreaking that it brought forth a plethora of emotions.

Yearning.

Terror.

Elation.

... Each more indescribable than the next.

"I can never lose you." Not now, never now. Ominis silently vowed as he kept her flush against him. It had a double meaning, a sword finely sharpened.

He hoped she never lost him. Only then might the doubt be laid to rest.

Cupping his face with both hands, she pulled back only enough to study him. "And you never will."

Long after that declaration, reality began to creep back in. The chill of the room. The wards that threatened to close in on them until the rightful owner returned. Echoes of rooms that were in stasis... Mourning.

"We..." Vel glanced around the room, feeling the walls closing in on them now that they returned to consciousness. "Let's go to the living room. Would you like tea?"

Ominis gave her an incredulous look. "Only you would offer post-sex refreshments at a time like this. Allow me to get the tea, you stay right here and keep the bed warm. I tend to run cold in the winter." 

He winked and made to move away from the bed to slip into his trousers, only for Vel to race to the door. Embarrassment stained her cheeks red, and she absentmindedly threw a robe around her naked body before all but running into the main area of the house. 

Where remnants of her earlier tantrum remained. 

"Velvette." He called out to her, voice tinged with amusement, knowing she could hear him from just down the hall. "I have seen the living quarters, you have nothing to hide. We had to pass it earlier to get to the bedroom, or did you forget how we got here?"

Regardless, she pulled out her wand and began setting things straight. A slew of redundant spells left her lips, each one more poorly formed than the next. The spell to clear the glass only wished away half of it, the spell to reverse the shattering of casserole dishes only repaired the dish itself and left the food behind, and the orange guts that splattered the bricks of the fireplace... Those simply would not vanish. She tried again and again, growing frustrated when the tip of her wand sparked and then abruptly stopped listening to her casted demands. 

Ominis watched from the sidelines, worried for her. He pulled away from the wall to mutter dryly, "At this rate, we might as well blow up the house and be done with it."

"I'm... trying..." Vel grimaced down at her wand. 

"It's sensed your allegiance has changed. You desire that other wand in Ollivander's possession and now this one won't work as well for you. Perhaps it never did to begin with. Also..." With a mere wave of his wand, the room began to correct itself. Bits of food flew past them and settled back into their dishes, flowers found their vases, and the basket of oranges replenished. He plucked one out. "You could have just told me that you didn't like oranges."

With a groan, she threw herself on the sofa now that it wasn't covered in debris. "The cupboard next to the sink, that's where she keeps the tea... Help yourself."

Although unspoken, he knew that meant this conversation was something not to be breeched. Not in this moment when her tensions ran high. 

She shifted to better lay across the sofa, keeping her head propped up by the armrest, and stared at the fireplace. No one had Floo called her since her aunt's service... did they see her leave with Ominis or just assume she needed time?

Ominis came back with two cups of tea not long after, a coy smile playing at his mouth. "Quite a selection. Though I settled for the mandarin earl grey, is that to your taste?"

"You know how to push me..." She grumbled under her breath while snatching one cup from him. 

"You did vow to no longer run from this... Or was that something uttered in the throes of passion that you're now redacting?" He placed his own steaming cup on the end table, more interested in how she navigated this topic. 

'Let me in. Let me see you.' He chanted in his head, hoping the words might telepathically seduce her into submission. 

"Not redacting." Vel softly blew into her teacup to cool its contents, "Refining. I will tell you the important things when I deem them such. You don't have to know everything... or else the mystery will be gone."

"Mystery..." he scoffed. "Not my favorite genre."

"Then you want me to be an open book?"

Ominis's eyes darkened. "For no one else but me."

 

Chapter 31

"A-and then he bit me!" The flush spread down her neck and even to her chest as she pulled her sweater down to reveal the mark to her friends, who had crowded her bed the second they heard tale of her and Ominis returning back to school, walking in with fingers entwined. 

Velvette sat straight with the headboard behind her, Meredith and Clarissa trapping her in at either side while Monty blocked the foot of the bed. He laid across the twin mattress on his side, propping his head up with one hand as he drilled her for details. 

"And then?" He waved his hand casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

If possible, she'd run out of this room and find a nice plot of land in the Forbidden Forest to dig her own grave. Death by embarrassment— that's what the coroners would report.

"Wait, back it up for a second, he bit you?!" Clarissa screeched.

That prompted Meredith to tug Vel's sweater back down to confirm. "Mm, those are human teeth marks. What a freak."

Vel shrugged her off and pulled her sweater up tight. "He's not a freak... don't say that."

"Oh, defensive, are we?" Monty wiggled his brows. "That's nothing though, as far as marks go. I couldn't sleep on my back for almost two weeks after this one girl shredded my skin back there with her nails. There's still scars, want to see?"

"Yes!" Clarissa's devious smile widened.

"No!" Meredith shrieked, covering her girlfriend's eyes before Monty could shimmy off his robes. 

"Suit yourself. My point is, some people are just into things like that. Nothing abnormal about it, being a freak and being 'freaky' in bed can be two separate things. No need to worry about our baby sparrow."

"Baby... sparrow?" Vel fought the urge to bare her teeth out of anger. 

Monty threw his head back in laughter. "It's a compliment! While you were away the past few days, we all agreed that you're this little baby bird we have to protect. What if..."

"Lial, stop. Don't go there." At Clarissa's warning, Vel glanced between the three of them, waiting to see which would break first and fess up whatever had been discussed in her absence.

Under her harsh glare, Meredith —blabbermouth that she was— broke first. "We had a theory, about the person who... to your aunt... and then those bodies that were found in the Forbidden Forest. Both of those events happened with you in close proximity. First, you were out that night with Ominis and close to the scene of the crime. And now, your aunt..." 

Monty sat up now, fiddling with his wand. "Maybe they were after you? I know it's a jump, but we got to talking and we want to keep you safe. So... no more flying solo when you leave the nest."

"That's..." Ridiculous. Preposterous. Unnecessary. The sweetest thing she's ever heard. "Thank you."

Meredith released the breath she'd been holding in. She scooted closer to Vel as she explained, "You probably think we're being ridiculous, but we look after one another around here. Bravery may be a Gryffindor thing, but I'll be damned if we can't solve this will all our minds working together. I've already been questioning my father who works in the Auror office for details, slyly, of course. He doesn't suspect a thing."

"Your father is an Auror?" It was Monty who asked.

"Mm, more of a glorified secretary and errand-runner for them. He's been assigned a few cases in the past, yet they say he lacks the moxie for it." She shrugged, nonchalant. "And besides, it's better for us that less eyes are on him. No one checks his owls before he sends them off. I told him that I'm worried about the attacker entering Hogwarts and he's been giving me tidbits to reassure me that this will be solved soon."

Velvette hugged her knees to her chest. "What do they have so far on the culprit?"

"Um... s-should we discuss this now? It's okay if you need time." 

Now, when being asked to talk, Meredith became speechless? 

"I need to know, time doesn't bring my aunt back."

Monty crawled forward on the bed until he could place his hands on the top of Vel's knees. He gave them a gentle squeeze. "Neither does going after her killer without sleep. You look like you haven't slept the entire four days you've been gone. And we all know for a fact that Ominis didn't let you sleep last night."

With an exaggerated wink, he rolled off the bed and held his hands out. Meredith and Clarissa took the hint and followed him out, batting away his hands with a sneer and mocking him for trying to be the third in their relationship. He managed to sling his arms around both their shoulders and threw one last, lingering look to Vel.

"Sleep tight, baby sparrow." 

Forcefully, he dragged both girls out of the room to allow Vel some much needed alone time. 

Even her assigned roommates did not return that night. She wondered if he had put up some 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door or hexed it to not allow anyone in. Either way... she enjoyed the quiet. After hardly being alone for the past four days straight, perhaps this was exactly what the metaphorical doctor ordered. 

She fluffed up her pillow before falling down on it, the soft poof it blew out upon impact had her closing her eyes. The familiar sound lulling her to close her eyes. Though, just as something pulled her into slumber, something else was there to pull her back out. That grating push and pull had her hovering on the precipice of sleep throughout the night. 

How much longer could she endure this?

She shifted one way, then another, tossing the pillow aside, but nothing eased the restlessness coiling in her chest. Words clung to the walls of her mind, thick as molasses; sickly sweet and impossible to ignore. 

The pet names others had given her cut through the dark.

Little star. Baby sparrow. Each one a term of endearment bestowed on her by family and friends alike.

The echoes of those monikers brought forth a memory, one she hadn't given much thought to before. Little bird. That was what Professor Hawthorne once called her aunt. There had been something almost affectionate in the way he'd said it.

If such names were reserved for those someone cherishes... why hadn't Harlan been at her aunt's service to pay his respects and mourn like all the rest?

A slow, crawling unease prickled down Velvette's spine, its grip tightening with unseen fingers. Something about it didn't sit right. Her rational mind latched onto the dread, refusing to let it go.

She exhaled sharply, steadying herself, then grabbed her wand and flicked her wrist. "Tempus."

A soft glow bloomed in the darkness after a brief flicker, and then numbers shimmered in the air.

5:03 AM.

Outside, dawn had yet to break. The world lingered in the hush before the sun, that eerie hour where night had not fully relinquished its grasp. It would be easy to slip away unnoticed.

She moved with quiet precision, drawing her class robes over her sleepwear, fingers working through muscle memory. Shoes laced. Wand tucked. 

Then, she was gone.

Before her mind caught up to the action, the corridors and staircases guided her to the answers she sought. Her footsteps muffled by the thick hush that draped the castle halls like a funeral shroud. The further she ventured from the Ravenclaw common room, the heavier the silence became until she only had her suspicions and doubts to keep her company on the trek. 

Why hadn't he attended Aunt Magdalain's funeral?

Other Professors attended to show their respects, why not him?

Did he still hate Velvette for what transpired over the holidays?

The questions gnawed at her with teeth sinking deeper after every step.

When she reached his classroom door, she hesitated. He may not even be here...

She knocked once.

Silence.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Nothing.

Before she could second-guess herself, she turned the handle and stepped inside.

The scent of old parchment hit her first and then the stench of alcohol, stale but undeniable. It curled into the fabric of the room, seeping into the ancient texts and artifacts, upholstery, and even the heavy drapes framing the windows. A few candles burned low, their wax pooled at the bases and casted flickering light across the disarray. Papers were scattered across the desk, a half-drained bottle of some dark liquid beside them.

And there, slumped in his chair, was Harlan Hawthorne.

The man who prided himself on discipline looked anything but composed. His usually pristine hair was an unkempt mess, loose strands falling over his forehead. The sharp angles of his face were dulled by exhaustion, the hollows beneath his eyes carved deep with sleepless hours. He appeared... As a man emptied of something vital.

The door clicked shut behind her and that's what stirred him out of his comatose state. When he spotted her silhouette framed by candlelight, he dragged a hand down his scruffy face. His fingers trembled, though whether from fatigue or lingering intoxication, she couldn't tell.

"Velvette," he muttered, rough and raspy, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She didn't flinch. Instead, she took a slow step forward, arms crossing over her chest. "You're drunk."

"Not anymore," he blatantly admitted, rubbing his temples. "Just... in the regretful stages now."

"Hard night?" she asked, tilting her head.

"You could say that."

"It's been a hard week for me. Where were you?" She shot the accusation with barely suppressed animosity. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The low candlelight flickered, and restless shadows danced along the walls. The space between them stretched into something taut and fraying. This may not end the way she wanted —with answers as opposed to more doubts— yet she needed to see it through to the end. 

She held steadfast. Crossing her arms over her chest and planting the souls of her feet firmly on the ground. Hawthrone sighed when he saw her resolute pose.

"This is not the first time I lost your aunt..." he grabbed hold of the bottle of alcohol and tossed it into the trash bin beside the desk, no longer fond of the fleeting solution it offered. "When Finneas left school, I thought it'd be my chance to get closer to Mags, but she had eyes for another. Cornelius Gaunt. Mm, not quite a shock. Every girl in the school fawned over him, even some Professors. That's why he wasn't expelled for what he did to your uncle."

The detached way in which he told this story had Vel nearing the desk, only to drag up a chair and sit to better assess him. At least in her close proximity, she could see the way his eyes rolled or his nose crinkled. 

His fingers curled into a slow, deliberate fist against the desk.

"When she began going to Hogsmeade with him on the weekends and then consequently invited to the Gaunt estate for their holiday ball, I knew. I knew she loved him. It pained me to see her so ensnared by the enemy, someone who hurt her own family. But love..." he laughed bitterly. "Love is a fickle thing. An instrument which we have no control of. He played to her tune and she matched him in earnest. Until... a different chord struck his fancy. The first time I lost her was not the day she fell in love with him, it was when she experienced heartbreak."

"We never stopped being friends. I still visited Finneas at their home and had to see her go through each stage of grief when Cornelius abused her love. I experienced it alongside her because when Mags loved... It was with all her soul. And when she lost him to another woman... Her soul fractured."

He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand through his crows-nest hair. The motion seemed to take something out of him, like he was unraveling before her eyes. When he fell silent and dropped his eyes to stare —devoid of emotion— at his desk, Vel understood.

"You loved her."

Harlan's mouth twitched— not in amusement, but in something darker, something rotten.

"Not that it mattered." He let out a breathy, hollow laugh and when his eyes met hers, they were black pits, swallowing every flicker of light. "Unrequited love is a hell of a thing, Vel. You bury it deep, tell yourself it's dead. And then—" His voice dropped to a whisper, "—someone like you comes along and drags it all back into the light."

Velvette studied him, the pieces shifting into place.

This wasn't about the past.

This wasn't just about Magdalain.

Harlan's smirk was a knife's edge, his stare unblinking. "If I'd gone to her funeral, I would've seen someone else I care for in pain. But Finneas told me about your little... outburst." A slow, deliberate tilt of his head. "I'm proud of you. You reached the anger stage faster than she ever did. That means you're stronger. That means you'll survive."

Velvette shot to her feet, her chair screeching against the floor. "I don't understand."

"Yes. You do." He rose in tandem with her, his presence looming, suffocating. "You used to remind me of her. It haunted me. Nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if history would repeat itself." His gaze raked over her, slow, hungry. "I watched you with that Gaunt boy— clinging to him like she once clung to his father, and then one day I realized... You're nothing like Magdalain."

He rounded the desk, each step measured, predatory. Velvette stood frozen, his stare pinning her in place. His fingers brushed her cheek —too soft, too intimate for a professor's touch— and caught the traitorous tears before they could fall.

"Shh, Velvette." His thumb smeared the wetness across her skin. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Something in her snapped. She recoiled, slapping his hand away. "I'm not some—some stand-in for your sick obsession!" Her voice cracked. "You're my uncle's friend! You're—"

"Irrelevant." His tone was smooth, lecturing. They fell back into their appropriate roles where the teacher mentored the student. "Why did you come here, Velvette? Before dawn, to me? What were you hoping to find?"

Her stomach lurched. "There's no reasoning with you... This isn't just the alcohol talking, is it?"

Silence. A shrug.

The blood drained from her face. She became a ghost— A soul in the shell of a human body.

"Did you kill my aunt?"

Harlan jerked back as if struck. "Why the hell would you think that?"

Numbness spread through her veins. "Because it fits. If this is some twisted test, if you wanted to see how I'd handle grief... then maybe you orchestrated it to see if I'd emerge on the other side of my sorrow. Is that not why you waited until now to expose your desires?"

"No." His hands shot out, cradling her face with terrifying gentleness. The stench of whiskey clung to him, thick and cloying. "Never, Vel. I'd never hurt you." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Truth be told, I wanted to wait. Until after graduation. Until you were ready. But you came to me in a moment of weakness. You see, I had just been dreaming of you..."

She cut off his rambling, "Ready for what? Not even Merlin himself could have prepared me for this, you sick—"

Harlan's grip tightened —just enough to silence her— before he forced his hands to relax, stroking her cheeks as if she were something fragile. Something precious.

Her pulse roared in her ears. The classroom —once familiar and welcoming, with its rows of desks and magical aura— now felt like a cage. But when the dim morning light filtered through the window and painted Harlan's face in grotesque shadows, she feared the monster she'd awoken in him.

His thumb brushed her lower lip. "I've been patient."

Revulsion coiled in her gut. She shoved against his chest, but he didn't budge— just leaned into her, his breath hot against her ear.

"You want to know the truth about Magdalain?" His voice was a serpent's hiss. "She was weak. She let grief consume her. But you..." His fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back. "You fight. That's what makes you different."

"You're sick," she choked out.

"And you're terrified." His other hand slid to her waist, possessive. "But you're also curious. Aren't you, Vel? Did you not wonder why I always looked at you a little too long? Why I paired you and Ominis together for your Defense practice?"

"Stop." She twisted, nails raking his wrist. He hissed but didn't let go.

"Did I kill her?" he mused, as if she hadn't spoken. "No. But I watched her die when love killed her. And I learned..." A hand slid up her neck to tangle in her hair and he yanked it back until she was forced to meet his cruel stare. "Love isn't gentle. It doesn't ask. It takes from the weak."

Her knee jerked up —an instinct, an act of desperation— but he sidestepped and spun her around to slam her down onto the desk. Papers scattered. An inkwell shattered on the floor, black bleeding into the wood like a festering wound.

His breath came hot against her ear once more. "You... are not weak." 

For a single, suspended heartbeat, they were frozen— his eyes black with something unhinged, while hers were blown wide, pupils dilated in unhindered fear.

And then she wrenched free, her elbow cracking against his jaw with a sickening crunch. He staggered, and she used that time to bolt towards the door. She did not think. Only ran. Behind her, Harlan laughed, the sound chasing her further than any spell or curse ever could. 

The haunting sound slithered down her spine as she sprinted back to the safety of the dorm room. The hallways blurred around her, the morning light suddenly too bright, as if the world hadn't just fractured beneath her feet.

And yet—

Somewhere, deep in the marrow of her bones, a terrible whisper echoed:

He let you go.

Notes:

**internal screaming**

Chapter 32

Someone called out her name.

There. They did it again.

And again...

A hand landed on her shoulder, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Hey! Are you still with us?" Meredith studied her far-away friend. 

Velvette blinked, the present snapping back into focus. The familiar walls of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom stretched around her, and the students within were woefully ignorant to the turmoil in her head.

"Hm? Oh... yeah. Just thinking about something," she muttered, forcing a weak smile.

Thinking about how our dear professor is nothing but a pervert.

Somewhere between the common room and now, she had lost all sense of time. Breakfast had been a blur, and her friends' conversation over toast and pumpkin juice might as well have been spoken in a foreign tongue. Now here she was, planted in the very classroom that had haunted her thoughts since last night— no, this morning?

It felt like days had passed since...

When the office door in the back of the classroom flew open, every head turned to the professor who strode out. "Hello, students. Apologies for my tardiness. Please put away your textbooks as we will not be needing them for today's lesson. Once you all rearrange your seats so you're grouped in threes, we will begin." 

Hawthrone stood at the front of the classroom, composed, every bit the professor he was meant to be. But there was a tiredness in the lines around his eyes, a dryness to his throat when he spoke. His expression was unreadable as his gaze scanned the room without ever landing on her. Not once. Not even as she dragged herself to sit beside Ominis and his desk mate, despite her friends attempts to plea for a group of four. 

Vel clenched her jaw, watching him closely, waiting for some flicker of acknowledgment. Some sign that last night wasn't a fever dream.

Nothing.

"Now then," Hawthorne continued, clasping his hands behind his back, "the lesson we broach today will be sensitive for some, so I urge you to be gracious to your fellow classmates. Be patient and understanding as we dive into what makes the Unforgivable curses so..." For the first time since class began, those steely eyes met hers. "Unforgivable. I will be coming around with cards and each member of your group will be assigned one of the three curses at random, you will then share amongst yourselves a story you have of that curse. All our lives have been affected by one of these curses at some point in time."

A student raised her hand. Some demure Hufflepuff girl that Vel never paid any mind to. And when Hawthrone acknowledged her, she asked, "Professor, what if we don't have a story to share? Not I or my family have ever encountered any of these curses."

Hawthorne nodded once, curt. "Then consider yourself most fortunate and listen to those around you." 

As he made his way through the rows to hand out the cards, he gave students words of encouragement or answered quick remarks along the way, but when he reached her trio, he stopped entirely.

"Miss Nightingale."

Velvette tilted her head, a mockery of respect as she had none for this man. "Professor."

His lip twitched, flickering between a grimace and a smile. "My condolences for your aunt. If the subject matter proves too upsetting—"

"Give me a card," she interrupted flatly and then tacked on, "Professor."

He glanced down at the remaining stack and selected one with deliberate care before handing it over. Their fingers didn't touch. He didn't wait for her to read it before turning away to distribute the remaining cards.

Velvette looked down.

Avada Kedavra.

Ominis did little to hide his scowl. "This seems intentional. Cruciatus Curse? I mean, at least have some tack."

Velvette arched an eyebrow. "That leaves Stephan with—"

"Imperius Curse." The meek Slytherin boy shrugged. "Which I don't have any notable experience with, so one of you might as well share first."

Ominis dropped his card onto the desk and reclined back in his seat. "Screw this, what's the point? It's not like he has ears around the classroom. This isn't even an effective method of teaching us about the wrongs of these curses. What are we, first years? I'm not wasting a second more on this so-called 'lesson'."

Vel remained quiet, observing the other rows of people sharing their own harrowing tales of the Unforgivable curses. 

"More importantly," Ominis pressed on, eyes narrowing, "what happened between you and Hawthorne? You're tense. He won't even look at you. Did something happen at your aunt's service before I arrived?"

Whoever cursed Ominis with a bout of the chatter-bug today had impeccable timing— if by impeccable, one meant infuriatingly inconvenient. Normally, his sharp observations would stew in silence for days, mulled over in private before surfacing in the form of half-formed suspicions and guarded questions.

"Nothing happened," she lied.

He didn't believe her. Not even a little. She could feel it in the silence that followed, heavy as stone.

"Walk with me after class," Ominis acquiesced. 

A short nod was the only reply he received. 

Class continued. Hawthorne moved from group to group, listening in, offering the occasional guiding comment. He passed by their trio but didn't linger long when they pretended to be waist deep in the throes of a debate about the Unforgivables. Senseless ramblings only to steer Hawthrone's suspicions off their trail. 

True to his earlier demand, Ominis hovered closely behind her as they left class the moment they were dismissed. A hand slipped into hers and she squeezed it to placate the nerves rolling off him in waves. It became evident in the way he held his posture stiff and hesitated to speak first.

"Listen, about the other night..."

Vel gave his hand another squeeze. "It's nothing to do with that, don't worry."

She should have known his wandering mind may contort her standoffish behavior as having doubts. Should have known he'd be walking on eggshells. 

"Then why did you run from Hawthrone's class before we could start your extra Defense lessons?"

"You aren't the one I'm avoiding... It's him." The truth lingered on the tip of her tongue, yet what came out was far from it. "He didn't come to my aunt's funeral and I'm still bitter about it. I really don't want to linger around him any more than I have to."

It would have been easy to let him believe that was all it was. To let him think her distraction, her unease, all stemmed from Magdalain's death and nothing else. But she wasn't sure she could. Because, when she closed her eyes, she didn't see her aunt...

She saw a man slouched in his chair, reeking of regret and firewhiskey, looking at her with unbidden lust when he should be consoling her. She saw the way his mask slipped, a momentary lapse—

Velvette inhaled deeply, forcing the thoughts away. Without meaning to, she released Ominis's hand and put some space between them as they navigated towards the study hall. 

"Silly for me to assume you were having thoughts of regret, I'm sorry for pushing my worries onto you. From now on, I'll try not to assume the worst." He took her hand in his again and brought it up to his lips, where he placed the most tender of feather-light kisses. "You know... there's this corner in the library where no one goes, with two chairs that are so empty..."

She smirked. "We should do something about that, then. Wouldn't want those cushions getting cold."

He pulled her flush until the lines of their arms blurred into one being. All the students and teachers who brushed past them were blissfully unaware of the intimate couple who spoke through their bodies more so than mere words. This closeness... this raw exposure of her soul... Only Ominis knew.

***

The swirling silver mist of the Pensieve enveloped them, dragging Ominis and Velvette into the depths of a memory once more. They needed to see more to gauge what move they needed to make next. With the hopes of retrieving the wand meant for her put in the background of their ambitions, this was the last resort. 

Something in these memories held a clue. The missing piece they'd been searching for. For why else would all the other pieces fall into place without them meaning for it to happen? From the moment they met until now, every part held a place in fate's grand design. Whether they were meager steppingstones or structural foundation was yet to be determined. 

They landed in a dimly lit chamber that looked not too different from the one that housed the Pensieve. The scent of cold stone and something more —something reptilian— curled through the stagnant air.

At the center of the room stood a figure, cloaked in deep green, the edges of his robes embroidered with symbols lost to time. Runes. Though they didn't yet know his name, something about him already felt inevitable, as though history itself bent beneath his will. 

He was speaking in a voice that sent an eerie shiver down Velvette's spine.

"Parseltongue." Ominis supplied the information she lacked.

She gaped at him. They could speak here? 

Before she mustered a reply, another sound slithered through the chamber, a whisper that lingered between something human and beastly. 

From the depths of the darkness, a great shape uncoiled, the slow rasp of scales dragging over the ancient stones. A basilisk, its massive form barely visible beyond the dim light, emerged from the shadows like a phantom of nightmares.

Ominis stiffened beside her. Though his sightless eyes could not witness the full horror of the creature, he could hear it and feel the weight of its presence.

The cloaked man lifted a hand, and the serpent stilled.

"Your slumber shall not be eternal," the man murmured, his voice a slow hiss. The language of serpents. Ominis interpreted it for her as the man spoke. "You will awaken when the key is found. For my greatest love adores not your powers. Sees not the destiny of your purpose. The world dares to challenge the order that must be restored and I— I..."

The heart-withered man dropped the snake-language and whispered, "I love her too much to cause her pain."

The basilisk loomed closer, its great coils shifting in the darkness, the glint of its fangs catching in the torchlight. This creature knew nothing of love or the perils of its masters, only that it longed for the blood of a particular species. Such blood it had been promised and raised on since birth. 

"What is this key you speak of?" The serpent's voice was a sharpened blade cutting through silk; menacing even to the one who raised it.

The man stepped forward, the hood of his cloak slipping back just enough to reveal sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline shadowed with darkness, and eyes like twin embers, smoldering with ambition.

"You will know when it is placed before you," he answered plainly. "And you will obey it the same as me."

With a slow, deliberate bow of its monstrous head, the basilisk accepted the vow. Its own amber eyes met the twin flames of its master, and Velvette felt strangely how they resembled one another. Two beings cut from the same cloth.

A gust of wind swept through the chamber as the vision trembled. The scene began to dissolve, the torches flickering wildly, the memory unraveling around them as if pushing them out by force. 

And then, just before the mist claimed them, the man spoke once more— this time, in a voice stripped of the serpentine tongue, in words the simple mind of Vel could comprehend without needing translation. 

"When the time comes, my heirs will finish what I have begun." He swung around, to gaze at them head on—

The memory collapsed.

Velvette gasped as she was wrenched back into the present, the swirling depths of the Pensieve vanishing from sight. She stumbled, gripping the edge of the stone basin to steady herself.

Ominis was rigid beside her, his face drained of what little color it held. His hands clenched into tight, trembling fists at his side. 

"We know who he is now," Velvette whispered. "That was Salazar Slytherin... wasn't it?"

Although she'd only seen portraits of the founder when he was much older, his features were unmistakable. No painted rendition of a face could have distracted her from the man's dark, unruly aura. It's no wonder the other founders casted him out.

She placed her hands on her hips and studied the Pensieve, wanting to dive back into the memories and dig around for more clues. It was taxing on the mind to remain in there for too long, however. Thinking back on what they'd seen thus far, only one thing was definite.

"The key. Both Rowena and him spoke of it. In the journal, there's mentions of a Locke, spelled with an 'e' at the end and capitalized. I thought it may be a name but now there's some passages I want to reread. Perhaps this lock and key will give us more insight on how to keep the basilisk in its slumber." When she paused to garner his insight and was met with hallowing silence, she spun around to gauge his features. The boy looked deathly still and pale. "Ominis? What's wrong?"

Broken from his stupor, he stumbled away from her until his back hit the far wall. There, submerged in shadows, he covered his mouth with shaky hands. His mouth that spoke the same tongue as he predecessor. The very tongue that could awaken the monster in the depths of the castle and unleash havoc for all the Muggleborns until the halls flooded red with their blood.

She approached cautiously, about to raise her hands to show she meant no harm, and then she remembered just who she was dealing with. Ominis. Her Ominis. Why did this sense of cautiousness overwhelm her so suddenly? It's not like he's a monster... Not like the Basilisk. Not like Professor Hawthrone. 

"Hey, can you tell me what's wrong? Did you see something I missed?"

His jaw went slack and then abruptly smacked shut. He ground his teeth as he seethed. "He looked at us. When he mentioned his 'heirs', plural, he looked directly at us."

"So what? There must have been something behind us. I'd suggest going back in to confirm but you seem... A little on edge, right now."

"You don't understand. What if Rowena and him were closer than the history books mentioned?"

"Surely that'd be in her journal then!" Refusing the suggestion, she went over to where she left her satchel and scooped it up without turning back to look at him. "If it makes you feel better, I'll keep it in mind through my next re-read, just don't get ahead of yourself. Rowena Ravenclaw was said to despise Salazar more than the other founders because of his ideals and methods to achieve them. I highly doubt she ever liked the guy."

"Maybe he wasn't inherently evil and was a product of his upbringing. Maybe she loved him before he did something unthinkable. It's not a walk in the park to live up to the expectations of Pureblood families." There, in his words, lied a hint of accusation. As if she didn't know just how cruel Purebloods could be.

Before she bit back in anger, she took a moment to consider. 

Consider... "This has nothing to do with them, does it? You're worried about something else. About us?"

He slumped against the cold wall and slid down it, legs finally giving out. All this time, he avoided what the problem was when it stood right in front of him. Velvette, a descendent of Ravenclaw. Himself, a descendent of Slytherin. And how easy it came for her to write off the troubled founder without knowing the truth of his past. 

"What if I told you that I killed those Animagi in the woods on purpose?"

"I'd ask why."

"And if I said, 'to simply protect and avenge you', then what would you say?"

Velvette neared him until she stood tall in front of him. Tossing her terror to the wind, she dropped to her knees and pulled him into her chest. "Then I might tell you that I've never been protected or avenged, mostly because I didn't see the point in it. If what troubles you is the judgment I've passed onto someone whose relation to you stretches across a millennium, then—"

"It's not that. I'm worried about what you may think of me if you ever hear my story from the mouth of another."

She huffed, exasperated. "There's a pretty simple solution to your fears. Just tell me yourself before they can. Whoever 'they' may be. At this point, very little could scare me away from you."

"I... can't." He pulled away from her embrace and leaned his head back. "Some things cannot be that simple."

"Why not? It's not like there's an Unbreakable Vow involved or—" By the look that flittered across his face, she knew. "You made a Vow. But why?"

"Afraid I can't say much. If not... anything at all. I'm sorry Velvette, I should have been honest from the start." Ashamed of himself, he refused to even meet her inquisitive gaze. Afraid she may see the dangers she dived into headfirst without knowing what lied in the murky waters below. 

"Can you tell me if it has something to do with what we're uncovering here?"

"I cannot."

"Your refusal to answer just proves it does." In one fluid motion, she rose to her feet and headed for the door. Something about this arrangement had been troubling her... an inkling that she couldn't shake. "Ominis, how did you find out about this place? And do not tell me you happened upon it, I won't believe that lame excuse again."

"I... cannot tell you that either."

Her fingers trembled as she brushed back the hair falling forward. "What— why is this all coming out now?"

"Because we're running out of time. Tomorrow is Friday, and as soon as classes end, we're going to Diagon Alley to get you that wand. I have all the faith that you'll find a way to solve this without me having to put my life on the line." Now it was his turn to stand up from the floor and dust himself off. When finished, he assessed her and concluded, "I know this is sudden. I also know that you're thinking this was all some cheap trick to do family's bidding—"

Something cried out for her to pay attention to his every word. "Your family. So, your family put you up to this? And the Vow must have been something they did, or else you'd never entertain it. But I thought that the whole point of an Unbreakable Vow was that it's, well... Unbreakable?"

"There's loopholes. None that I can explain without consequence. So don't bother asking. I just need you to know that this isn't the only reason I approached you... Please, believe me."

"Not the 'only' reason, hm. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself."

A devilish smirk ghosted his lips— then twisted into something truly diabolical and lust-filled, as if he’d already mapped out every way he intended to ruin her. And gods, she wanted him to.

That look alone was enough to undo her. Her breath hitched, her pulse a frantic drumbeat beneath her skin. When his arms —strong and undoubtably possessive— wrapped around her, she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when his touch burned through the thin fabric of her robes, branding her at every point of contact.

His mouth hovered just above hers, a taunt. “I know other ways to make a girl feel good."

Her breath stuttered. “Oh?”

The implication hung between them, daring. Before she could retort, he closed the distance and captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His tongue swept against hers, stealing her gasp as his hands roamed lower, pulling her flush against him until there was no space left to deny what they both wanted.

And when he finally broke away, his lips trailed along her jaw, down her throat, pausing just above her racing pulse. "Mm, let me remind you."

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Would they ever leave this dungeon, or would it ultimately become their crypt?

Notes:

Can't believe this hit over 100,000 words AND over 1,000 hits in the same week! Thank you to everyone who's reading <3

Chapter 33

The narrow alley behind Honeydukes was steeped in darkness; the ground a pitiful, muddied trench of the soggy snow left for the late winter months. When had February dawned upon this earth? And behind them, the bustle of Hogsmeade's residents and tourists alike were none to wiser to the criminal activities of the two wizarding students. Voices traveled down the secluded path and became mere whispers, a flutter of conversations that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

For the most important outcome of this day...

Ominis moved with great purpose, his hand gripping Velvette's gloved one lightly to guide her across the cobbled stones. They paused before a crooked stack of empty crates and barrels that shielded a small, hidden hearth set into the alley wall— just as he said there would be. Faint green embers flickered inside, awaiting those who only brought their own Floo powder.

"So, this is your secret Floo access to Diagon Alley? It's not very... hidden."

"It was a secret," he murmured with a dry smile. "Until now. And don't judge a book by its cover, this access point isn't well-known. Only those with the knowledge of its existence can see it. I know through my parents and you know through me. So... more secretive than you realize. No one can trace our magical signatures through it."

She shrugged to feign disinterest but she found herself once more impressed by magic that she'd never comprehend. As he pulled out a small pouch of powder, she practically licked her lips in anticipation. 

Yet he always found some way to kill her buzz. "Tell me again, what's the plan?"

Velvette hummed cheerfully. "You do the distracting, and I do the snatching. It's foolproof."

The sigh that left him was so heavy it steamed in the cold air. "And if you get caught?"

Without missing a beat, she launched into her performance, clutching her chest like a damsel in an old storybook. "Oh my goodness! Where am I? How did I get here? I don't remember a thing after falling asleep!"

He stopped short and turned, seizing her wrists and lifting them gently to his lips, his mouth twitching with restrained amusement. "Except people under the Imperius curse aren't so... articulate. Try sounding a bit more dazed. Dumber. Shouldn't be too hard for you."

She pulled her hands back and stuck her tongue out. "Careful, Ominis. That almost sounded like flirting."

"If I were flirting," he said, brushing past her toward the hearth, "you'd be the last to know. Now please, focus. When we land in the alley, it's fair game from then on. You have to perform meticulously in order for this to work."

The green flames flared higher when he threw the powder in and murmured their desired destination. Vel stepped beside him, her pulse dancing with unhindered glee. She wasn't just stealing a wand— she was answering its call.

And Ominis, for all his sarcastic remarks, didn't loosen his grip on her arm until the fire swallowed them both.

The game was afoot.

The second they emerged on the other side, he broke free from her and began shedding a few layers, tossing them into a satchel that seemed to swallow the contents like a bottomless pit. She watched, wondering how far he'd go with a chill remaining in the air. When he got down to his briefs, she turned away, a flush reddening her cheeks that she internally blamed on the cold wind. 

Except... there was no wind traveling down this alley and she felt uncharacteristically warm for the season. That fact only made her blush deepen. 

"Don't go getting the wrong idea, I just want to keep my clothes tidy for later." The playful tease in his tone urged her to turn around and chastise him, but when she did, Ominis was nowhere to be found. Laying where his feet once stood... A serpent. White, foreboding, and the very essence of the meaning of his name. 

She shivered, involuntarily. "I swear I've dreamt about you in that form. It doesn't... scare me... but it's still bizarre to see. Can you even understand me?"

The serpent lifted its wedge‑shaped head to give a curt nod and then disappeared into the narrow service passage behind Ollivander's. That was Velvette's cue. She hefted the canvas sack containing his discarded clothes and lobbed it into an overflowing rubbish bin— easy enough for him to retrieve after they acquired what they came here for.

She headed the opposite way, emerging from the back alleys and into the broader artery of Diagon Alley. A charcoal‑grey scarf rode up to the bridge of her nose, obscuring half her face; an oversized tweed cap swallowed her tucked-in hair; and the borrowed clothes —black, shapeless trousers and a knitted brown sweater— hung slack against her frame, betraying nothing of her feminine silhouette. All of it a courtesy of Ominis's roommate... who had no clue the garments were missing from his luggage.

The cool dusk of approaching Spring, overcast with clouds, added an amber hue to the street as if it reflected the sky. Shopkeepers were dousing lamps and latching shutters, while the first few pleasure‑seekers of the evening loitered at tavern doors, waiting for true night to settle. The street was thinning: the perfect liminal hour between commerce and debauchery, when eyes were tired and routines predictable.

Gerbold Ollivander appeared outside the shop then, humming to himself as he flicked his wand; then, the battered wooden signage switched from Open to Closed.

Velvette pounced on the moment. She quickened her stride, gaze cast toward the opposite pavement as though searching for an acquaintance. Her shoulder struck Ollivander squarely and the old wand‑maker pitched backward. When he landed on his arse, the impact was cushioned only by a puff of dust from his robes. 

He groaned, leaning forward to suck in a deep breath to quell the shock that ran up his spine.

Before leaving Hogwarts she had practiced a mild voice‑warping charm with Ominis and now it took charge her vocal cords. The words emerged an octave lower, grainy, utterly unrecognizable if one knew the charm of her true voice.

"Oh, dreadfully sorry, sir! Please, let me help you up."

She bent, gloved hands fussing over his arm, brushing off nonexistent debris while her eyes flickered to his storefront. Inside, row upon row of wand boxes were stacked with disorderly order— but she knew that her destined wand did not rest amongst them. 

Gerbold smiled, a tad dazed, while accepting her flustered apology. He looked thinner than she remembered, and the silver strands of his hair were brushed back to hide bald spots. For a split second, guilt prickled her spine. He's just an old man.

The plan. She needed to remember the plan. Everything was timed. Each moment boiled down to precision.

Vel's grip on Gerbold Ollivander's arm was steady, her voice dripping with concern as she guided the elderly wandmaker toward his shop. "Are you alright? I'll help you inside. You look like the wind was knocked out of you! Geez, I just want to keep apologizing. I won't be able to rest until I'm sure you're okay."

She laid the concern on thick, knowing his kind-hearted nature wouldn't refuse her. And just as she predicted, he waved off her worries with a shaky hand, his breath still uneven from their accidental collision outside.

"Oh, my dear, no harm done," he wheezed, leaning heavily on her as they crossed the threshold of the shop. The bell above the door gave a brittle chime that sounded throughout the frighteningly still room that was usually filled with so much magic.

She winced as he stumbled into the worn armchair behind the back counter, his frail frame sinking into the cushions. He coughed once, then offered her a weak smile. "You're too kind. If you were in a hurry, I'll be quite alright now—"

Vel tucked a lock of hair deeper beneath her scarf, forcing a calming breath. "Can I get you some tea? It's the least I can do after, you know... I'm so sorry—"

"Apologies do little to quell a troubled soul," he muttered, mostly to himself. Then another smile appeared as quickly as it had left, "Tea would be most pleasant, here, take my keys, the kitchenette is just through the office. A warm cup of jasmine tea may be precisely what the doctor ordered. For the both of us."

The original plan had been to get him to shed his coat —where his keys rested in the pocket— but this was even better. She took the offered ring of keys with a slight bow of her head and headed for the office.

"I hate to ask, dear," Gerbold called after her, voice wavering. "Do you think you could also bring over some biscuits? I do so love them with my evening tea."

Vel's fingers twitched. Something about this felt wrong. "Sure thing, sir. I'll be right back."

Had he seen through the innocent act? At what point did he start to find her suspicious? Or were her nerves simply getting the best of her?

Her pulse hammered as she skirted through the office and into the kitchenette. As she set the water to boil, her attention returned to the keys he'd so helpfully handed over to her. Directly behind his desk sat a giant safe, roughly a shoulder's width wide and taller than her own stature. 

One of these keys... one of them must...

Movement flickered in the corner of her eye— a pale, sleek ripple of scales brushing the floorboards. Ominis's idea of using the gutter drain to get access to the roof paid off. Now, here he was. 

Silent, swift. 

His serpent form blending into the floors of the dim shop, unseen by the old man still muttering to himself about stubborn knees. The serpent coiled near his feet... then struck, darting forward with a sudden lunge.

"Stop!" She screeched, worried that Ominis may actually strike the man.

Gerbold yelped, nearly toppling out of his chair. "Merlin's beard!"

While he ran from the snake, she seized the moment and the third key she tried slid into the safe's lock with a satisfying click, granting her entry to its treasures. More wand boxes were stacked inside, some scrolls... procured rare wand cores... Her wand.

She lunged to grab it—

And the door slammed shut behind her.

A locking charm was muttered.

Her blood ran cold. 

Then, Gerbold's voice —no longer frail, no longer kind— cut through the silence.

"Clever, very clever. Perhaps the closest attempt to steal from Ollivander's yet. Do you wish to know what gave you away?" He neared her, wand drawn and poised to strike her down if necessary.

Vel shrugged and the gesture prompted Gerbold to assess her from head to toe, only stopping at her hand where the forbidden wand fit snug in her palm. His eyes widened. 

"No, my dear. You do not want to unleash that wand into the world. I sense you are far too kind a soul to wield it. Just, hand it over..." When he reached a tentative hand outward, she stepped back. Gerbold began to raise his own wand to attack when something loud and disruptive sounded from the main shop.

With his gaze diverted, Velvette didn't hesitate. She knew that using her own wand may identify her. And if she used this wand... her true wand... she shuddered at the thought. Who knew what she may unleash? So, instead she used brute force and kicked her foot into the desk, sending it sliding forward and into the unsuspecting body of the wandmaker.

While Gerbold scrambled and cursed, she bolted for the window. Taking her scarf off to bundle around her fist, as she readied to smash the glass an outburst made her pause.

"You stopped him from killing me! That Animagus! Why?" Gerbold Ollivander needed her answer. This, above all else... To prove his point.

Without a glance back, knowing her face would be comprised, she let her head fall in shame as she responded with the first thing that came to mind. "You don't deserve to die."

And with that lasting remark, she punched the window out at a few points, widening the hole for her to pull herself through. When she emerged through the window and into the alley, she glanced from side to side before heading to their meetup point. She had to trust that Ominis got out safely. 

She gripped the wand tightly. Now her most prized possession. Carved from blackthorn with runes engrained along its twisted handle. A symbol of power, wealth, and the great wizards who wielded it before her. It felt right. The warmth of its hilt shot up her arm and alighted all her nerve endings the moment it came in contact. Now she relished it, eyes closed to soak up its energy—

"What are you standing there for? Let's go." 

Ominis stood there at the head of the alley, human again and donning disheveled clothes, his chest heaving as though he'd sprinted through the night. His expression tight to signal that their departure must be met with haste. 

"Y-yeah, I'm ready." Vel exhaled and jogged to meet up with him, where he then guided them to the hidden Floo access. Almost everything went to plan except... "Ominis. Tell me why Gerbold thought your bite would kill him. You once told me that you aren't poisonous. Was he mistaken or I?"

His hand tightened over hers, a near finger-crushing grasp. "Keep quiet, I'll answer anything you wish when we return."

Wisely, she bit her bottom lip to stay silent as they passed through the Floo network and landed back in Hogsmeade. They changed back into their school robes —backs turned to one another as a mockery of privacy— and disposed of the bottomless satchel that contained the evidence of their crimes. He stated that a spell had been placed on the bag to ensure only they could open it; yet he did not want to take any chances and incinerated it instead with a simple Incendio.

"Seems like overkill," Vel sarcastically mumbled. Ominis ignored her.

To not alert any suspicion, they walked calmly back to Hogwarts all while holding hands like the perfect couple. She coyly added a little skip to her step and when they reached the edges of castle grounds, he turned on her, gripping her shoulders to shake some sense into her.

"I understand you're riding the high from whatever power is emanating from that wand. Still, you need to listen to me and grasp what just occurred. You may think only a minor thing here or there went awry, but have you stopped to ask yourself why Gerbold didn’t attack? Why he refused to lift his wand? He’s not some harmless old man. He's a wandmaker, and a skilled wizard at that. If he figured out our plan before you even touched the wand... why the hesitation to send you straight to Azkaban?" Ominis stepped back, putting space between them before his temper got the better of him.

Then, he shook his head. "I messed up, too. He recognized my Animagus form as a poisonous reptile—"

She recoiled back. "You told me—" 

"Enough! I told you that I..." his voice dropped so that only she may hear him and not even the blades of grass below their feet knew of his whispers. "I told you that I killed those scoundrels in the woods to protect you, did I not? I confessed. You should have put the pieces together by now."

"So... trusting you is my fault?"

"That's not—"

Vel threw her hands up and scoffed, exasperated. "Oh, great! Let's hear it! No, scratch that, it's my turn to talk. Maybe I did trust you and that is probably my fault. I look the other way whenever I suspect you of something, close off friends and family who warn me about you, and— oh! Even defended you against Professor Hawthrone. You think loving you is easy?"

Without missing a beat or allowing him a word in, she answered her own question, "No, it's not easy. I never thought it would be. A little trust, that's all I asked for. So now... now you tell me everything that you possibly can without violating the terms of your Unbreakable Vow. I have felt left in the dark from day one, you'd think I'm the blind one."

The rant ended in an exhaled huff that made steam blow from her mouth. 

"Very well... though sneaking off to the Undercroft may prove difficult at this hour. Even headed back to our common rooms would be a gamble. Where do you suggest we have this chat?"

"The cottage." Inwardly, she smacked herself at the insinuation of what going to that place meant. And so, she followed with, "To talk, and nothing more."

Ominis placed a hand on his chest and vowed, "You have my word, my lady. After you..." 

He waved in the general direction of the cottage and off they went. No longer hand in hand to keep up appearances because now it was just them traveling this path. Together. United by crimes and passion; the line between the two blurring the further they went.

Notes:

I'm sorry for the hiatus! For some reason this chapter took me awhile to write, I kept stopping and going back to it because the pace felt off. I'll probably come back to it a time or two again to edit it but nothing major will change. Hope you enjoyed and I'll be writing more now that I got over that writer's block!

Chapter 34

The rusted hinges of the door nearly shattered when they burst into the cottage. Ominis's back took the brunt of the impact against the door, and he paid no mind to the ache. They stumbled backward in a tangle of limbs until the edge of the table dug into his thighs, halting their momentum— not that it stopped her.

He lifted her up and her legs slid into place around his waist. Between peppering his cheeks and chin with kisses, she demanded, "Now tell me what you can or else this is as far as we go tonight."

Ominis groaned, fingers tightening on her hips like he couldn't decide whether to push her away or pull her closer. 

"Fuck, Velvette, don't say that..." The whine in his tone sent a thrill through her. Oh, she adored a man who begged.

She gyrated her hips until she felt the outline of his cock taking shape in his trousers. It didn't take long. And she continued doing so, ignoring his pleas to disrobe. As she practically tortured this man in her hold, she thought of all the ways to phrase her questioning to best evade the conditions of the Unbreakable Vow he made. His family was somehow involved. That much she knew...

"Tell me about your family. Your childhood with them. The most significant of memories that explain the kind of people they are." Open-ended. Unrestrictive. The kind of question that might slip past whatever magical constraints held his tongue.

Ominis spluttered, "U-um... my family? You're really asking me about them right now?"

"Yes." The movements of her lower body ceased. "And you better answer, or else."

His grip on her tightened, torn between frustration and desperation. She could practically feel the war waging inside him— loyalty to whatever vow bound him warring with the need she stoked with every teasing shift of her body. He cursed some more before subjecting himself to her cruel methods of questioning. 

"Very well, I'll play your game. I suppose my family may be considered a normal pureblood family; they want power, blood supremacy and the perks that come with it. Ah, and they'd fuck their own cousins so long as the blood doesn't dirty. That's the kind of people they are. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Not even close," she smacked his chest —lightly— and bent closer to nip at his ear, "Keep talking."

He squirmed beneath her. "Fine, fine. Alright! I'll tell you what I can, but you have to get off my lap!"

A slow, wicked smile curved her lips. "I think I could get used to this whimpering. Maybe even... grow to like it." Her hips rolled again, just once, just to watch his jaw clench. "So no, I'm not moving until I'm satisfied... and I mean that in every possible way."

Ominis exhaled sharply, fingers digging into her thighs. "You're insufferable."

"I am what you made me," she murmured, tracing the line of his throat with her tongue. 

"There was," he gasped before speaking faster, stumbling over his words, "My old friend, Sebastian. I may have mentioned him before, surely? He and I were quick friends come meeting our first year. Now, you may be thinking, why am I telling you this? Well now let me get to that— Ah! Stop that, if you touch me there again, I'll curse your hands to be bound."

"You'd never hurt me." She smirked.

"As I was saying, he knew me before my family... before they..." A hint of a grimace appeared on his face before it was washed away by some far-off expression, his head turning to the side to rest his cheek against the table. "Um, before all this happened. He would warn me of their tricks and sugar-coated words whenever he thought they were using me for their benefit. With my brother being a fool of a student here at Hogwarts, they saw me as their ticket to restoring the family name."

He exhaled. "Only... I didn't want any part of that legacy. I only wanted their love and approval. Sebastian. He... saw through the greed. If I had listened to him just a day sooner, then all this could have been avoided. There's so much I can't say. Too many words cutting like razors across my tongue. I've given you some hints and it's now up to you to weed through it all. Think, Velvette. Think about our time in the Undercroft. Think of the Slytherin legacy and, more importantly, that journal in your possession. It likely holds more answers than even I'm aware of."

The Gaunts. Salazar Slytherin. That in itself wrote a chilling tale that she'd have to unravel with research. Time may be on her side for now, and yet she had to ask— 

"How grave is the intent behind what your family set you up to do?"

"Perilous. I need you, Vel. I need your sharp mind and knack for digging into things you should leave to rest. I'm to blame for letting this go on so long... I thought we had more time."

It appears time is never on their side.

"Huh. No pressure or anything." Without thinking, she shifted her hips and felt the brush of something stiff nudge her thighs. "Although... it looks like you need a little more pressure. And since you complied with my inquiries, I suppose you deserve it."

To cut off further ramblings, she sealed her lips onto his, swallowing his protest as the fireplace roared to life thanks to his advanced casting. And just like that, his hands were everywhere. In her hair, skimming down her back, digging into her hips to pull her flush against him. He kissed as a starved man devoured bread. Ravenous. Uncaring of the sounds produced. Without remorse for how the bread may be bruised in the morning—

She reared back when he bit her bottom lip a little too roughly. "Curse you, Ominis. I have plans tomorrow!"

"Oh, do you now?" A darkness crept into his cloudy irises. "I hope you can cancel. Unless you're able to entertain bedside, because you'll need a day to rest after I'm done with you."

"You—"

The table creaked beneath them as he twisted, flipping them over so that she now lied with his body caging hers. Embers crackled and sparked; inevitably casting their writhing shadows against the wall. Two bodies entwined with no gaps between where their skin met. The heat emitting from the fireplace only heightened what passion radiated off their flesh until sweat beads formed on his forehead. Even the back of her neck began to feel clammy. 

She didn't protest when he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the cramped chambers where they once spent the night not long ago. Except now... they were proving the name of the cottage and putting the bed to its proper use.

The bedroom mirrored such debauchery. Rumpled sheets, the faint scent of previous encounters lingering in the air. It all painted a scandalous image that had Ominis scrunching up his nose in disgust before muttering a quick charm under his breath. Fresh linens unfurled from the wardrobe, smoothing themselves over the mattress in crisp, cool waves.

Vel broke away from kissing his ear to admire his spell work. "Your wandless casting is getting more impressive by the day. I'm jealous..."

"Silly thing to be jealous over," he placed a smooch on the tip of her nose before setting her down on the edge of the bed. "Because my power is yours, just as I'll help you hone your abilities with your new wand. If you stay by my side, then I swear to do anything to raise you above all others."

"Above all others? No, I only want—" A shrill screech slipped out her lips, "W-what are you doing?" 

While concerned over his avowal, he took advantage in the drop of her defenses to slide her pants down in one fluid motion and nuzzle his way between her legs. He kissed a trail up her inner thigh before stopping at the edge of her panties, which he bit and dragged into his mouth, gnawing at the fabric until it became stretched and soaked.

He released the panties only to nudge them aside with his nose; burrowing into her sweet scent that now beckoned him to continue with his tongue. "Knowing you wore another man's clothes did something to me. I wouldn't say I'm jealous... Mm, no. More so, possessive? I hate that his skin touched yours, albeit indirectly. What a foolish notion, considering it's me whose length you'll be taking into your pussy tonight."

"Ominis!" Vel slammed her head back onto the bed to hide the darkening flush that blossomed across her cheeks and chest. Never had he spoken this dirty before and each word sent a bolt of heat straight to her core.

A frigid draft seeped through the warped window frame; its uneven seal long surrendered to time and neglect. The cold air licked at her bare skin, raising gooseflesh along her legs until his hands found her, massaging her soft thighs to steal away the chill. His touch burned, searing a path across her body, each stroke so fever-hot it threatened to brand her. The contrast was dizzying, the clash of sensations sharp enough to make her head spin.

Then his mouth was on her, and the world narrowed to this: the wet, devouring warmth of his tongue as it speared into her pussy, ruthless and claiming. Now there was only him— the filthy sounds of his worship, the way his grip on her thighs flexed, and how he greedily lapped at her most sensitive spots. When he discovered what place had her moaning and writhing beneath him, he mercilessly kept at it. 

Only when her hips bucked just before she succumbed to release, did he stop. "Fuck, you're perfect. I could lick you for hours if it meant hearing that pretty little way you beg."

She readied to protest that she did not beg, but her tongue forfeited any rights to disagree. "Then why'd you stop? Please, Ominis... keep... going..."

His tongue swirled over her clit, teasing. She cried out, fingers twisting in his hair as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. He worked her with sinful precision, alternating between slow, languid strokes and sharp, demanding flicks of his tongue.

Once again, he stopped. 

He hummed against her, the vibration making her shudder. The moment her trembling subsided, he was on her, pressing her into the mattress. A solid weight trapping her down. It rivaled the first time they had sex, as now he seemed more untamed as if someone cut the chains holding him back. 

Something warm and thick slapped against her wetness and she looked down her belly to see the tip of his swollen cock already dripping with precum. She whimpered, knowing that it had once been inside her and would be again. Right here. Right now. She didn't want to wait another second—

"Look at me," he demanded, void of his usual sweetness he reserved only for her ears.

When their eyes met, he pushed into her with one slow, deliberate thrust which filled her completely. The stretch to accommodate him had her mind reeling. How had they done this the first time? 

Oh, that's right, he fingered me last time... She remembered dizzily.

She cried as he bottomed out. Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes thanks to the pleasure that consumed her entirety. She attempted to move against him, only for him to push her deeper into the mattress. Now she debated whether it be pleasure or pain that made her cry...

"Now you're just being cruel!" She protested by arching her back and found little give to his body weight pressing down onto hers.

"I am what you made me," he tutted, mockingly.

A sudden thrill skated over her ribs, a phantom touch that did not linger for long. His magic flared, wrapping around her body like a second pair of hands — squeezing, teasing, owning— before altogether vanishing. 

"I may be blind," he rasped, "but I know when you're biting that lip. I know when you're close. Every hitch of your breath, each fluttering of your pulse... It's all written plainly for me to see. And you, darling, are exquisite when you're undone. Go on, beg me some more with that tell-all body of yours."

With a flick of his wand, braided ropes coiled around her wrists and attached to the wall behind her by a hook that had not previously been there. She pulled against the restraints, but the magic tightened instinctively. When the ropes shimmered, a strange magic radiated from them, emitting shocks of bittersweet pleasure wherever they touched. Vel cried out, back bowing off the bed as the sensation overwhelmed her. 

Ominis drank in the sound, his wand tracing down her sternum. He pushed it into her abdomen, forcing her back down onto the mattress. "This is only fair, Velvette. You teased me first."

He rocked his hips. Once. Twice. And then he withdrew languidly only to slam into her core. There was no rhyme nor rhythm to his motions. No sway to his maddening pace. He brought her to the edge and dangled her over the proverbially cliffside just to pull back before she fell. 

Thrashing against the ropes, she begged him to release her from this hell. "P-please Ominis, I can't do this any longer. D-do something. Help me. I'm... I'm sorry for teasing you! I'll never do that again. So please, please!"

Upon seeing tears spill from the edges of her eyes, he relinquished his cruel punishment. The ropes fell from her wrists and he flipped her over with ease, positioning her to his liking. He kicked his pants off from around his ankles and then pressed down into her dripping core; his body draped over hers to stake his claim. Though primal and depraved as the position may be, the closeness made it so his full length may grind against the deepest parts of her. 

One arm snaked around her neck and the other around her stomach. He groaned into her ear, "Remember, you asked for this."

He pounded into her madly, bent over her quivering form like some feral beast. She felt the tension building in him, the way his thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in ragged pants against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, pleading for him to go slower and he responded by lunging for her bottom lip to suck into his mouth. When he bit down, she shattered with a scream. 

Ecstasy and agony collided in a supernova of sensations.

Magic surged in the room in tandem to their undoing— snuffing out the candles and fire in the other room and, in the darkness, all that remained was the sound of their shared ruin. Breathless after release, he pulled back to run a hand over his face, wiping off the sweat budding atop his brow bone. 

Still inside her, he fell to the side and took her with him. He rolled his hips thoughtlessly and delighted in her cries of protest. "One... minute... please..." 

"I'm far from done with you." 

The declaration gave her pause. 

When she attempted some distance, she found herself trapped by his arms. "Ominis, let go of me. I never gave you permission to fuck me like some brute."

"Oh, you did though. I even warned you. And really, 'some' brute? This brute is all yours," he nuzzled into hair and sighed, contemplating whether or not to take her again right then and there. "Would you... prefer a moment to rest?"

"I loathe you." 

"What was that?" He slid his cock out and the popping noise it made sent a shiver down his spine. Even after all that, her pussy still tried to cling to him. "Did you say that you love me? Well, I love you too, little bird."

Her heart stuttered in time with her voice. "Don't call me that."

"Vel? What's wrong?" Genuinely concerned by her sudden switch of moods, Ominis grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. The playful atmosphere gone in a flash. 

Velvette's breath hitched. She hadn't meant to react that way and make him suspicious. But of course, that level of repulsion to the pet name would set his alarms off. 

The warmth of his body against hers suddenly felt suffocating. She cursed herself for thinking of that demented professor now. It ruined everything— The high of successfully retrieving the wand, getting one step closer to uncovering the reason for his Unbreakable Vow... And even this, lying in bed with Ominis as his eyes implored her to be honest with him. 

Little bird.

The memory of what happened in that office hit her psyche harder than any curse. 

Ominis frowned, "Vel? Talk to me."

She jerked away from him. "Don't."

His jaw set. "Don't what?"

If left idle for even a second, she could still feel Hawthorne's hands on her. Still smell his alcohol riddled breath as he spoke his desires. Recall just how he laughed when she ran away. And now, with Ominis's magic still tingling on her skin, the guilt ate away at her love for him. 

More secrets to taint their relationship. Forever stuck in an endless cycle of half-truths and white lies. Perhaps their love had been built upon it and needed such things to survive the harrowing world...

He sensed her resolve to remain quiet, so he pulled her closer to tuck her head under his chin.

"You're hiding something," he spoke slowly as to not raise suspicion. Behind her back, he flourished his wand and the ropes reappeared, this time pulling her into an upright position so that her back rested against the wall. It all happened too quickly for her to be anything other than stunned, leaving her mouth agape as he kneeled in front of her. "And I will find out what it is. Now talk."

"Let. Me. Go. We're not playing this game anymore."

Gentle fingers took hold of her chin, keeping her gaze leveled with his. "Not until you tell me what's got you so spooked. You've never looked at me that way before... Did I say or do something to upset you?"

The question felt a blade had been buried between her ribs.

"No... no, not you. I'm not..." Afraid of you. The unspoken words lingered between them, creating a cavernous distance unlike ever before. Because she was afraid of him, in some regard. Only a fool wouldn't be. "Release me right now, Ominis. You can't chain me to a wall every time I don't want to talk. Do you realize how psychotic that is?"

"Chains? You want chains? And here I was, going easy on you." He snarled as the ropes binding her hands morphed into chains that clinked against each other as she twisted and shouted at him. 

More chains appeared; securing her legs together so that she lost all ability to kick and thrash about. They were much too heavy to be regular chains, hinting that magic had something to do with their weight. 

"You psycho! Maybe everyone is right about you! Torture comes second nature to you Gaunts!" She yelped as chains materialized across her stomach and constricted the more insults she hurled at him. 

Ominis barked a laugh up at the ceiling. "Ha! Now that we're bringing our families into it, how about yours? They're the reason you're like this, all secrets and no trust. If not for the Unbreakable Vow, you'd know everything about me. So why do I know only a fraction of your mind? No... it's not fair, is it?"

The tip of his wand pressed into her temple. And then... he hesitated. 

"I can't make you tell me without doing something truly unforgivable..." At that realization, he let his wand arm fall to his side, limp and utterly useless. "Whenever I think we've gotten over one hurdle, another appears. Why can't you trust me?"

Her chest heaved as she inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with his tangible sorrow. "It's not that I don't trust you. There are some things that are better left buried in the past. Bringing them into the light now would change nothing."

"That's for me to surmise." 

"Ominis—"

Faster than his name left her lips, his wand found her temple and he whispered, "Legilimens."

Her magic flared in response, summoning the cursed wand from the where it'd been resting in the pocket of her pants and into her outstretched palm. The chains on her wrists and legs shattered like glass, dissolving into sparks as she broke free. Ominis stumbled back, catching himself on his hands as the sheer force of her magic almost had him tumbling off the bed. 

The rage pouring off her—

She was on her feet before he even registered what she'd done, yanking the oversized pants over her legs and snatching the discarded sweater to shakily slip on. The cottage air, once thick with desire, now felt like a prison. She needed out.

Without another word from Ominis, who still sat —stunned and speechless— on the bed, she left him in the wreckage of their intimacy. A victim of his own making. 

Notes:

Sorry for the delayed update! I think the 'AO3 curse' may be a real thing after all xD So much has happened in my life but I always manage to circle back to writing because it's my happy place. Hope you liked the new chapter!

Chapter 35

The afternoon mist clung to Hogsmeade, softening its rather rough edges into something dreamlike. Vel moved in tandem with her friends. Going this way and that, following behind them in a daze. Her rain boots slapped against the wet cobblestones and spared her from the stray puddles that were the least of her concerns. 

Ominis's actions from the night prior left an acidic taste in her mouth. Even after visiting Honeydukes for some treats to and downing two butterbeers in the cramped tavern that seemed to house everyone in town, the taste lingered. By now her friends had moved past her sulking and shifted focus to their own troubles. With Spring fast approaching, Monty lost sleep over Quidditch coming to an end, while the girls troubled themselves with talk of where to spend the coming holiday break. 

"You're worried about break while my life is about to become meaningless?!" Monty shouted at the bickering couple. He inched his way between them and, in a dramatic fashion befitting his ego, sighed loud enough to draw attention from townies. "Even after the school year ends, you have each other, what do I have? Sure, I could go professional. No argument there. But it's my team, my players, my house... That's what makes the game worthwhile for me."

"Quit being so dramatic and flaunt your feathers somewhere else." Meredith groaned as she shoved at his arm that attempted to wrap itself around her shoulders. Her glare settled on her stubborn girlfriend, "And you, quit acting like we didn't spend more time at your house over Christmas break. It's only fair that you visit the Isle of Skye with my family! It's tradition!"

Clarissa ground her teeth. "It takes away from my family's traditions!"

Tradition. Family. The end of the school year. All these jarring notions that Vel —if left to contemplate for more than a minute in silence— would begin to go insane. Truth be told, she may remain in the castle during the Easter holiday and skip out on familial duties entirely. For being alone felt easier than putting on a facade for others' benefit. 

"Who goes hiking for fun?!" The shriek in Clarissa's voice shook Vel from her reverie and her head snapped up to glower at all three of them. 

She didn't see the puddle until it was too late.

A glint of murky water, wide and deep enough to swallow her foot whole. With a gasp, she wrenched sideways, only to collide with a wall of navy wool that smelled of baking spices. The impact of her head smacking into the person made an audible thud, followed by her mumbled discontent. 

Hands found the curve of her elbows to steady her before she toppled into the street. It was then that she blinked up at the unamused face of Professor Hawthrone.

Oh, bloody hell.

"Hawthorne!" She blurted, scrambling back a step. Her voice pitched high, unnatural, and her friends didn't miss her awkwardness. They cast warry glances between one another before taking her side. "I didn't expect to run... into you... here... today."

The professor didn't so much as twitch. His all too familiar hazel eyes flicked over her with the same detached scrutiny he'd give a poorly brewed potion.

"Let's be plain," he said, voice dry as parchment. "You did not run into me. You fell into me. What has you so riled up on a Sunday morning?"

Vel's cheeks burned. Unsure if embarrassment or anger fumed her inner fires, she took a step back just to be safe. If she acted too rashly in front of her friends, then they'd know something was up between Hawthrone and her. She smoothed a hand down her robes, as if the wrinkles were the real offense here. 

"I overcorrected to avoid a puddle, my apologies. We were headed back to the castle." Too formal. Tone it down. "Why are you here?" Too accusatory. "Not... that it matters."

Hawthorne's steely gaze did not waver. He had the ability to see into the finer details— it's what made him an excellent DADA professor. First, the way her voice tremored as she attempted to evade her friend's curiosity. Then, there was the way her fingers trembled at her sides. The shadows under her eyes. Agitation in her squared shoulders. The list went on as he assessed that he may be the last person on earth that she wanted to see. 

"You look troubled," he observed. "And distracted. That combination never bodes well. Especially not when you've been spending so much time with Gaunt."

The name landed like a stone thrown into still water. A ripple that ruined her constructed facade. 

Vel stiffened. "Ominis has been helping me. That's all."

"Helping you with what, pray tell? I believed that our after-class sessions had come to an end... Unless you wish to continue under a more practiced tutor, such as myself?"

Disgusting. A man who defined wickedness. 

"I'll take my chances under Ominis's instruction. Thanks." She practically hissed the false gratitude. 

Hawthorne exhaled through his nose, no more than a huff that wished to be an outright scoff. They each forgot that her friends were mere feet behind her, listening to the odd exchange between student and professor. The people walking past in the bustling, overcrowded streets became a blur of bodies.

His jaw ticked. "Has he told you about Sebastian?"

"He's told me enough." He's told me nothing.

"Is that so? That's quite a surprise."

She restrained her agitation behind a smile. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Because..." For the first time since that night in his office, he looked less like a teacher and more like a man burdened by memories. "I just had tea with your uncle, and we took a stroll down memory lane. He remembers the Sallow case well, as it was his last case before an impromptu retirement. Care to hear the rest over a pint?"

The village bell tolled in the distance, a hollow sound. Vel swallowed hard. These may be the answers she's been seeking and the hook he casted began to sink beneath her skin. Even he knew it. She looked back at her friends, who all shrugged their shoulders; unaware of just what danger their dear professor posed. 

"Y-you lot can head back. Save me a seat at dinner?" Hopefully, they interpreted her request as: 'If I'm not back by dinner, please come find me.' But alas, their suspicions could not be raised if they believed nothing threatened her. 

After some assured words and waves of goodbye, the three bounced out of sight, practically skipping away as Velvette threw in her Sunday afternoon with someone she strove to avoid. Be it sheer idiocy or keen fascination, she needed the answers that Hawthrone may provide and that in itself was enough for her to follow him as he led them to a safe space to chat. 

The tailoring shop on the outskirts of town that he led her to was unassuming. Nestled between a florist's and an abandoned, crumbling bookshop. Its windows were fogged from years of accumulated dust and mildew from the naturally muggy air of the region, therefore dulling its appeal to any passersby. Inside, one would assume the shop had closed long ago if they had not a scrutinizing eye. Yet her inquisitive eye picked up on the in-fashion fabrics that were laid out on the counter, the mannequin lacking dust secluded to the back with pins cushioned into it, and a notebook filled with bookings for the current month. 

They passed by all this in the otherwise empty shop and headed for the back, where Hawthrone climbed a narrow wooden staircase that must have some kind of muffling charm on it because not a creak sounded their arrival. Her hand guided the way up the polished banister— not to keep her footing, but to calm her nerves. Half her sense urged her to turn back while the opposing half took each step as a sign of bravery. 

The railing anchored her. And when it ran out...

Velvette swallowed the lump in her throat as the final step brought them to a low-ceilinged room steeped in candlelight; the kind of place where time slowed and confessions felt inevitable.

The tavern they emerged into felt like a secret society's meeting place: antique copper panels lined the walls, adorned with patterns of gilded latticework and baroque flourishes. They repeated in perfect symmetry throughout the quaint space that housed an assortment of tables of chairs, none of which perfectly matched the other. It felt both resplendent and disjointed. 

Every glance their way had a weight to it. While Harlan settled into a cushiony chair in the back corner, she took the church pew booth that lined the back wall. It gave her the perfect view of everyone in the establishment. 

'Everyone' being the two barkeepers, the three patrons, and the caged owl that screeched in time with the scratching of the record player, which played a jazzy melody. And still, the air held the faintest chill— like the room had not heard laughter in a hundred years. A heartbeat after taking their seats, a woman rounded the side of the bar with four glasses floating in the air a step behind her. She beelined for their table and the two tankards of foaming butterbeer drifted down to spot in front of them, followed by a shot glass filled with some amber liquid.

Vel eyed at the duo of drinks skeptically and then swung her gaze at Hawthrone, who had already lifted the shot glass and tilted it her way.

"Ever had butterbeer as a chaser to rum? It's heavenly." For a moment, his imploring eyes held hers— as though he needed her to see him as he was. Not her professor. Not her uncle's friend. And certainly not the man who once pined after her aunt. 

She mirrored him, picking up the shot of rum. "Can't say I have."

He narrowed in on the way she swallowed the shot in a single swig. When she tapped the glass back down on the glossed table and reached for the butterbeer, he followed suit to match her pacing. It burned in the pits of her stomach, as if she'd swallowed a torch. 

"It's quite a combination, perfect for this brisk weather... And for making bad decisions." He surmised after two chugs of his butterbeer, and she felt inclined to agree. His fingers drummed on the tabletop as he leaned in, "Tell me, Miss Nightingale, why is it you followed me here?"

"You know why. I came here for the very answers you swore to provide. Do not confuse my temporary pardon for your... brazenness... as even an ounce of forgiveness. If you so much as attempt to hold my hand, touch my cheek, or glance at me with that glint in your creepy eyes, I'm leaving. You disgust me. My opinion of you will never change." 

"Never?" His brow peaked. "Now that's cruel, considering I would never hurt you. Can you say the same for the Gaunt boy? Or his family?"

"Tell me what you know."

"Ah, you really do despise me." At the snap of his fingers, one of the bartenders came round and replenished the shot glasses of rum. Each with a half a pint left of butterbeer, they needed a refresher to sink them deeper into the fires of depravity. Only then would the secrets they harbored come to light. After downing that second shot and allowing it to fester, he asked, "What is it exactly you want from me?"

More than anything, she wanted to blurt out that she didn't know. That all she knew was that she needed more— More information, more backstory, more... Anything. If she were a moth, Harlan Hawthrone may as well be the flame. 

Instead, she shifted on the bench, crossing one leg over the other and then back again as she felt the questions forming in her chest.

"Can you tell me more about Sebastian Sallow? I've researched the incident all I could but every article in the Daily Prophet seems to have reported the same story. Hogwarts student kills his uncle because they couldn't see eye to eye... It all felt too repetitive to be true. So, what really happened? How is my uncle involved?"

"Did he never tell you? He was the lead detective in the Sallow case." His lips pressed into a thin line before he divulged, "Finneas never looked the same after that case. A man haunted by the crimes of others. Whoever would have suspected a fifth-year student to turn on their own family in such a gruesome manner? The boy had confessed to murdering his own uncle. No remorse. No ounce of sympathy for the lives it impacted. It... reminded him of his own family and how hard he fought to maintain peace within."

"Peace within?" Vel could hardly suppress her disdain with a poorly veiled sneer. "My uncle may have been a great persecutor for magical law, but he lacked when it came to familial affairs. Both my aunt and grandmother knew that his standing in society came from the pockets of those pureblood families he made his bed in. If he took on a case to pacify his own self blame for abandoning his brother—"

Hawthrone slammed his glass on the table. "He did no such thing!" 

"— then by all means, I'm happy he found some way to cope. While my parents struggled, he got to play lawyer for a few years, only to stop when... What? A case hit too close to home?"

"I thought you loved Finneas. He protected you and your parents from the shadows. You don't even know the half of it." 

This volleyed match of words may never cease at this rate. Velvette knew that she was wasting time with old qualms when she should be getting to the root of what Harlan knew about Ominis's past. 

Vel took a swig of her drink. "Forget it. We got off topic, tell me more about the Sallow case."

The professor looked hard-pressed to argue and defend his friend some more, and then, with a sigh of resignation, he yielded. "If you're curious how the boy landed in Azkaban, the murder of his uncle was just the start of it. Finneas managed to get him placed on house arrest due to his age and with there being some grey area in what transpired. That deeply upset those who demanded justice, and they took it upon themselves to make the boy's life miserable. From what I've been told, Ominis would visit him with his brother from time to time in Feldcroft. You've met Marvolo, he's hardly a positive influence."

"During their visit just this past summer, the Gaunt boys decided to aide Sebastian in breaking free. Some town folk attempted to stop them and Sebastian... He went mad. These very people had left dead animals on his doorstep, thrown rotten food at his windows, and taunted him for over a year ever since he'd been placed on house arrest. The enforcers stationed to watch over him never intervened. Now that he turned seventeen, the sentence was much harsher for attacking innocent civilians. The Gaunt family took pity and got involved, pulling the strings of the ministry to lessen his sentence in Azkaban."

"Did... did Ominis hurt anyone that day?" She held her breath, almost not wanting to hear the answer if it was anything other than a firm 'no'.

"He did not. Marvolo and him fought to subdue Sebastian until the town's enforcers and the ministry's Aurors arrived. What struck me as odd, however, is that the Gaunts involved themselves for someone not of prestigious blood. Even with Sebastian being a childhood friend of their son's, this went beyond even standard goodwill. The boy was a murderer, plain and simple. He injured dozens of innocents the day he tried to escape. It makes me wonder what Ominis said, or did, in order for them to step in."

You and me both. "Is that all you know?"

"If you want to know something that can't be found in the Daily Prophet archives... I'll need something first." The way his eyes gleamed, as if he just ensnared a rare creature in his trap, made her stomach flip. His tongue poked his canine mischievously as he watched her squirm. "Oh, I think there's a misunderstanding. I don't want anything untoward, only... for you to wait. Wait until the end of the school year. Until then, promise to leave a corner of your heart open for me."

His hand reached out to brush his knuckles against hers. A tender touch. Almost apologetic. 

She pulled back, her gaze drifting around the establishment. Not a single eye looked their way, even after how heated it nearly became. These people, this place... None of it felt real. 

"I'll wait as long as it takes," he vowed quietly once the silence lingered. 

The candle flame between them sputtered, then wavered into a steady glow again.

She swallowed the rest of her drink, her fingers slick against the cold glass. She felt exposed despite the haunting obscurity this tavern provided. Somewhere in the depravity of his confession, velvet warmth found her. It may be attributed to the alcohol, or the homely atmosphere of the tavern, or could it be...

He pressed his lips into a slender line as his gaze flickered to the empty glasses littering the table. If he pressured her, just a little harder—

"He confessed something off the record. Finneas told me." Hawthrone tossed in his only bargaining chip after another 30 seconds of silence. The confident smirk that graced her rosy lips sent him —and his integrity— off the edge of a bottomless canyon. "And I'll tell you if you quit being so cocky and kiss me."

Her cockiness faltered, ever so slightly. "Don't be disgusting and tell me what you know."

At that, he tapped his cheek and leaned across the table towards her, close enough for her to meet him halfway. Reluctantly, she acquiesced. She needed this information if it meant saving Ominis from his own family. 

But when she brushed her lips across the stubble on his cheek, he pivoted his head so their lips touched. Vel recoiled and the shock made him choke on his own saliva. He slammed his fist down onto the table, shaking all the emptied glasses, as he laughed at her expression— All raised eyebrows, flushed cheeks, and simmering rage.

"Now you owe me. Talk. Before I report you to some magical board that oversees perverted professors. How old are you, again? Old enough to be my dad's age, no doubt."

One of his brows perked. "So? What right does age have to interfere with love?"

"I do not love you." In fact, she may hate him. 

"Ah... Not yet, my dear Velvette." 

Delusion. That must be what prompted him to act in such a crude manner. 

Harlan folded his hands on the lap as he leaned back. "Alas, we're getting off track. You humored me and for that, you will be rewarded. The Sallow boy met with your uncle once before his second trial. At that time, Finneas had retired but still felt a sense of responsibility for this case. When they met in private, the boy confessed that he knew what the Gaunt family dangled over their own son's head in order to save his friend from a lifetime in Azkaban."

When he hesitated, Vel shimmied to the edge of the bench, her nails digging into the rounded curve of its ledge. She prompted him to continue, "And?"

"... And then Ominis's father walked in before he could tell your uncle. Finneas never returned to Azkaban after that, too terrified of his old bully to bring himself to go back. You may think your uncle is complicit in your upbringing. That he turned a blind eye to what hardships your parents endured. Yet... he had his own demons, too."

Velvette reached into the inner pockets of her robes and tossed some galleons onto the table. "This has been a treat. You've told me nothing more than what I can find in archives and still managed to steal a kiss out of it. Thanks for... Hm, I suppose, nothing at all."

Harlan rose from his chair, its rickety legs creaking as he did. "Miss Nightingale. You know whom you must visit next if this is the path you've sought to travel down. Sebastian is still holed up in Azkaban and enough time has passed that the Gaunts may not have eyes on him anymore. If he knows something, you can figure it out."

For once, since the first time she met Harlan on her first day at Hogwarts, he felt sincere. Not out to teach her a lesson or seduce her as a substitute to her aunt. Perhaps that's why, when he offered to escort her back to the castle, she allowed it. He dared not try for another brazen attempt at stealing her affection or crossed any line on their way back. They simply walked. Side by side, the effects of the drinks they consumed swaying their steps. 

Chapter 36

Parting with little words spoken, Harlan and Velvette turned away from one another where their paths diverged. She dare not glance over her shoulder in fear that he'd be doing the same. She walked on; rigid and with a slight sway in her step from the drinks that were beginning to wear off in her system.

The remnants of conversation with the professor clung to her mind, bits and pieces weaving themselves into her half-formed hypothesis of Ominis's ambiguous past. She hardly registered the crunch of gravel beneath her feet nor the distant laughter of the last students returning from Hogsmeade as the echoes in her head were much louder. 

Echoes filled with flashes of memories that stemmed from silver-tongued tales.

Where did she begin to separate reality from the countless deceptions? If only she had control of her abilities, she could force someone tell her the truth...

Vel stopped cold in her tracks.

Never once had she desired to use her powers to deceitfully persuade people. And on the occasions that she had done so, it'd always been an accident. The hand that was stuffed in her pocket, gripping the handle of her wand, began to tingle. She swore the sensation traveled up her arm, along her neck, to where it ended on the back of her scalp and tickled her brain.

Though... it could have been the wind?

She took no more than three steps inside the castle from one of the side entrances when the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Now that couldn't have been a breeze, she was indoors.

Movement caught the corner of her eye as she glanced around, and she looked up at the rafters above a moment too late. Something sinuous and smooth dropped onto her shoulders; its coils tightening around her throat until she fell to her knees. Vel let out a short gasp and with it went the air in her lungs. Her hands flew up instinctively and desperate fingers clawed at smooth, scaled flesh as the creature continued to wrap around the upper half of her body— Trapping her arms down at her sides to make her powerless. 

Ominis.

His serpent form was a living necklace of alabaster, his grip just shy of excruciating. She could feel the ripple of muscle beneath his scales as he shifted across her neck until his head came around to face her. Although his intent may not be to harm, she scowled at him all the same.

"Om- Ominis—" She choked out as she flexed her hands, feeling the pulse drain out of her fingers. 

A single tear trickled out the corner of her eye and the snake's tongue slithered out to catch it. A rather endearing gesture for the situation they were in. In any other circumstance she may even find him cute in this form. His beady black eyes stared at her —unblinking— in an eerily calculating manner. 

And then, the change began.

The transformation was seamless, a ripple of magic that blurred the line between beast and man. One moment, the cool press of scales and the next, the heat of a body pressed down on her chest. The unmistakable grip of human fingers replacing the serpent's coils around her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her pulse sputter and spike beneath his palm. 

His other arm scooped her up around her waist, hauling her flush against him with a possessiveness that stole her breath away.

"How was your afternoon in Hogsmeade? Venture anywhere new?" His voice was a low rasp against her ear. Telling in their hidden meaning. 

He knew. But how?

Vel stammered against the pressure on her neck, "W-were you watching me?"

"When am I ever not? You have no idea the things I've contemplated throughout the day. Barging into that tavern. Revealing my Animagus form to Hawthrone. Attacking him and making him suffer."  The last word a hiss, serpentine in its cadence. 

His fingers flexed around the column of her throat, thrumming the cords of her veins which now protruded. Enough to make her vision swim. But then his hold eased, and he brushed a tender digit along the frantic pulse at the base of her throat; caressing her into submission. 

The duality of it —the threat and the tenderness— left her dizzy.

Ominis pressed closer, his breath hot against her neck as he inhaled deeply, "You smell like him," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Like his lust. That depraved man wants nothing more from you than your body. Make no mistake, my love, I alone have your body. I alone own your heart, your soul, and your every waking moment in this world. In only your dreams may you escape me and even those I wish to control someday." 

Vel shivered. There was something unnerving about Ominis in this moment. The way he moved, the way he spoke... It all seemed more serpent than man. 

Lower and lower his hand slid, dipping past the neckline of her sweater which now felt suffocating due to the heat between their bodies. Her breath hitched as his trimmed nails skimmed the swell of her breast; teasing the skin there until bumps spread across her chest. 

"Nothing to say for yourself?" He harshly bit into her earlobe and then sucked it into his mouth, numbing the pain which began to blossom. 

She fought the urge to beg for his forgiveness. What was there to forgive? She had done no wrong by getting a drink with her professor. As far as he was concerned, their relationship stopped at mere academics. Though, something Ominis said gave her pause. Something about smelling Hawthrone's lust...

"How long have you known?" The accusation flew from her mouth before she even mulled it over.

"Since our first Defense class. He hardly ever hid it, you were simply that oblivious. Then the holiday gathering at my home only confirmed it. His hovering eye as we danced as he pretended to chat with other guests, and how he barged into my bedroom once he realized we had scurried off." 

The boy above her shrugged, nonchalant. As if discussing what class they had next or what ingredient to add to a brewing potion. None of this phased him as much as it consumed her.

"You... you daft... imbecile!" Vel screeched as she began to squirm beneath him. Once she freed her arms from where they had been trapped between his legs, her aggression hit him full force. Angry fists slammed into his chest and he took it in stride, allowing her this momentary tantrum. 

"Vel." He spoke her name condescendingly, as a parent would their child. "Velvette. When you finish assaulting me, we have to discuss your insults. You'll need to brush up if you genuinely wish to hurt my ego... Calling me a 'silly fool' feels a tad redundant."

She cried out in agitation. "Oh, piss off! I'm mad at you and trapping me under you isn't helping your case! We're nearly adults, people get married at our age, it's time you start acting as such!"

"You first."

"Agh!" Vel groaned, throwing her head back as her teeth clenched into a snarl. "I loathe you, Ominis Gaunt. Reasoning with you is harder than convincing the squid in the Black Lake to stop attacking innocent students. I may even believe that day might come to pass before anyone gets through your thick skull. You arrogant, pretentious pureblood—"

He put an end to her litany of slights on his person by firmly pressing his lips against hers. It took both of their breath away, especially when she surrendered, parting her lips to allow his tongue entry. He groaned and it vibrated his tongue against hers. It only urged her to become more pliant beneath him. 

Her thoughts were a tangle of fear and want, her body arching into his touch even as her mind screamed warnings. If she conceded to his game of wits now, did they equate to admitting she was wrong in this? For having a drink with a professor to discover more of Ominis's past?

Vel yanked her head to the side, breathing erratically. "No. You don't get to control every narrative. Your jealousy will only poison us both."

Ominis chuckled against her cheek, having been robbed of the delight of her kiss. The sound was a dark ripple against her skin. His free hand trailed lower, skating over the curve of her hip before gripping the fabric of her ankle-length skirt. He bunched the material in his fist and, with a sharp tug, dragged it upward until the chill air kissed her bare thighs.

"No stockings today? My, aren't we promiscuous so early in the season? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were begging to show off your legs to the first bloke who dared lift your skirt." His palm scorched against her skin as he cupped the thickest part of her thigh, caressing her there for the sheer satisfaction of watching her quiver. He gave it a dominating squeeze.

"S-shut your mouth..." She panted, refusing to meet his eyes. Even though she knew he saw her. All of her. All the time. "You never fight fair. For once, I wish to be on a level playing field with you. Do you want to know why I indulged Professor Hawthrone or does the reason not matter to you? Are you so quick to assume the worst that I won't ever have the chance to defend myself?"

Ominis remained silent, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

"Being with you is dizzying." A short sigh brought her back to reality. "I understand that I'm not the most revealing person either. Perhaps that's why we were drawn to one another. Our secrets make us alluring. But... I no longer want those secrets to keep growing until they divide us. If I vow to be honest henceforth, can you promise the same?"

The veil of desire disintegrated. All pretense long abandoned. It left two souls —stripped bare— to face each other in their rawest forms. Two souls devoid of love throughout their lives, asking... Even begging, for reassurance.

When he scooped her up into his arms, the corridor spun around her, the torchlight bleeding into streaks of gold as he hastily backed her against the rough stone wall. One arm tucked under her bum, while the stroked her face: rubbing at her reddened bottom lip. 

His surrender came fast. "I can promise to try."

"That's all I ask."

Ominis claimed her mouth as the need to possess her every molecule overtook him. He sidestepped them in tandem, moving along the wall until his hand found the handle of some door. Whatever room they found themselves stumbling into mattered not. Although, as luck would have it, the abandoned storage room suited their needs perfectly. 

It smelled of dust and damp wood and, as Ominis laid her down on stacked crates, his body heat radiated a scent all his own. One she'd grown addicted to. The familiar aroma of cedar and spicy ginger wafted into her nose as she inhaled deeply.

"What cologne do you use?" She asked desperately, eyelashes fluttering. 

He chuckled in reverie, hands not even pausing as he undressed her while answering her question, "It's an oil I bathe in when in my Animagus form, it keeps my coat slick and shiny. Why? Are you perhaps drawn to it?"

"Mhm, it smells nice..." At that admission, his eyes swam with a carnal hunger that threatened to break through the last of her barriers and reason. As sudden as lightning cutting through clouds in a storm surge, he lunged for her throat, sucking at the flushed skin at the base to leave his mark. She batted at any part of him that she managed to get her hands on, "Stop! That hurts!"

Only then did he release his agonizing suction and rear back to admire his claim. He wiped saliva off his lips with his thumb and exhaled slowly to calm himself. 

"The oil is scentless," he confessed. "However, it does affect my pheromone glands which naturally attract a mate. Usually, it's the female snakes that let out a scent for males to follow... Yet, with Animagi, it's different. Any gender may release pheromones for their desired mate to be seduced by. The fact that it draws you in only proves that I want you as much as you want me."

His fingers tangled in her hair as he abruptly kissed her with bruising intensity, all teeth and tongue and barely restrained need. 

"You avoided me for nearly two days," he murmured, dragging his nose along her jaw, back and forth to draw out a shiver from her otherwise pliant form. "Two days of watching you laugh and tease other men with your oblivious flirting." 

In one fell swoop, he yanked her skirt clean off her hips, no longer wishing to fuss with the fabric that blocked her beauty from him. His wand tapped against her stomach once... twice... committing her body to memory before placing it down beside her to better utilize both hands. 

Vel gasped as his fingers found her dampness through her underwear. "N-not here! What if someone comes in?"

He disregarded her protests. "Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?" 

The sudden drop in her stomach came in tandem with his abrupt shift in positioning. He flipped her around in one fluid motion, so that her feet now rest facing the crate and her stomach felt the wood digging into her ribcage. She attempted to stand, only to have his forearm slam into the back of her neck to pin her down. A strange surrender overtook her— Be it from her unwillingness to fight because she secretly wanted it or unable to due to his sheer strength.

He positioned himself behind her, grinding against her bare backside. "Make no mistake. This is not a reward for your behavior. You don't get to run away from me and then expect me to be gentle. In no world can you meet with another man for a drink and then stumble into my affectionate arms."

She heard the unmistakable sound of his slacks dropping onto the stone floor, followed by the lewd sound of him spitting onto his own palm to then rub it along his length. With whatever saliva was leftover, he rubbed into the crevice of her ass, taking special care of one spot in particular. 

The first breach was startling— Not where she expected and certainly not a place she explored before. Vel cried out as he pressed into that tight, forbidden space, her nails scraping against the crate's splintered surface.

"Shh," Ominis soothed, even as his grip on her hips tightened to keep her in place. He stilled when he was only partially sheathed, his breath coming in sharp bursts against her shoulder. "Do you understand that you deserve this, my love, my Velvette?" 

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Because beneath the shock and discomfort thrummed a traitorous need; one that craved his possession even when it burned. Her silence was answer enough.

He groaned from her quiet sink into depravity, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as he began to move with slow, measured thrusts. "You take me so well," he murmured, the praise laced with something darker. "Even when you hate it... You love me."

And that was the cruelest truth of all— she didn't hate it. Not when every drag of his body against hers felt like absolution and sin wrapped together, not when his whispered endearments tickled her ear. Even as her untamed hole between her cheeks twitched with agony, she achingly took each thrust in earnest. At some point, her hips began to meet his rhythm.

The crate creaked beneath them as their movements grew more urgent, Ominis' earlier restraint crumbling faster than an ancient castle may fall. When his fingers slipped to her front, to where her clit was waiting and throbbing with need, she sobbed his name. Her knees buckled from undiscovered pleasure mixed with pain and he struggled to keep her upright as he plowed into her ass. 

It all blurred into something indistinguishable while he muttered secrets into her eardrum.

"I counted every hour." 

He kissed the racing pulse at her throat.

"I pondered every second."

He sucked at the meatiest part of her upper arm. 

"I wished to lock you up."

He raked trimmed nails down the sides of her torso.

"And even after all that... Nothing compared to having you in my arms."

Moonlight penetrated the grimy windows, hinting that the sun had fallen and night began. 

"You're trembling," he observed, halting in his endless assault. "Are you cold, or is it me?"

Both. Though she dare not answer. His touch burned even as the castle's chill gnawed at her exposed skin. This abandoned hall that served only as an entrance for those desperate students who wished to skirt by under the skilled supervision of prefects proved to be neglected by the castle's wards. Those which magically heated the castle despite the rare foot-traffic.

The stretch burned. The abruptness... Agonizing. If it were anyone else, she'd beg them to stop. Though her traitorous body clenched around him and further provoked his raid on her second hole, though she never imagined what that may feel like. 

Oh, how his tenderness carried teeth.

He fully sheathed himself at some point in time. The stillness that followed that personal accomplishment made Ominis's heart hammer. 

"You take me so well, Velvette."

When he continued his movement, it wasn't the punishing pace she'd become to expect, but something slow and devastating. Each retreat made her ache in earning, while every advance filled the hollowness of her soul. His hands found hers, threading their fingers together against the splintered wood beneath her.

Her jaw dropped. Each gasp, the only reprieve from an outright scream.  

Ominis' breath grew ragged against her neck. "Look at me," he demanded, and when she turned sideways —and their eyes locked in her peripheral vision— something fractured between them. His thrusts lost their precision, his control unraveling as surely as her own. "Next time you run from me, remember how easily I bring you back."

And Vel, still trembling with the aftershocks, could only nod.

 

 

Chapter 37

He pulled out of her slowly —deliberately— until a satisfying 'pop' hit his ears and he could finally step back to admire his work. With his wand once more in hand, he soaked in the artwork he poured his soul into for the last hour. Her lush hips bore pink bruises from his hands which punishingly held her close. Her tear-stained cheeks on her ashen face were a stark contrast to how red her other cheeks faired after being slapped against his stomach repeatedly. 

Only when he noticed the stream of his seed spilling in between the valley of her thighs, did Ominis shudder at how explicitly he owned her. His eyes fluttered closed, and he noted the dampness of his forehead and neck. It felt clammy— Given the draftiness of the room that juxtaposed with the vile acts their bodies were partaking in. It made him wish that they could make the trek back to their dorms in the nude because the task of putting on clothes was daunting. 

Though he'd never. Not when any prefect or idle professor may see his beloved and think to covet her for themselves. 

"Ominis, your jaw is clenched. Please tell me that you aren't imagining strange things again... Professor Hawthrone is a family friend. Nothing more, and perhaps even a little less now that I'm aware of his... Inclination towards me."

"Inclination? Pfft, that's a proper way to put it." He scoffed as he shoved his legs into his trousers, wincing at how the fabric clung to his sweaty skin. Then, he tossed her some of her items scattered on the floor, taking care to shake off any dirt before throwing them on the crate beside her. "Get dressed. I'll accompany you to your dormitory. You may... need a shoulder to lean on, to put it delicately."

"What do you—" Vel attempted to stand, only to humiliate herself when her own body answered the question about to leave her lips. Pain shot up her spine, radiating from the core of where he'd punished her. She gritted her teeth, "I don't think that hole is meant for that!"

"Precisely. I warned you that this was an act of punishment, not love. Be grateful that I'm assisting you with the aftermath."

She hummed in contempt, subtly rolling her eyes. "Ah yes, how silly of me to expect my lover to care for me. Next thing you know, I'll be demanding that you kiss me and tell me I'm beauti—"

He caught her around the waist just as she slid her skirt on. "Say that again."

When he buried his head into the nape of her neck and tickled her with his nose, she fought the urge to push him away out of sheer annoyance.

"Ah, I'll demand that you kiss me?"

"Before that." He nipped her ear lobe.

She had to replay the words in her head before realizing what made him react this way. "Hmm, my lover?"

"Call me that," the cadence in his tone shifted and she worried that he might attempt round three if she didn't pull away, yet his arm around her midsection held firm. "And I will do anything you ask of me. Your demands needn't stop at a mere kiss or generic term of adoration. You already know I'd kill and steal for you, what's next? Shall we plan a world takeover? Say the word, Velvette."

Thinking his jest had gone too far, she swatted at his arm until he released her and continued to get changed. She met his playful banter with, "Very clever, distracting me with sweet nothings. How'd you know I longed for world domination?"

"And if I said there's a way?" 

That's when he lost the teasing edge and she had to spin around to properly face him.

"You aren't being serious... Surely not?"

The mask he so carefully constructed on a daily basis filtered back into place. As if a clay pot shattered and someone magically righted it again all before her eyes.

"Do you have so little faith in me?" Silencing her with a hasty kiss, they finished dressing and departed from the storage room; each in their own realm of make believe. 

Velvette crafted hers to better pretend that her magically sophisticated lover held no sinister detestation for the world. Whereas Ominis... he imagined an alternate reality where she did.

***

Somehow, between her studies and slow mastery of her new wand, Vel returned to the diary night after night to uncover its mysteries bound by stiff leather. On this particular evening, she'd been forced out of her bedroom by roommates who craved undisturbed sleep, so she nestled into a chair in the corner of the common room that was faintly lit by a few floating candles. Few classmates filtered by time and again, though none of their senseless banter distracted her from the task at hand.

The diary's binding groaned faintly in protest as she turned the next page. Her fingertips hovered over the parchment; afraid it might melt beneath her touch. She soaked up line by line, reading over the text to the point of memory. The ink had faded in some parts, smudged by age or a droplet of tea, and yet the words still held timeless importance. 

All the pieces of the puzzle were at her fingertips, if only she knew the imagery it was supposed to create once all combined. What picture did her ancestors leave behind for her to discover?

The more basic of entries had been deciphered by now. The code in which they discussed the shifting of alliances, the architectural frustrations of the castle's expansion, and even the happenings in the muggle world were all familiar by now. But as she flipped further, the tone grew... secretive. More poetic as far as ramblings could be. 

Less for the world, and more for one person.

"... the Ashwood hall bears fruit again this morning. I left three Petals for you, under the Hearthstone where the wind kisses the floor. You'll know the one. My wrist still aches from yesterday's duel, although your Remedy eased the worst of it. I dreamt of Another thestral, it was prancing in Xandria and circled me. As I write this, I find myself running out of Ink and may fancy myself a Shop before end of day. Be well, my friend..."

This passage, more so than any other, puzzled Vel. Each sentence wore a mask and tucked the truth behind it. The capitalization of random words did not go over her head at any point, even on the very first reading. Other passages did the same and, when put together, spelled nonsensical words or phrases, even when jumbled in different ways. Which led her to assume that Rowena Ravenclaw must have some challenge with proper grammar. 

Vel put the capitalized words together and mumbled as she jotted it down, "APHRAXIS?"

It simply did not make sense. Was it a name? A place? She even attempted to cast it as a spell, only to wield no result. On occasion, she needed to remind herself that these weren't paltry diary entries, but rather letters passed back and forth between Rowena and Salazar. That reminder came when the handwriting shifted, and she had to force her mind to change the tone in which narrated the passage. 

Each page was an elaborate exchange, and the more she read, the more the realization began to glimmer in her eyes like candlelight flickering in the dark. 

Salazar wrote, deeper in the journal: "They call it betrayal. They've no idea the price. The key stirs now and then, usually when I speak of you aloud. I wonder if they will ever know your face as I do."

Something stained the page in blotches, something that resembled teardrops. She only caught the difference between tears and tea due to her own habit of crying over a sad tale, having stained a book or two —or over a dozen— herself.

Her lips parted, dry and slack. She read faster, eyes hungrily devouring the next passage. She didn't even notice when her legs shifted beneath her, drawing her face closer to the journal as though proximity would birth clarity. Only after breezing through another few pages, did the use of pronouns in Salazar's writings begin to make her question things.

"The glamour conceals them from the truth. Every risk. Every lie. I would do it again even knowing what it all came to. I sealed the Locke beneath our legacy and there it will remain until the Key retrieves it. By the time you read this, I will have found a safe place for it. They will never be absent of love or go without, as we once did. Farewell, my Raven."

The shift from talking about an object —the key— to using pronouns that may refer to a person, had Velvette flittering back a few pages. In their writing lied a clear distinction between this key and any talk of living people. Except later on in the diary, the lines blurred. Both Rowena and Salazar seemed to slip in their code on occasion...

Loathe for her to admit... Ominis may be right about them having an heir. 

What solidified the hunch came with the lasting sentiment in Salazar's handwriting, 'Farewell, my Raven.' No stranger to affectionate monikers, she knew what the long-departed founder meant with those words. 

And even though no such heir would still be walking this mortal plain, she may yet be able to speak with them if they took on a ghostly form and still wandered these great halls. No doubt the heir of two founders attended Hogwarts, even if their lineage had been kept a secret. 

Now she owed Ominis an apology. The more she skirted through past entries, the more she believed that this 'key' they spoke of was made of their very blood combined. If this rang true...

History was not just repeating itself.

It was haunting her.

Were their ancestors laughing in the great beyond? The Gaunts, with their ties to the Slytherin bloodline. And the Nightingales, with whatever secrets connected them to Ravenclaw's lineage. They must find this ordeal comical. An ancient farce derived by a witch helplessly in love and a wizard who turned dark despite it all. 

Oh, the irony...

She straightened in her chair to stretch, ignoring how the armrest cut into her ribs and left a superficial indent. A whispered Tempus charm told her the hour was nearly midnight and her shoulders sank. The urge to run to Ominis and tell him what she uncovered was thwarted by time.

Regardless, should she really be rushing off into the arms of a man who left bruises around her neck and torso that had yet to fade? 

... Bruises she never asked for, but never truly protested either.

Rubbing the spot just above her collarbone, where an imprint as red as an apple wrapped around her throat like a necklace, she found herself in a daze. Every time he'd hurt her, there always lied something beneath his intentions. Back in the cottage when he restrained her with chains and even a few nights prior when his serpent form constricted around her... He only wanted her to listen. 

He desperately needed her to understand him. 

She related to that desperation. The need to be heard. She craved the very same from her family her entire life. And Ominis... his family was no better. Had they each gone through the same struggles and similarly been left unable to communicate?

All the times she acted out. All the moments he scared her. 

Of all the times he'd taken her, it was never by force. Deep down, she knew that. Even when her rear felt violated beyond comprehension, she still knew that she held the power to end the assault at any time. Yet she took his punishment, knowing she deserved it for leaving him in the dark. 

"No more," she whispered the vow into the empty common room. So absorbed by the journal, she never even noticed when all the other students had retired to their dorms.

The fireplace sparked and she jumped from the sudden noise in the once eerily silent room. Just as she relaxed back into her seat, about to close her eyes and rest here for the night in fear of disrupting her cranky roommates, another sound gripped her attention. Her wide eyes darted around the room, trying to place the source. 

That's when she saw the slithering mass of white squeeze behind a bookcase, displacing some of the books and other trinkets upon its shelves. 

"Come out, Ominis. I was about to come and find you anyways, there's something I need to tell you about Rowena's journal." After a few seconds passed, she released an exaggerated sigh as she stood from the chair. She paced in front of it a few times, thinking of what she could do or say to coax him out. "There's no point in hiding, I saw you. If you don't show yourself in ten seconds, I'll remove my clothes piece by piece and run into the boy's dorms. Ten... Nine..."

A loud crack sounded just behind her and before she could turn towards it, Ominis fastened his arms around hers to trap her firmly against his chest. Though it wasn't the unclothed chest she expected.

Her brows furrowed. "You... you can shift with your clothes on?!"

"It takes focus, but yes."

"Then why have you always been nude when you changed forms in front of me?!"

"Shh," he purred into her ear. "Any louder and you'll wake the entire castle, no less your dear fellow Ravenclaws. Imagine the scandal that'd spread like wildfire. 'Slytherin Heir Found Embracing Half-Clothed Ravenclaw Heiress', I can see the headlines now."

"Half-clothed? I'm not—"

Slyly, he shifted a hand beneath her midnight-blue plaid pajama top and yanked it forward, causing the buttons to pop and flee about the room. With her top now gaping at the front, her sheer undergarments did little to hide her pale mounds from view. He covered them both with his hands, palming the sensitive flesh and giving each a firm squeeze. 

Reluctantly, her head fell back against his shoulder as her momentary lapse of consciousness succumbed to the sensual massage. She blinked away the stupor and swatted his hands off her, using the break in his hold to put some distance between them.

"You were right," she exclaimed, breathless, the need to inform him greater than the urge to rid herself of the rest of her clothes along with his own. "About Rowena and Salazar. About their love. And... their heir."

He tilted his head in time with a shrug. "I suspected I may be."

"Then why did you let it go without argument?"

"Because." If he shrugged one more time after this, she may find herself placing weights atop his shoulders to keep them down. The nonchalant way in which he treated this great discovery was unsettling. "You were so adamant that they'd never be lovers due to their history as enemies. Such history came to be written later on, by people who were not present, going off of third-party recollections and hearsay. That's why my suspicions never ceased, even when you so fervently declared that they'd never have a child together."

Vel licked her dry lips, unsure of what to say. An apology? Perhaps that'd be the first place to start... For someone less stubborn than her. 

"All that aside..." Quick thinking reminded her of the word or name she uncovered in the journal, and she continued with that, "The name 'Aphraxis' appeared in the diary, but in code. I tried it as a spell, with no result— Ominis?"

Never had she seen him so visibly shaken. Riled by jealously? Many times. Aggravated by circumstance? On occasion. Yet this... This fear that overcame him without warning... It had Velvette backing away one step at a time. 

"The diary," he gasped, clutching at his chest, his hand bunching up his fitted sleep shirt. "It referenced the Aphraxis Rite? Where? In what way?"

She rushed the explanation to settle him, "It was out of place. Random. Nothing of note happened before or after. What do you know about it? I may be able to look for more clues if you tell me what to keep an eye out for."

"It's a ritual." He bit back, senselessly agitated by her many words that seemed to say nothing at all. He had to take a deep breath to steady his nerves before requesting, "Let me see the book and where you found it."

When she began flipping through the journal to find the exact page, Ominis neared and held out his hand, his patience wearing dangerously thin. As soon as she found the paragraph which referenced 'Aphraxis' in coded linguistics, she began to hand it over, only to jolt back from a sudden surge of magical force that erupted from his core. It whipped around the common room; slashing the nearest furniture and even scorching the floor beneath him. 

Ominis dropped to his knees. Something in him began to unravel. His spine arched without warning, a gasp tearing from his throat as though he were choking on his own magic. While she screamed his name repeatedly, he threw up a last-minute barrier to contain them before his chest slammed into the ground and he began to writhe. 

Despite his constant control, his body shifted against his will. His hands clawed at the air, fingers bending all wrong in ways that no humanly ligaments should be able to. Tendrils of his magic lashed wildly, and his form warped under its weight. 

"Don't look at me," he hissed, voice torn and foreign. "Velvette, don't look."

But she couldn't help it. This was a man she'd shared many a bed with. 

With that being said...

Vel bumped into the barrier, unable to retreat any further. And as she stumbled back, she instinctively reached for her wand... but didn't raise it. Would never — could never— raise it against him. She was forced to watch as he involuntarily became the very creature he despised and talked down on. Bones stretched and then shrank to become more fluid, like jelly. His shoulders shuddered violently until something... Something inhuman ruptured outward through his skin.

He fought against it. Every second, every ounce of his willpower battled to contain it.

Where she stood rooted to the ground, she endured every twist and crack of his muscles as scales sprouted in random patches. Watching the person she'd been intimate with turn into a serpent before her very eyes did something to her heart. It gnawed away at it. Piece by piece. As she helplessly begged for divine intervention from the sidelines.

"Oh Merlin, please..."

First, his lower half morphed after a blinding flash of amber emanated the room. Then, his eyes... once cloudy and unseeing became yellow slits that bore into the depths of her soul. Her back slid down the barrier, sending a tingling trail up her spine that may have been the magic pressing against her or may have been her own fear.

Pleading with every great unknown, she crawled over to him, daring to kneel beside him. One hand reached out but hesitated to make contact. It hovered above his quivering form, unsure if her touch may hurt or aide him. He responded by snapping at her with fangs that protruded from his canines and that was enough to make her shuffle back once more.

Even so, she palmed the ground and remained at his level, ready to reach out for him at a moment's notice. "Please, Ominis... come back to me."

The shifting halted like a noose tightening too fast. It stopped just short of his torso, and he steadily reversed the transition: panting and trembling, slick with sweat and shame. When all that remained was his naked body, she finally grabbed hold of him and abandoned all reason. Shaky hands laned on his shoulders first and then ran up his neck to cradle his face. He flopped onto his back, still raking in heaving gasps. 

He settled his head upon her thigh as she rocked him gently against the hollow of her stomach. 

"What... what happened? Why? Why did that happen?" She whimpered, pitifully.

Of the pair, Velvette required more soothing than he.

"Shh," he reassured her by wrapping his arm awkwardly around her torso. "This has happened to me before. Just not so... violently. It will all be okay, just hold me."

"I'm not letting go."

Notes:

~ Things are about to get interesting...~
(Also, it's not a competition BUT I cross-post this on Wattpad and have over 250 comments but on here I only have 7! D: I feel like I'm posting to the void on here. Can I get a little love? <3 And the last chapter double posted, my apologies, I hope that doesn't happen again.)

Chapter 38

They remained that way. Captive in each other's arms. Beating hearts the only sound and rising chests the only movement in the entire room. At some point, the barrier sizzled and faded away. Only then did sounds disrupt their perfect stillness. 

The timed ticking of an enchanted grandfather clock in the far end of the room. Cracks and sizzles from the fireplace that never seemed to die out. And then came Ominis's shaky sigh, the last of his weariness melting away from his tensed muscles. She hadn't even realized that she'd also been holding her breath until she heard his slow exhale. 

"Do you..." She struggled to find the right words, her choices between: 'want to talk about it?' or 'know what happened to you?'

"Show me the book."

Said book rested on the outskirts of the barrier he formed before his Animagus form brutally erupted from his body, clawing to get out. That first blast of magic left traces behind. Slashed chairs, cracked stone, and scorch marks on the wall were among the few that caught her immediate scrutiny. But the diary...

She choked back a pitiful laugh when she saw it. The cover was charred and the pages within seemed to be curling back from the heat. Even before she reached for it, she knew what she'd see upon cracking it open.

"It's... it's..." Ruined. Everything they worked for. All those hours spent pining over these useless pages. Wasted. Every time she felt closer to uncovering something helpful, only to be thwarted and thrusted back into its cruel encryption. She saw tears hit the ashen pages of the journal before she even felt them leave her eyes. "Ominis, it's— I'm sorry. I should've— I couldn't..."

Vexation warred in her heart when she ran a solemn finger down one of the pages, only for it to crumble like ash under her touch. Not every page was charred... Only the ones that really mattered. And that made her indignation flair, producing a hollow chuckle. 

Ominis appeared in her peripheral and she saw as he raked his wand over the pages that soaked up her tears. Droplets of water lifted from the page and created a silver stream, which he promptly stored in a bottle he materialized. 

Magic. How handy—

The thought hit her fast and left her lips faster. "Can't you reverse what happened to it? Restore it anew? I-I've seen you do things like that, what's the spell again?"

"Reparo." Even as he said it, he shook his head, "And it will not work in this case. Salazar Slytherin was a smart man, he would have made it so if he ever intentionally burned this journal, that it'd remain so without the threat of someone uncovering its contents." 

To prove just that, he attempted the spell with a flourish of his wand, and the diary remained unchanged in her hands. She struggled to contain her disappointment, which was evident by the pout on her lips. 

"Did you take my tears for the Pensieve?"

"Clever. Short answer is yes. Long answer is more complicated. I need to spend some time in the library before class tomorrow, care to join me?"

"Technically, classes are today in... six hours. Give me the long answer now, not like either of us will be getting much sleep and you're already here against curfew." That reminded her of something she was questioning earlier, "Why are you here? Is it a habit of yours to spy on me in the night?"

"It's not a habit," he ground out. "It's for my own peace of mind, is that so wrong?"

"Some might say yes, that spying on a loved one is wrong. Especially since this isn't the first time, nor do I expect it to be the last. And here I thought we agreed to put a little more trust in one another."

"That's why I'm here..." Ominis glanced around the common room until he caught sight of a blanket over an armchair. "Before I tell you, I do believe this is a 'clothes on' kind of conversation. Mind fetching me that blanket?"

When she shot up to her feet and spun to get the item he requested, she had a chance to truly survey the room and the damage he caused. "Um..."

"You try the spell, this is good practice."

"What if I make it worse? This wand is... temperamental at times." That may be putting it lightly. Ever since she began using it in classes —never Hawthrone's— she noticed the way others looked at her when she performed the simplest of spells. Almost as if they were wary of the power, even if they didn't know what it was or what about her even changed. 

"It's time to quiet the doubt in your mind. This wand called for you and now your distrust in it is the very thing keeping you from your potential. You have a wand. You know the spell. Now, cast it."

Velvette's lips parted, a thousand protests ready on her tongue, but Ominis's expression stilled them. He wasn't asking— he was demanding. Demanding that she try, even if she feared failure. Yet something in his posture, the subtle tilt of his head and the softness hidden in the harsh command, told her that he wouldn't ask something impossible of her.

She turned back towards the wreckage. A curio cabinet had fractured diagonally and its contents —mostly glass and some of the relics it displayed— were pooled at its base. She focused on that first, the worst of all the damage.

Reparo. Simple enough, considering its a first-year spell. 

The wand in her hand pulsed once. Her knuckles tightened. She took a deep breath —grounding herself alongside her magic— and pointed the wand at the broken cabinet.

"Reparo."

A wide stream of shimmering light erupted from the tip of her wand, alive and with a mind of its own. For a moment it whipped around the sides of the cabinet before she focused on what she wanted the spell to fix and the stream narrowed in on the fracture. The pieces of glass on the ground tremored, fighting the pull of time and space that defied common reason, until it relented and began stitching itself anew. All the contents that'd previously filled its dusty shelves were placed back neatly by the spell in a manner of seconds. 

She blinked.

Ominis said nothing, but she felt his presence shift. In the time she managed to right one area, he had transfigured the blanket into robes more suitable to strut back to the Slytherin common room in. He imagined Thaddeus's smug face turning sour as he waltzed back into the dungeons after being out all night, an obvious walk of pride. 

Vel interrupted his internal reverie with a giddy laugh as she twirled around, flourishing her wand at the ceiling after successfully righting all his destruction. 

"See?" He stood a few feet behind her now, arms crossed, head tilted as if to gloat and say, 'I told you so' and she inwardly celebrated the fact that he didn't dare. Because to do so would stomp on her moment of triumph. He licked his lips as he sightlessly gazed at her perfection, "You are a vision of confidence, enough to ruin my restraint. Yet if you intend to sleep tonight..."

He trailed off and perked an eyebrow, insinuating what they may do if he stayed.

"Don't even think about leaving. I performed the spell to cover up your little accident, now you owe me an explanation. The long version. What are you doing here?"

Ominis raised his hands in mock surrender. "If I tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth, will you give me a kiss to bring into my dreams tonight?"

At that dreadfully saccharine remark, she scrunched up her nose and turned away from him to take up her usual seat in the common room. On the way over, she mumbled under her breath, "Now I'm thinking I'll kiss you just to get you to stop talking."

"I heard that."

"Knew you would!" Was her singsong reply as she slumped back into the overstuffed armchair, except this time... without the diary in her lap. The pang of regret hit her chest, only to be remedied by Ominis taking the chair across from her. She leaned forward, expectant, and waved her hands at him to continue where they left off.

"The truth." He huffed, rubbing his palms together, working himself up to the tipping point. Regret may as well be the emotion of the hour. "Within the confines of the Vow I made, I'll tell you everything I know about the Aphraxis Rite. But first I need to tell you why I sought you out tonight. Before Herbology, I overheard Professor Garlick speaking with some aurors about your aunt's murder. They came here to ask her some questions about her relationship with Hawthrone. It... doesn't sound like they suspect him, not quite."

"Not quite?" Vel echoed.

"They didn't really divulge that to Garlick, it was their line of questioning that made me believe that they haven't ruled him out. Though our dear Professor seemed to put their minds at ease when she informed them that Hawthrone remained in the castle the day that your aunt was found. They asked about his demeanor leading up to that day and that's when she told them what happened over the holidays, at my estate. She had some of the details all wrong, likely from hearing about it in pieces from too many mouths. She made it sound as if I have some grand vendetta against Hawthrone and claimed she was worried about me dragging you into the crossfire."

"And that..." Vel began to stitch together an idea of what the aurors may be thinking with that newfound information. "And that made them suspect you. Because there'd be no better revenge against Hawthrone than getting him a life sentence in Azkaban for a murder he never committed."

Ominis scoffed, lacking humor in this situation. "You should be an auror, with how you jump to conclusions based off fleeting suspicions the same way that they do. Yes, you are correct. Their line of questioning veered towards me after that and they thanked Garlick for all her baseless claims, then left. I skipped class after that. Something about seeing the woman responsible for making me a suspect in all this made it difficult to focus on horticulture."

The bitter bite in his words and the not-so-subtle sneer that graced his lips had Vel lifting from her chair, only to collapse onto her knees in front of his. He kept his eyes trained away from her own, though that did little to hide the emotions that flickered through the mask he attempted to hide behind. 

The frustration. The resentment. The guilt... Wait, the guilt?

"Ominis, tell me what else you're hiding. I don't suspect you of my aunt's murder but—" Her voice cracked. Despite her own attempts to keep her feelings at arm's length, the lack of sleep combined with this whirlwind of information was all too much. Far too overbearing for the week that they'd had. 

She tentatively rested her forehead on his knee and took in a long, shaky breath. 

In and then out. 

It didn't lessen her pain or the grief.

"I don't suspect you. I don't."

Again, the humorless scoff that he huffed out made her feel all the more ashamed. "Are you assuring me of that or yourself? I'm not hiding anything. I've told you all I know and now I face questioning by the aurors any day now. They could call on me in the morning and I'll tell them exactly what I'll tell you now. I had no involvement in your aunt's murder, nor do I harbor any suspicions of who may be responsible. In truth, I don't believe Hawthrone has it in him to use the Killing Curse."

She swayed her head side to side, rubbing it into his knee to assuage her building migraine. What she desperately needed was a potion that could fight against this pressure in her head. That, or a whole bottle of firewhiskey. 

"You had that look..." All her life she had been submitted to that look of guilt before. She knew it all too well. When her parents sent her away to her grandmother's house against her wishes, they had that look. When her uncle got caught sneaking her desserts after bedtime, that same look. And when her aunt informed Velvette that she'd be required to spend one semester at Hogwarts to learn magic... Guilt clouded those fiercely loving eyes. 

The fireplace offered little warmth against the chill that settled between them. Ominis's jaw set as he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and left his mouth agape, hoping the right words may just spill out if he kept it that way. He didn't speak at first. Silence hummed an excruciating melody, and she found herself so accustomed to its tune that she felt safe in that disquiet. And then:

"If I seem guilty of something to you, then perhaps I am. Only, it's not what you'd expect. And if I may... I'd like to tell you what I know of the Aphraxis Rite now." 

She leaned back on her haunches to study him. Letting this discourse settle may be the only path forward and still she waged an internal war; one that she'd never win if she kept up with the same tactics time and again.

"Continue."

"Very well." He dazzled her with one of his rare smirks to show how proud he was that she relented. "What I know of this ritual... it comes only from whispers in my family. Things not written, but rather passed down from stories spun out of desire. Some of my aunts and uncles have buried themselves in the Dark Arts. Far deeper than even my own parents dared. That's where they learned of this..."

The words soured on his tongue, forcing his tone to tighten. "A rite so obscure and forbidden that even the scraps of knowledge of its existence have been carved out of history, stripped even from the foulest tomes in the Restricted Section. It's a ritual meant to scour a bloodline clean. Strip it from any Muggle taint and even weakened magic due to inbreeding. You can see the appeal for both Pureblood and other magical families to want such a ritual to exist. It supposedly amplifies the magic that remains and makes the family blood all the more potent."

Vel's brows scrunched. "So, it's a way to make purebloods... artificially?"

"In theory," he nodded grimly. The next words he seemed to choose carefully... too carefully... "But it's more than just alchemical blood rituals or dark inheritance magic. The Rite demands blood —old blood— and intention. The kind of intention that turns families against each other. The kind of magic that binds and brands. Once performed, the bloodline that undergoes the Rite becomes... sealed. Singular. A legacy that cannot be broken or diluted by birth or bond."

Her breath hitched. "And you're telling me Rowena Ravenclaw created this?"

A beat passed before he answered, "If that's what the journal implied—"

"But it goes against everything we were told! Salazar was the one who wanted to purify the school and keep Muggles separate from us all! Maybe he used their child against her, maybe—"

"Maybe because he was a Slytherin, he's simply evil? All that exists in your world in the black and white, where does the grey area go in your mind? Out the window?" Ominis gave a hollow laugh, "History makes saints out of some and monsters of others. But this..." He gestured to the singed journal, "This paints a different picture, doesn't it?"

This grey area... it was where she found herself with Ominis, suspended between right and wrong. 

It gave her pause to think.

To think of Rowena Ravenclaw —renowned for her cunning mind— crafting a ritual steeped in dark magic. Not for conquest nor domination. But perhaps for protection? Only a child could make a woman that desperate to perform even the most uncharacteristic of acts. After months spent hunched over the woman's journal, she could practically hear Rowena's reasoning as if she was there, whispering: Better one hidden heir, preserved and uncorrupted, than a bloodline torn apart by politics.

And Salazar... was it possible his legacy as a tyrant had been twisted by the same politics that banished him? Was he truly the blood purist that history painted him to be, or had he been the one willing to shoulder the blame so that Rowena's reputation remained unblemished? If they had created the Aphraxis Rite together, then perhaps his wrong doings were nothing more than shared desperation; blurred and reshaped by time into a caricature.

Every story needs a villain and, unfortunately for Salazar, he fit the script.

Here she stood with Ominis in a similar twilight, where the colors of day and night bled into one another. Ominis; the boy born into a family of cruelty yet fighting against it, the one who lived every day in that grey divide. And herself, the girl unwilling to see anything for what she first assumed. How on earth had she been sorted into Ravenclaw?

Her eyes drifted from the journal to him. The grey was dangerous, but it was also real. More real than any legend, any story passed down by those who decided who deserved glory and who deserved infamy. More visible than ever before.

That grey had her reaching for him before her mind could catch up. That grey told her —no, convinced both her mind and soul— that being prisoner in this void alongside him was where she'd find her true self. 

What if everything she knew was already a lie? And what if the lies were safer than the truth?

"Tell me then," she rasped, suddenly breathless. She had to wet her lips before finishing with, "What do we do now with this knowledge?"

"I have reason to believe my parents may know some of the information that journal holds." He bit out rather quickly.

Her eyes blew as wide as an owl's. "What?! And you're only telling me this now?" 

"When I was telling you about it... the Vow strangled me for a moment, almost as a reminder not to say any more. It made me realize a few things that I am not at liberty to divulge. I wish... I wish I could tell you everything. Come here," he gave his lap a curt pat and she leapt to her feet to oblige without a moment's hesitation. Once she settled across his lap, she rested the side of her head against his chest and felt the murmur of his heartbeat as he confessed, "You matter more to me than anything else, do you know that? That's why I need to see this through until the end. Only then can we rid ourselves from the overbearing shadows of our families."

For now, she'd be content in the grey if Ominis promised to always hold her like this.

Though, every night must break for a new dawn and the next morning was no different. At some point, late in the night, Ominis returned to his dormitory for a few short hours of sleep before they met once more in the Great Hall for breakfast. They didn't sit next to one another and instead chose a spot at their appropriate house tables that had a clear view of each other. Throughout the meal, she stole quick glances, and his cloudy gaze always seemed to meet hers at the perfect moment. 

"Vel... Velvette... Miss Nightingale!" Meredith all-but shouted, drawing the attention of a handful of nearby Ravenclaws who looked put off by the early morning outburst. 

Vel dragged herself into the present. "Hm?"

"Stop making cute faces at your boyfriend and focus on what's important! I just said my father has gotten all tight-lipped about your aunt's case lately. That's weird, right? I think that's weird." She huffed as she stabbed at her eggs with a fork, unsuccessfully piercing a single bit. 

Clarissa moved closer until they were thigh to thigh and began gathering the eggs onto her own fork to feed them to Meredith. She leaned back to look at Vel behind Meredith's shoulder and pointedly glared between the two, signaling that they needed to talk.

"I-I'm sorry Mere, I've been so distracted lately and not just by Ominis. I promise you have my full attention now." The tone in which she delivered the apology may have been sweeter than the maple syrup on the table before them, but that didn't make it any less sincere. To say she'd been an abysmal friend as of late would be an understatement. 

"Thank you." Meredith mumbled through a mouthful of eggs that her girlfriend kept shoving into her mouth. 

Just then, Monty came barreling into the Hall, a rare occurrence for him to be at breakfast. And not for a lack on energy to get himself out of bed early enough to catch it in time, rather... "Hey lads and lasses! Anyone fancy a jog around the grounds before class? I was nabbed by Professor Garlick on my way out this morning, something about the Headmaster making an important announcement? She said everyone had to be here."

"First we're hearing about it." Clarissa grumbled as she realized she got saddled between two morning people. 

"Well," Monty bumped shoulders with her as he began loading his plate with protein. "Guess you'll have to thank me for the warning. Garlick seemed pretty glum about it so be prepared to hear we have extended classes or some nonsense."

"Extended classes?" All three girls groaned as they through their head backs in exaggerated unison. 

"Only my guess!" He defensively put his hands up. 

In a matter too timely to be coincidence, Headmaster Black rose from the head table and a hush fell shortly after he stepped up to the dais. He tapped his wand to his throat to silently cast the charm to amplify his voice and then he spoke with such clarity that all doubts were dispelled. 

“Attention, students. I have an important announcement that I hope will provide some reassurance. The individual responsible for the recent murders of the Animagi in the Forbidden Forest has been apprehended. Following thorough questioning, it was discovered that he also cast the Killing Curse upon a family member of a fellow student just two months ago. We may now take comfort in the knowledge that he is securely confined in Azkaban and no longer poses a threat to our school."

After that brief announcement, he stepped down and returned to the staff table, where Velvette skimmed over the faces of the professors, only to land on Hawthrone's. He stared back, jaw tense. 

Monty was the first to speak up at their table. "Did you know?"

"No. I did not." Vel bit out harsher than she meant. For her anger would be better directed elsewhere. Like at her family for not telling her first, or Hawthrone, for that matter. She needed out. Out of the Great Hall. Out of this damned castle that suddenly felt smaller than the flat her parents lived in. 

"Velvette." As if she were an open book, Ominis appeared behind her and knew precisely what she needed. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Let's get out of here for the morning."

Never once breaking eye contact with Hawthrone, she pressed her cheek into his hand and nuzzled against it, seeking his warmth. "Yes, let's."