The Princess and the Parselmouth

by D_Call

Summary:

Wizarding Britain is poised to take a dangerous step backward as the vote on the Purity Act draws near. Amidst growing political tension and his family's legacy hanging over him like an executioner's axe, all Ominis Gaunt wants is to complete his phD and keep his head above the churning tides of darkness that threaten to pull him under.

When the youngest and only daughter of the Surya royal family saunters into his life with her sunny smile and razor-sharp wit, Ominis' world is somehow pulled together and turned upside down. Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi upends his chaos in a manner he grows to adore beyond measure, and for a moment, everything feels like it could go right.

However, Mira's title does not grant her immunity from the scrutiny that accompanies being a muggleborn. Miradevi and Ominis are caught right in the middle as internal tensions in the Ministry grow into a hostile coup.

Between his thesis, a budding romance with a princess, and a conspiracy that could take down the British wizarding government, Ominis faces choices that could make the atrocities he has endured throughout his life worth it.
Or, he could lose everything he ever loved.

Chapter 1: A New Dawn

On the outside, nothing seemed to have changed. The train station in Hogsmeade still echoed with the sound of children playing and raucous laughter, a drone of background conversation rising in the cold air as merchants, shopowners, university students, and residents of the village drifted about in the play of their lives, moving from one scene to the next. 

But take a closer look. A vein of concern had woven its way into the general consciousness. Spurred by bold headlines and harsh words spoken by men who were meant to lead, hushed words exchanged beneath shop awnings began to mutate from greetings to assurances of safety. The Goblin Rebellion. The growing vitriol towards Muggle-borns and the threat of economic collapse if the unprecedented inflation of the galleon continued. All subjects mingled on the lips of wizarding Britain as the lines carving their way through society deepened, perhaps irreversibly. 

Far away, in a sun-blessed empire in India, a princess received an acceptance letter into a PhD program at the best wizarding university in Britain. 

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Ominis Gaunt was used to hearing his name on people’s lips, tossed around carelessly like a ship in violent waters.

Hushed speculation that he was dabbling in dark magic, that he upheld his family’s beliefs with all the poisonous zeal of his ancestors before him. Some avoided him entirely due to that unfortunate misconception, while others looked disdainfully on him for not taking on his role as the scion of one of the most powerful pureblood families in Britain with the enthusiasm expected of him. It was almost amusing if it wasn’t so bleak. 

Hated by both sides for not being what they expected. 

He’d received a top-notch education at the Merlin Academy, where it was purebloods-only in all but written law. Because that, unfortunately, was still illegal.  He’d even gone and provided a victory tour for the Gaunt family by earning a Bachelor's at a similarly reputed institution where his roommate’s voice had wavered slightly upon hearing his family name. He was gone by the next day, and- no doubt due to Mortis Gaunt’s meddling- Ominis enjoyed the privilege of a room to himself and virtually no friends throughout all four years. 

Ominis felt the noose of his family’s expectations tightening. In a moment of panic spurred on by a late night and perhaps too much Firewhiskey, he’d made the wild decision that his next course of action to avoid the threat of an engagement looming on his head was- of course- to push his education further. In the early hours of the morning, the answer had come to him in a stroke of inspiration. 

A postgraduate degree. It would be easy enough to convince his father that he wanted to continue studying, and Dr. Gaunt did have a rather nice ring to it. Any trepidation he felt about a potential rejection was kindly soothed by the family, who assured him that Black wouldn’t be stupid enough to reject a Gaunt. 

I wouldn’t even need to show up to get the degree, clearly. Perhaps my family name could do all the work for me. 

His father hadn’t been amused by the snide comment. 

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Cragged mountains stood sentinel over the borders of the Surya Empire, fortification provided by the expanse of desert and lush forests, only a fool would attempt to navigate without rock-solid navigation wards and cartographic sigils. Six provinces sprawled over the region, villages and towns aggregating towards the center of the empire where the palace sat like a crown jewel on the slopes of the high hills, surrounded by scrub brush and Frangipani trees renowned for their wandwood. 

Dominated by needle-precise geometrical towers, intricate carvings along ancient stone walls, and opulence that drew visitors from every corner of the globe, the Surya Royal Palace was a muse, a symbol of strength, and a warning all in one. Color and artistry swept along each gilded chamber, magic curling along the vaulted, gold-streaked ceilings and Lapis pillars that centered themselves as ground zero of powerful spots of arcane energy. 

Surya prided itself on being the anomaly it had gained a reputation for. A crossroads of magic and science, where both Muggle and Wizard contributed progress in their own unique way. Further solidifying its reputation as a unique spot in the wizarding nations, the royal family was entirely Muggle. That fact drew scrutiny and ire from sister nations such as Britain, but greatness was the goal, and diversity was the tool with which to achieve it. Magic wove itself into the roots of the land, simmering in the desert heat and only amplifying itself with each generation that strengthened it. 

From the Weaver Witches spinning intricate magic into each stitch of their handwoven garments, allowing the shimmering threads to shift and dance under the burning sun, to street vendors making their harvested dried chillis even more potent through murmured spellcasting, every corner of the empire thrummed with vibrancy, with power, whether magic or not.

When the little princess had been born, a third child, and the first girl, the kingdom had been jubilant. Goblin tribes from the deep desert traveled alongside lycanthrope nomads to pay respects to the royal family, giving blessings in the form of precious goblinsilver amulets to ward away nazar, and yantras that had been strengthened during the full moon. When the little princess showed her first sign of a command over magic, the celebrations had lasted for days, and the royal family had been ecstatic. 

Since the moment she was born, Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi was loved. 

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Twenty-eight men sat around an oak table in the center of a marbled room. A crystal chandelier caught the light of family crests and signet rings, and the cherubs painted into the gilded ceiling turned away, their rosy faces cracked with age. They could not bear witness to history repeating itself. Not again. 

“Things will change soon. Of that, you can be assured.”

“And what if the people do not agree? Only a fool would ignore the threat of a displeased public.” 

A cold voice cut in. “Only a fool would think that the masses hold a candle to the power we possess. This world is ours to take- and take it back, we shall.” 

xxxxxx

Ominis heard whispers that there was a high-profile student set to attend Hogwarts at the same time as him and, before the term even started, the buzz had begun. He'd brushed it off, clinging to the faint promise of a new life Hogwarts offered, and he was more concerned with breaking away from the fate that seemed to be carving itself into his destiny. He had other things to do besides stick his nose in gossip that had so very little to do with him. Besides, there was also Anne’s malady to worry about. 

Sebastian Sallow had been a good friend since their early years together at the Academy. Ominis had taken the observations of them being joined at the hip with cool nonchalance, neither confirming nor denying it, but always having a supportive word to say for the Scotsman. Sebastian had provided a necessary space when his life had started descending into deep, merciless waters, and he’d kept afloat only because of his friend’s unique brand of loyalty that would have demanded subjugation from a mountain range. Anne- for the brief time Ominis had known her before the incident- was lively, mischievous, and certainly did not deserve any of what happened to her. And yet.. the darkness her brother insisted on dragging himself into was beginning to grate on his nerves, stirring up something worse. 

But he pushed it down and focused on what Hogwarts promised. A new start. This was a new start and Ominis decided he’d be damned if he let the swirling mess of swords hanging over his head be his undoing. 

That new start had as inauspicious a beginning as he could have imagined. It was ridiculous, in his opinion, to be sorted into houses as if they were children, but somewhere he knew his resistance came from the knowledge of where he’d instantly go. His ancestor had been a part of the university’s ancient legacy, after all. A fact that his father would rather kiss a house elf than stop reminding him about every second of the day. 

“ Gaunt, Ominis. PhD candidate with a Concentration in Audiomancy.”

The hat had taken a few seconds and declared him a Slytherin- a fact even he could have seen coming. He slid into place on the long wooden tables, exchanging cursory words with people he quite enjoyed avoiding. Friendships his father wanted him to cultivate- Felix Malfoy, the Lestrange’s absolutely unhinged son- 

“Her Highness, Lakshmi, Miradevi Surya. PhD candidate, concentration in Ontokinesis.”

His head snapped away from whatever Mulciber had been saying- not that it was important in the first place. A low murmur began to rise from the Hall like hornets. Ominis tilted his head, wondering he’d bloody heard right. 

Princess Miradevi. The muggle-born daughter of a royal family that presided over the most formidable empire of the wizarding nations, and loathed by the people sitting at the same table as him. The pulse of light at the tip of his wand flared, catching the sound of steady footsteps and the faintest hint of jasmine. He exhaled softly. He’d heard about the princess. He’d heard a lot. Whether any of what he’d heard was true, however- 

“ Slytherin.” 

———————

Miradevi stepped off the stool as the Deputy Headmistress returned the silver and sapphire-wrought tiara that had to be replaced with the mangy hat for a few seconds. She murmured a thank you, readjusted it on her head, and looked up. Slytherin. She’d done some reading on the rather odd division system the university boasted and chalked it up to typical English oddity. Unlike nearly everyone before her, no one had applauded for her being assigned to the House of people sitting at the far end who were glaring at her as though she’d personally insulted their mothers. The princess’s gaze darted over as she approached the long table, scanning for one friendly face- 

There. 

Seated beneath one of the torches, pale orange light spilling over his features, sat a man she was convinced had wandered out of an Austen novel. Tall, pale-oh, he’d burn to a crisp if he ever saw the Indian summer- although she did have to wonder why on earth she was thinking about showing him her home as soon as she’d clapped her eyes on him. A smattering of beauty marks spilled over high cheekbones, and unfairly long lashes framed opalescent eyes that seemed fixed on a spot around her shoulder as she approached. 

Mira paused before him, strangely uncertain. She was aware of the eyes of far too many people on her, but scrutiny could almost be called a friend at this point. He tilted his head up, slightly to the side, then stood. 

For a moment, she said nothing as he bowed, low and perfect. Her hand automatically reached out for him to take, her bangles jingling softly with the movement. He took her hand like she’d handed him her crown. Strangely enough, nothing around her seemed to exist except the slight coolness of his hand against hers, and the way he looked off to her right, like he was trying to seek her out to the best of his ability.

“Your Highness.” 

Well, that was just unfair. He couldn’t be ridiculously good-looking and have a voice that set her nerves on fire. A voice crafted for telling stories by firelight, for expensive teas, and perfect posture. 

“Mira.” She said softly. “Please, just Mira. And- you are?”

He seemed hesitant to reply. “Ominis Gaunt, princess. It’s an honor.” 

Miradevi smiled. “The honor is all mine. I know exactly who you are, Ominis Gaunt.”

“Oh. I understand. Quite a few people do seem to think so.” 

His hand stiffened, a slight crease in his brow marring his forehead. There was a quirk downward on his lips as he sighed softly as if internally reprimanding himself- for what, she had no idea. Miradevi shifted, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing.

“I’ve read your research on auditory spellwork, and found it fascinating- and deeply necessary, may I add.” She pushed forward, not really caring that her hand was still in his, that they were still standing. “Your work has inspired some changes in the accessibility of our institutions and magic systems back home- that’s all. I’m sorry if I said something untoward.” 

He was silent for a few moments. His eyes softened. And Miradevi caught a glimpse of something hidden beneath the cool exterior and impeccable manners. Someone so achingly kind she nearly leaned closer to get a better look. 

“That means more to me than you can ever know, Your Highness,” Ominis said softly, his voice distinctly breathier, as if he’d hardly believed the words coming from her lips. “Please, sit. I’ve kept you standing for far too long-“ he gestured, and Miradevi slid onto the wooden benches as he sat beside her. 

“I would have hated to put my foot in it the moment I arrive at a new place.” Mira grinned, feeling slightly more at ease. “I am capable of diplomacy, I promise.” 

The hostility from the people around her was easy to ignore when Ominis Gaunt laughed softly, indulgently, at her words. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Ominis fought down a smile as he heard her delighted gasp at having seen something on the table she liked. Something chocolatey, based on the scent.

“I have a feeling, princess, that you will be making these next few years very interesting for me.” 

Chapter 2: No Sweeter Innocence

“Are you sure about this, maharaj?”

The Indian summer was merciless. Blistering heat beat down in sweltering waves on burnt ochre hills dotted with provinces that made up the Surya empire. The palace and its’ fortress sprawled along one of the hilltops, resplendent. Soaring spires scraped the azure blue sky, intricately carved with the ancient history and stories of the sun-drenched land. Lofty halls and spectacular architecture made the palace draw eyes to it- an amber jewel set against the cloudless sky. 

The faint chatter of people rose on the hot air like the shimmering waves of heat, the scent of spices and flowers carried on the warm wind.

Raja Ashok Surya Lakshmi folded his hands behind his back as he turned away from the jharokha and faced his advisor, who adjusted his stance slightly. 

“Why would I not be, Vikram? Mira is enthusiastic about going to this-“ the king halted slightly, a little smile quirking his lips under the impressive mustache he sported. “-Hogwarts. If she believes it will help her along her journey in magical education, who am I to refuse her? After all, she is the one with those gifts, not I.” 

"Maharaj, it might be seen as…  a snub to our own esteemed magic institutions if the princess chooses to go to Europe of all places.” 

The king paused, sighing softly. The cry of a peacock echoed over the hills. 

“She completed her undergraduate degree at a Suryan institution.” The king pointed out. “And all her education so far has been in this country, in this empire. If she wants to travel, I would not wish to stop her, Vikram. Besides, her mother has already conceded, and I doubt I can stand against that.” 

“No, maharaj.” Amusement colored the royal advisor’s voice. “No, I don’t think you could.” He sighed, looking out over the sun-baked hills. “Very well. The princess will complete her higher education in Scotland and obtain her postgraduate degree at-“ he paused, looking at the king again. “What was the name of the school, again?”

“Hogwarts.” The king replied, sounding as if he could hardly say the words coming out of his mouth with a straight face. “Hogwarts University of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

xxxxxxxxxx

Sebastian Sallow did not enjoy distractions and did not appreciate the assessment that it was because he was too prone to being consumed by them.

Sure, his brain was usually firing off in a thousand different directions like a Zonko’s cracker, but every sizzling ember could be traced down to a handful of rock-solid objectives. In the past few years, most of them had melted away- with the exception of his dissertation and dueling club- and were on a back burner for the one that constantly plagued him. 

Ridding his sister of her… affliction spun around and around his head- a persistent, all-consuming mantra he had no choice or desire to disobey. 

All that to say, he despised distractions and, therefore was adept at recognizing them. 

And it was a damn shame that the distraction led into the Great Hall by two Aurors was such a lovely one. 

The young woman casting her fascinated gaze up at the enchanted ceiling was tall. A vision of earth-brown skin and raven hair that fell down her back in a thick braid adorned with jasmine flowers. A tiara wrought of moonlit silver and ocean blue sapphire sat on her head, accenting the regal edge of her features. She was draped in a shimmering sari embroidered with meticulous stitchwork, bordered in gold accents, the fabric almost shifting around her like waves. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the embroidery was hand-stitched and expensive. 

She lifted her chin slightly, thick brows and thicker lashes framing a pair of honey-hued eyes, and Sebastian found himself blinking slightly as if he’d looked at the sun for too long. 

He did not enjoy distractions. 

And he hated being consumed by them.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sometimes, it felt like being stuck in quicksand. 

Like he was clawing and fighting to get out, and really, it was all for naught because the more he fought, the more he just got dragged down, and down, and down. 

Ominis Gaunt was drowning, and at this point, he wondered what the harm was in just allowing the waves to take him. To let the ice-touched undertow carry him along into whatever deep depths were dragging him under because he knew that even the frigidity of that unknown was more welcoming than the sticky, trapping tar of his family’s legacy.

“We’re at the bottom of the lake, aren’t we?”

Ominis startled, head tilting, angled towards the voice as it reached out and tugged him from his stupor. He recognized the voice- the princess. The woman he'd spent the entire feast consumed in rapt conversation with. Her, and her melody-drenched voice, the cheerful lilt ever present, the accent heavy as molasses.

“Your Highness.” Never one to forget his manners, Ominis stood from the velvety sofa he’d been sitting on and gave a short bow. “My apologies. You caught me off guard.”

"That's another strike. Three of them, and I'll start calling you my lord, as protocol dictates I should." 

He could hear the tease in her voice, and forcefully pushed down the fact that perhaps he did enjoy her speaking his title. "Of course. Mira. I'll endeavor to remember that you wish to be addressed like a commoner- one of the masses. But- yes, we are indeed situated at the bottom of the Black Lake. Salazar Slytherin certainly enjoyed a flair for the dramatic."

She laughed. Low, and raspy- a little deepness to it, and he preened slightly at the fact that he'd drawn a laugh from her merely on their second meeting. But then again- she did seem rather prone to amusement. She'd met a few other graduate students across the aisles from different houses after the feast had dissipated, and he could have sworn he heard her snort with laughter at one point.

A jingle of bangles alerted him to the fact that the princess was standing beside him. He felt her presence there- warm and bright, presumably like the sun her nation was so well known for and his ears heated slightly at the comparison his mind had drawn. 

Blue-green hues of light fell into the large space of the common room, shifting with the current, the tall algae swaying and cutting in and out of the pale sunlight filtering through the water.

“No Aurors today, Your H- Mira? If you don't mind my asking, the castle was crawling with them during the sorting." 

"Oh, no. That took a lot of convincing and negotiating with my baba." She leaned against the back of the sofa, watching silvery fish dart amongst the fronds outside the window. "It was drawing far too much attention and I wanted to have a more normal experience than what I am used to. As much as I love the attention of adoring masses, it really does get to a point." 

As much as he wanted to crack a smile at her jest, the implication of her words concerned him. "You have no security here?" His voice took on a slightly sharper edge, and he decided he'd think later about why the idea of her potentially being in harm's way latched onto his soul and burrowed in like a burn he could not soothe. "What if something were to happen?" 

“Concerned for my safety already, Ominis Gaunt?” The princess teased, her bangles jingling as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. Ominis could hear the little grin in her words. “The tales of British gallantry are not at all exaggerated, it seems.” 

His ears were aflame as he tried to say something witty in response. 

Ominis was drowning. 

But suddenly, the deep, dark depths did not seem so forbidding. 

xxxxxxxx

Miradevi frowned slightly, shutting the heavy tome she was scanning through, setting aside her parchment and pencil- since she staunchly refused to waste time by writing with a quill.

Rain pelted against the tall windows of the empty classroom the three of them had sequestered themselves into in a fruitless attempt to study. It was too grey, and even the lit braziers along the walls did little to bring warmth into the cold flagstones. Her two companions- her new friends, she thought with a little spark of delight- sat with her, one sprawled on the floor, the other at a desk.

“Put off by the delightful European weather, princess?” Sebastian asked lightly, not looking up from the notes he was scribbling, eyes fixed on the cramped writing of the book he was transcribing from. “Must be different from what you’re used to, I imagine.”

There was a soft huff from where Ominis sat. The aristocrat readjusted his fingertips on the raised dots along the sheaf of papers in his hand, trying to find the spot where he’d left off, but his ears were keenly attuned to the lilting, heavy accent of his new… 

friend. 

“Well, the desert can get quite cold at night, especially during the winter months, but this constant barrage of drizzle is…” Mira trailed off, casting an uncertain glance at the windows. “Unique.” 

Sebastian grinned at her persistent politeness. “You won’t offend us, your highness. You can say that the weather is bloody miserable.”

“I believe in seeing the joy in even the most dreary of situations,” Mira replied, happily returning the cheeky grin. “Here, speaking of dreary situations-“ she turned the book slightly, looking between the two young men. “Your government system is in complete shambles, if you don’t mind my saying. I’ve seen bones that are less fractured than the society here.” 

It took Ominis a moment to realize he'd snorted with laughter. Ignoring the fact that Sebastian was undoubtedly staring at him in surprise, he tilted his head, indicating that Mira should continue speaking. “Please elaborate, my princess.” 

“Well, for one, the judicial system makes no sense. The Wizengamot seems to be the highest legislative body, yet a majority of its fifty members are predominantly senior members of pureblood families.” She gave a significant look to the two of them over the rim of the tome. “Misrepresentation of the actual population of the wizarding community which, according to this very outdated census-“ she produced a folder from her colorful satchel- “is around 63% muggleborn or halfblood-“ 

Ominis had to remind himself to breathe, and it was slightly shaky. Her voice had pitched slightly lower, the inflection steady and self-assured, like she was about to speak in front of a crowd of thousands.

“Merlin.” Sebastian whistled softly, reaching for the folder. “What dusty corner of the Archives did you crawl into to get your hands on this?”

“The dustiest,” Miradevi said with a slight shudder. “I made good friends with a family of spiders. And then there’s the issue with nonhuman magic beings .”

“And what’s that?” Sebastian leaned back, amused. 

“Well, there was an article about a goblin uprising, or some sort of rebellion, and I looked a little bit into the history of wizard-goblin relationships or... well, lack thereof, really, and it’s interesting. There are laws in place that prevent them from carrying wands, which I find absolutely-“ 

“Mira.”

The princess paused, startled by the warning note in Ominis’ voice. She looked up, brows raised. 

Sebastian was suddenly looking at her strangely; his chestnut brown eyes were slightly dark as he looked at her, but he waved his friend’s words off. 

“Don’t interrupt, Ominis.” He said, his gaze fixed on her. “Let the princess finish.”

“I was-I was just going to say that it seems like squashing the rebellion is a superficial solution to a deeper issue.” Mira pointed out. “Clearly, there is discontent in the goblin community-“

Sebastian stood, sudden. His jaw was clenched, and Miradevi realized she had certainly put her foot in it somehow.

“Allow me to give you some advice, princess.” He hissed softly. “I would not come swanning in from a different country and start casting judgment on how things are run here.”

“Sebastian.” Ominis stood, lips slightly curled in a snarl. “Enough. She doesn’t know-“

“Exactly. She does not know, so perhaps she should not speak on things she is unaware of. Royalty or not. Excuse me.” 

Mira stared at the door of the classroom, which slammed in the wake of Sebastian’s abrupt departure, her ears burning. She turned to Ominis, not speaking for a moment. His ice-chip blue eyes were fixed in the general direction of the door, fists clenching and unclenching, before he turned slightly, looking off to a direction vaguely at her left. 

“He-“ Ominis began, suddenly sounding very tired. “It’s a sensitive subject.”
“I gathered.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. 

“I can… get too caught up in politics without considering that people have their own biases.” Miradevi said, hesitant. “When you are partially responsible for the smooth running of an empire, taking every single individuals’ emotions into consideration is difficult, and sometimes I can… get carried away by what I believe to be just.”

Ominis had never met anyone like her, that was for certain. There was something about her voice, something so unabashedly open about everything she said, every emotion dredged from her heart and woven into each syllable she spoke. 

She was genuine in a way that only someone who had never been hurt a day in their lives could be. 

And whether that scared him or endeared her impossibly more to him, Ominis found that he was just dragged further into the princess’s magnetic gravitational pull.

xxxxxxxxxx

“And what is this supposed to be?”

Mira shifted slightly, not used to such hostility.

“It’s supposed to be an olive branch. I’m sorry for clearly touching a nerve.”

Sebastian cast an unsure look at her, before ripping off the horribly wrapped paper. Revealing the title of the book, his jaw slackened.
“How did you-“ he looked up at her, voice slightly weak. “This is- this is ancient, how on earth did you-?”
Mira grinned. Success. 

“You enjoy studying arcane magic, so I wrote home to my baba and asked for something from the royal library you may enjoy.” Her grin faded slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t consider that the politics of this goblin situation is not something I should speak on without knowing about it in its entirety.” 

Sebastian softened. “It’s not your fault. And it’s-“ he huffed, running a hand through his hair, and he seemed pained by his next words. “It’s not all of them, I’ll admit. But Ranrok and his loyalists are pure evil and far from innocent.” He looked at her. “I’ll... tell you about it, one of these days. In the meantime, I think I have some reading to do.” He grinned at her and stood, going in for a tentative hug.
“Thank you, princess.” 

xxxxxxxxxxx

There was a hysterical sort of bliss in the moments after waking from a nightmare. 

The sudden, blessed relief that none of it was real, that it was just his traitorous brain weaving a tattered tapestry of the worst moments in his memory, breathing new life into it. 

Ominis practically threw the sheets off himself, sitting up in his bed. His fingers instinctively went for his wand on the bedside table, a quick albeit shaky flick sending that familiar thrum of magic along his arm, opening up the world around him. Shapes and structures materialized from his blurry, dim surroundings as he swung his legs off the bed and stood. 

The graduate students’ wing of the castle was silent, unusually so. 

Following the pulse of his wand, Ominis made his way through the familiar halls, past the rushing waterfall, and into the commons.

I will not have a cotton-spined fool for a son. Cast it, or face the consequence. 

Cast the spell, Ominis. 

Cast the bloody curse. Are you a Gaunt or not? 

This family will not have a blood traitor under its roof. Cast the c-

“Ominis! I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.” 

His head snapped up, a wavering exhale leaving his lips. 

“Mira.” 

Miradevi stood quickly from her comfortable position sprawled out in front of the fireplace. She was wearing the thickest, fluffiest pair of sleepwear she had, her thick black hair falling openly over her shoulders, down her back. “I think my body still thinks it’s in India.” She grinned. “Hence why I’m up like an owl. Tell me why you’re awake at such an ungodly hour.”

“Nightmares.”
The answer spilled from his lips without hesitation, and he mentally berated himself for it.
“Nasty things,” Miradevi said sagely, completely unperturbed. “I had a horrible nightmare once and refused to sleep for nearly a day straight after that. I consumed my body’s weight in caffeine to keep myself awake and drove my brothers mad.” 

“Ah, Crown Prince Arjun and-?” Ominis felt around for the edge of the sofa and sat down. Mira went back to her spot in front of the fireplace as he racked his brains for the middle prince's name. 

“Bharat.” Mira grinned. "Middle child, always lamenting about being the forgotten one, but he manages just fine. I know he's secretly pleased to garner less attention- when he was younger, he'd slip out to the gardens and steal mangoes to share them with me."

“You’re the baby of the family,” Ominis said softly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

She’d never seen someone so lovely in her life and found herself shuffling forward slightly. “And the only daughter. Talk about being sheltered. Anyway-“ she cast her gaze around, convinced that the heat on her face was from the fire. “Your nightmare must have been bad to disturb you entirely awake. Do you want to talk about it?”

“One day, princess. For now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?” 

“Oh-“ Mira huffed a soft laugh. “Writing a speech. Arjun is addressing the nation in a few days and has enlisted my help to write it. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, I told him. But-“ she sighed theatrically. “My duty is to my people, first and foremost.” 

His nightmare was already fleeing to the recesses of his subconscious mind, consumed by its dark corners and swallowed up, poised to be nothing more than a fleeting, bad memory.
Ominis slipped off the couch and sat beside the princess on the plush, carpeted floor, smiling. “How very irresponsible.” He teased. “The crown prince is outsourcing his royal duties to his little sister.” 

His heart lurched at Mira’s delighted laugh. 

“What is the speech about?” Ominis leaned closer, his voice soft.
“I’m so glad you asked.” He heard a shuffling of papers and the enthusiasm in Mira’s tone. “Prepare to be bored out of your wits.” 

Ominis grinned. “I would love nothing more, my princess.” 

   

Chapter 3: Something So Magic About You

 

Princess Miradevi did not know what to make of Ominis Gaunt. 

He belonged in the wing of the palace where they displayed the artwork, she decided. Right there with the oils and brilliant colors of landscapes and portraits, his features studied down to the atoms by the best painters in the empire. 

His classically handsome features carved from marble and moonstone, were stunning enough, but there was something about him- 

Something hidden and tucked away. Nestled in the slight crease against the corner of his lips when he graced her with a smile, sequestered away in the way he swayed slightly when listening to music he loved. 

But there was also the heavy look in his eyes, so achingly tragic- Icarus falling from the sky, the last golden rays of sunlight condemning him and the rush of the ocean rising to swallow him whole. 

Miradevi wanted to draw out each carefully concealed piece of him like a treasure, the likes of which were only found in her family’s vaults.  

“You’re staring, your highness.” 

Mira startled, her chin slipping off where it rested on the palm of her hand.
Ominis laughed softly, leaning back in his seat. Students were filing into the lecture hall, filling up the seats around them.

“I-“ Mira began sheepishly. “Might have been. I was just trying to understand something.” She paused for a moment. “You’re an enigma, Ominis Gaunt.” 

“Ah, am I? Should I be flattered?” 

“Maybe? I’d quite like to know you better, you know.”

Ominis was silent for a moment, his heart- traitorous thing that it was- beating a rapid tattoo against his ribs.
“Why?” The question left his lips before he could think. “Why would you want that?” 

“I think it’d just be an honor. To know you, that is.” 

His heart was slamming against his chest now, frantic as butterfly wing beats against a closed window. 

An honor. 

xxxxxxxxx

“-And I would like to conclude by pointing out that many of these laws have been passed with not an ounce of input from the communities they are impacting. Werewolves, for example, have no say in-“

A scoff from her opponent.

Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi drew herself up slightly behind the podium, her ordinarily soft brown eyes narrowing. 

“As I was saying. Werewolves are denied employment due to archaic laws they have no control over. Muggleborns like myself are still not represented in the Wizengamot, and if this society has any hope for cohesion and collective action, perhaps the government should focus on repairing what is broken rather than taking a hammer to an already shaky foundation. The Purity Act reeks of injustice, corruption, and a horrific attempt at subjugating muggleborns and halfbloods.” Miradevi stepped back from the podium, chin lifted. 

“I yield my time.” 

Silence for a few beats, before there was tentative applause echoing in the lecture hall.

 Professor Binn’s wizarding politics course was not exactly rousing, and his debate exercises were hardly crowd stirrers. Dissent from the norm was few and far between, the class somewhat of a droning echo chamber despite Binns’ best efforts at sparking discussion. Class concluded with little fanfare, an air of relief simmering around them as people pushed towards the exit.

“Your highness.” 

Miradevi turned, the princess’s lips lifting into a smile at the familiar, aristocratic voice. She reached out a mehendi- patterned hand to the heir of Slytherin as he approached her. 

“Ominis.”

Ominis Gaunt took her hand, trying not to fixate on how soft the slender digits were, how perfectly they fit in his palm- a puzzle piece coming together, the edges and curves slotting beautifully together.
“My princess.” He murmured, his voice soft as he bowed, bringing his lips to brush a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. “You were… incredible. I do think Atticus Zabini will choose his battles more carefully in the future.”

Miradevi laughed, ducking her head slightly in a rare moment of humility. Her brothers long suffered their little sisters’ crowing when she bested them in anything, yet she could not bring herself to do the same now.

“You’re very heavy-handed with the flattery.” She tried to brush it off, willing away the heat rising on her neck. Beyond the hall, the students were swarming to their next classes or to the grounds beyond the university. Spring was upon them, and Mira could taste the nectar-sweet scent of flowers blooming on the hills, the sharp snap of pollen in her nose. 

“I do not say things I don’t mean.” Ominis realized she had fallen into step beside him, following him, letting him guide her through the stone halls. “You were articulate and erudite, and I do hope that your thoughts on the Purity Act reach people who are in desperate need to hear it.” 

“I don’t understand how such a law could even be suggested, let alone open to debate in the Wizengamot.” Miradevi frowned slightly. “And any voice of dissent is suppressed. Muggleborns who take issue with the law have to go through ridiculous bureaucratic hoop-jumping to get their voices heard when we are the ones most likely to be affected by it.” 

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, my princess,” Ominis said quietly. “The Wizengamot has always catered to the whims of pureblood families and have been rewarded immensely for it.” 

“Good to know that corruption is a constant no matter where one goes.” Mira’s tone was airy. Feeling slightly daring, she gently squeezed Ominis’ hand. “I must take my leave. My next class is all the way on the other side of the castle. I hope I run into you again, Ominis.” 

“The sentiment is shared, my princess.” He said quietly. He heard a soft rustle of fabric and realized Miradevi had given him a small curtsey.

Heat flooded his face at the political implication of that move, and before he could say anything or do anything besides gape slightly, the princess had walked off with a swish of her sari, her heeled shoes clicking on the flagstones. 

xxxxxxxxxx

“I feel… still.”

Miradevi cracked open her eyes, squinting slightly against the glare of sunlight. Her arms were crossed behind her head as she lay on the soft grass swaying against her, wildflowers blooming along the steep slopes of the Scottish highlands. 

The princess turned slightly, where Ominis lay on the grass beside her, his hands interlaced on his chest. 

“How do you mean?”

“I mean...” Ominis sighed softly. 

What did he mean? 

“…I feel the grass on my skin. I can hear the wind in the pines- and nothing is pulling me away from that. Like my body is melting into the earth, and this moment could be my last, but- I’d have no issue with it.”

Mira made a satisfied little sound, shifting on the grass. A little smile quirked her lips as her eyes slid closed again, the sun lulling her into drowsy lethargy.
“That’s fine. I think that’s just peace, Ominis.”

xxxxxxxx

Ominis had never liked the roar of the ocean. It conjured up far too vivid sensations of being buffeted by towering waves, submerged despite any attempts at keeping his head above water. He’d never gone deeper into a body of water than his ankles, anyway. 

There was no point. 

He’d fought all his life to keep his head above water. To claw and kick and scream against the tide that dragged him down and this- this felt like a sweet surrender. 

Like the waters of the warm tropics, of the far-off beaches he heard about where the ocean was calm. 

Gentle. 

And he could let the tide take him, knowing it would never try and pull him under. 

xxxxxxxxxxx 

Three weeks. Three weeks, 21 days, gods knew how many seconds she had been in his life. 

It was a torment sweeter than anything Ominis had ever tasted in his life. For some unfathomable reason, she was haunting him, the faint sound of her laughter or the chatter of her molasses-thick accent drifting along the ancient stone walls just a few moments too late before he could catch up to her. 

She was a figment of his imagination, he tried to tell himself. A small piece of starlight captured from the sky and cupped secretly in the palms of his hands -but then he’d enter the common room, or a lecture hall and- 

  Hello, Ominis! 

Kaise ho, Ominis? 

Sab kuch theek chal raha hai? 

She’d be there. 

Her presence, solid and real, shone bright as a solar flare. She’d chatter with him, her voice dropping slightly from the stately, regal tone it usually held, sometimes a mishmash of Hindi and English as she got enthusiastic. 

Like water breathing life into dry earth, the princess seeped into each carefully constructed wall around him, seeping in through cracks too splintered to patch. He tried, he tried- to press bleeding hands to the walls and keep her out, but the attempt was doomed from the start. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4: Never Tame Your Demons

The Slytherin common room was dark.

Dusk had fallen above the surface of the lake, the last dying rays of sunlight filtering through the murky water. Little fish flashed silver through the swaying algae fronds that brushed against the outer windows, witness to the small group gathered by the fire. The waterfall rushed down the gaping space around which the spiral staircases curled, drowning out hushed voices. 

“I’m not bending the knee to a mudblood.” Atticus Zabini carelessly flicked cigarette ash into the fire behind him, emboldened by the murmurs of approval from the handful of young men scattered around him. “If she thinks that pretty little crown on her head entitles her to free reign to what is ours, then she is wrong.” 

“Careful, Zabini.” 

Cassius Mulciber leaned back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. He was the spitting image of his father and- if the rumors were to be believed- just as bloodthirsty. The only difference was that Avery kept it veiled under a mirrorthin shield of the finer things in life. But no amount of thousand galleon Whiskies or designer robes hid the almost manic gleam in his eyes. “Mudblood or not, the girl has more political influence than any of us. Zealous as you are about our heritage, I would not-“

“I wasn’t aware you were so eager to be branded a blood traitor, Mulciber.” 

“And I was not aware that you were in the habit of acting before thinking,” Cassius said, bored. “Open hostility towards her is open hostility to her empire. Tell me, is that a fight you want to pick?” 

Atticus grinned, slowly. “Who said anything about open hostility? There is something to be said about the art of subtlety. Or we could just let the little pretender flounce around like she has any right to be here. Bowing and scraping before her, demeaning ourselves as if our blood doesn’t put us miles above her.“

There was a ravenous sort of silence, broken only by murmurs of assent heavy with a vicious sort of delighted anger. 

Zabini had witnessed his father speak in the Wizengamot since he was young. He had watched and absorbed the way Zabini Sr. never yelled, never gestured and fumed like some of the other senators. Every inflection was chosen carefully, every word measured. 

The idea is already in their heads. Trust that you are the voice to draw it out. Then, let them tear each other apart. 

But there was always that one dissenter. That one thorn in their gods damned side. 

“Another spiel on blood purity, Atticus?” A low, hissing drawl spoke up. “I would have thought you’d tire of that drivel by now.” Ominis strode forward, carelessly sitting down on a high-backed armchair. The handful of young men watched his movements carefully, everything ranging from outright loathing to barely concealed jealousy mapped plainly on their faces. 

The flames flickered over his star-streaked irises, catching on the downturn of his lips. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.” 

“Last I checked, you don’t own the castle, Gaunt.” A young man with a shock of wild black curls falling over hooded, dark eyes spoke up. Hadrian Lestrange leaned forward, teeth slightly bared. “Blood traitor. Cozying up to that mudblood like she’s Merlin’s own gift to mankind-“

A sharp, cold laugh escaped his lips. “Watch your tongue, Lestrange. And I am well aware I don’t own the castle.” Ominis ran a thumb over the signet ring on his finger, knowing the other men’s eyes were lingering on it. He leaned forward slightly, head tilting. “But in this room, with that crest you flaunt so proudly-”  Ominis’s lips curled slightly in a snarl. 

“I am the final word.” 

He could not read the expressions of those sitting around the fire, but he heard the slight shuffle of feet on the carpet, the soft, annoyed huffs. No one dared say anything more.

“You’re throwing your weight around with so very little to actually show for it, Gaunt.” Lestrange hissed. “I hear that you are quite out of favor with your family- why parade connections that would rather burn the bridge to you than cross it?” 

Ominis sneered. “Because that accursed blood is still mine. This legacy is mine. Whether my family loathes me or not, I am the last living heir of Slytherin and scion of my House.” Ominis stood, brushing down the vest he wore, readjusting his foothold, and reacquainting the feeling of plush carpet under his dragonhide shoes. “I’d suggest leaving Princess Miradevi out of your little schemes. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

Without wasting another second, Ominis turned and walked away, wand in a white-knuckled grip.

xxxxxxxxxx

Miradevi watched Sebastian approach her, brows raising at the way he held himself- stiff shoulders that he tried to relax, an air of forced carelessness about him. 

“Princess.” He said, bowing slightly before sliding into the seat beside her. The Great Hall echoed with activity, the hooting of owls and thump of feathers against air singing off the high, arched stone walls. 

“Yes?” Mira batted her lashes, feigning innocence, like she had absolutely no idea why he had approached her. “How are you today, Sebastian?” 

“Don’t give me that.” He grumbled, dropping the act.“You already know that I-“

“I can tell very well when someone wants a favor from me.” Miradevi put him out of his misery, grinning. “What can I do for you?” 

Sebastian wasted no time. “That book you gifted me- you said it was from the royal library?” 

“Mm.” Mira nodded. “It’s quite an extensive collection. Why?” 

There was a waver in Sebastian’s voice, a gleam in his eyes. 

“Do you have anything on curses? I mean- curing curses. Not casting them. Do you have anything on curing curses inflicted by dark magic?” 

Mira thought back to the library in the palace and was struck by a sudden pang of homesickness.
“I’d have to write and ask.” She said. “Why? Are you- did something happen? Did somebody do something to you?” 

“No, not me-“ Sebastian placated the concerned tone in her voice before unfurling a copy of the Daily Prophet and gesturing at the photograph on the front page. “You know who this is, right?” 

Miradevi nodded. “A goblin insurrectionist leader- Ranrok, yes? He’s attempting to lead a rebellion, as far as I remember. He actually tried a bit of recruitment in the Surya empire and other provinces in India but had no luck.” 

Sebastian raised his brows. “And why is that?” 

“Because they are equal citizens where I come from.” The princess’s voice was soft. “Everyone is. Or, at least, we try for that kind of unity. But you’re not here to talk about the politics in my nation. What does he have to do with you?”

“To make a long story short, he- or one of the goblins beholden to him- cursed my sister when we were children. We live in a little hamlet nearby, and she was.. well, in the wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose.” 

Sebastian’s voice was tight with anger, his gaze drifting down to the photograph of Ranrok. “She suffers bouts of pain and is withering away from the inside out. I do not know the kind of magic that was used to curse her, and I’ve tried what feels like everything to reverse it.” 

The princess was silent for a moment, uncomfortable. Platitudes felt insincere and apologies useless. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to settle on the right thing to say.

“Don’t.” It was Sebastian’s turn to spare her the awkwardness of prolonged silence. “Don’t, please. I’ve heard enough apologies and condolences in the years since she got cursed. I’ve had enough of people acting like she was handed a death sentence.” 

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Anne.” The Slytherin’s lips curled into a wry smile. “My twin. And she is not succumbing to that fate. I would never let her.”

An image of Arjun and Bharat flashed in her mind, of their laughter and teasing. 

“I’ll write to my father. As soon as I can, I promise. He might not know what to look for, but there is a cabinet of ministers that deal with the wizarding world and they should know more. Is there- I mean, is there anything I can do otherwise?” 

“Well, you could come visit. I’m sure she’d be delighted to meet another student, and royalty no less.” A shadow passed over his face, dousing the excitement.“You’d have to excuse my uncle, though. He’s not exactly known for his tact.” 

Miradevi smiled. “Please. I’ve dealt with my fair share of rowdy government officials; one singular uncle can hardly be a challenge.” 

“Excellent. I’ll send you an owl whenever Anne feels up for a visit.” 

xxxxxxxxx

Dearest Baba, 

I hope you, Amma, and the two monkeys I call brothers are doing well. I miss you all more than I can say, and not a day goes by when I do not think of Surya. I hope someone is refilling the peacock feeders in my absence. 

I’ll write again in more detail, but I have to ask a question regarding a delicate matter and of some urgency. A friend of mine has a sibling who was struck by some sort of magic curse. Can you ask minister Prakash or anyone in our wizarding sector for advice? 

Thank you! 

I miss you all. 

All my love, 

Rara. 

xxxxxxxxxx

The king of the Surya empire was standing before his wife, looking a bit sheepish as Queen Durgavati Surya Lakshmi paced up and down the length of the palatial bedchamber, brows drawn together in a frown. Beyond the shuttered balcony doors, a cold breeze swept through the forests. 

The rani raised her daughters’ letter to scan it again. “Her friend’s sibling was cursed?” She re-read the words, hoping something would change. “We were assured that this university would be safe for her, Ashok! She’s barely been there a month-“ 

“Jaan, relax. From what I understand, the European wizarding nations are… tumultuous, and political unrest can lead to civilians being caught in the crossfire. It just sounds like she’s concerned about a friend.” Ashok gently set his hands on his wife’s shoulders, pulling the queen close. Brushing a thumb along her high cheekbones, he smiled gently. “And Mira is a smart girl, my love. She knows to stay out of trouble.” 

The queen gave him a flat look, and Ashok laughed, knowing his daughter had a bit of a taste for adventure.

“I don’t like feeling helpless, you know that.” Queen Durgavati pulled away slightly, sitting on the edge of the plush bed. “And it feels like.. ever since we discovered Mira was magic, an entirely new realm of things that could harm her keeps looming over us. Things we are powerless against.” She looked at her husband, a slight shake in her fingers. “It doesn’t get easier, even after these twenty years. Knowing you cannot help your daughter.” 

“Don’t say that.” Ashok sat beside her. “We are not powerless against anything. The empire is thriving, and our people are living in harmony, love. How many monarchs or governments can claim that? We may not have magic, but there is a ministry of the most accomplished sorcerers in India who serve us. Mira will never be in danger, and we will ensure it.” 

xxxxxxxxxx

Sebastian was furious, and the affronted look on Ominis’ face was only serving to rile him up further. Disagreements were par for the course when it came to friendships that spanned a decade and a half, but this was taking the absolute mickey.

“It’s promising. That magic is ancient-“ 

“Archaic and dark, you mean.”

“For Merlin’s bloody sake-“ Sebastian tried taking a deep breath, but it only served to oxygenate the flames of his anger. “- It could hold the answers to saving Anne. As a founder of this school, Salazar Slytherin had magic beyond our comprehension. This is the missing link I’ve been looking for, Ominis.” 

Ominis hated the desperation that swept under the anger of his best friend’s voice. 

An undertow, tugging at his ankles, dragging him down, deep, into dark, murky depths he could not claw out of- 

“I don’t agree. And I’ll not say a word more. I’m sorry.” 

Sebastian was about to retort when he was interrupted. 

Ominis nearly melted into his chair as he caught the scent of jasmine, the heavy accent, the soft jingle of bangles and jewelry. 

“Your highness.” He spoke her title like salvation. 

“Ominis.” She returned it with honey on her lips, shaping his name like a melody. “Sebastian. I hope I didn’t intrude?” 

“Not at all.” Sebastian abandoned his spot beside Ominis, making to leave the dimly lit corner of the library. Better things to do than play third wheel. The thought ran through his mind, and Sebastian gently tapped Ominis twice on the shoulder- their age-old sign of goodwill. “I’ll catch you around, alright?” 

Ominis sighed softly and nodded. “Very well. Goodnight, Sebastian.” 

The princess watched the chestnut-haired young man weave through the high shelves and ancient tomes, casually grabbing a few books as he went.
“Everything alright?” She asked quietly, settling into the chair he’d just left. Ominis turned in the direction of her voice, eyes softening.

“I suppose so. He’s just… pestering me about something, and I don’t-“ He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes out of habit. “- I simply do not know how to get it through to him that it is a bad idea.” 

A million different thoughts tugged at him, pulling him in a thousand directions, screaming for his attention. 

“I enjoyed spending that afternoon in the hills with you.” He found himself murmuring softly, massaging his temples. “Taking in the sunshine, the breeze-“ 

“It was quite peaceful.” She paused for a moment. “This… thing Sebastian is pestering you about- is it regarding his sister?”

“I’m not surprised he told you about Anne. Yes, it is. He’s convinced that a secret chamber in the university that my family is privy to contains the answers to saving her. I think that place is best left untouched.” 

Words began to spill from him like an incoming tide, rushing over rocks to throw themselves against arching cliffs. In the span of a few minutes, he told her about Noctua, about her disappearance, and- his tongue stuck, his throat closing as a corner of his brain he kept firmly locked away began to rattle. His ears rang slightly, fingers giving an involuntary tremor at ghostly sensations of pain beyond anything he could have imagined, of shame and guilt that he was certain he’d choke on one day- 

“Ominis?” 

He latched onto her voice like it was an anchor, desperate to be pulled out from the rip currents dragging him down, from the despair of losing himself entirely in the cold, deep depths. 

Mira gently rested her hand on his arm that lay on the table. “She just vanished? Nobody followed up, or went to try and find her?”

Ominis gave a dry laugh. “Go after her? You’re assuming that my family has enough empathy to look after each other instead of leaving us behind to burn.” 

Mira hesitated. “Is it… at all possible that going into the Scriptorium might give you answers as to what happened to her? I do not wish to overstep, so feel free to shut the idea down, but it would be three of us instead of one lone person. Maybe-?” 

Around them, the flickering torches in the sconces around the library dimmed. Mira made a soft, breathless sound of surprise. 

“What?” Ominis asked. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just the library closing for the night, I believe.” A bar of moonlight cut through the high glass windows, illuminating Ominis’ pale hair, catching the dip of his high cheekbones. 

He heard the princess shuffle in her seat slightly, moving to stand.
“It was a stupid suggestion, actually. Forget I said anything, I’m-“ 

His arm darted out of seemingly it’s own accord and gently wrapped around her wrist. The soft jingle of her bangles always gave the location away, allowing his aim to be precise.
Mira looked down at where his slender, pale fingers curled around hers, contrasting sharply against her deep brown skin. Something warm, something nervous and fluttering like a moth against a closed window, settled in her stomach, her heart beating a rapid tattoo as he tilted his face up to look at her. Ominis stood as well, towering over her, instinctively moving closer to where she was. 

“I don’t think it was… an entirely stupid idea.” Ominis’ murmur, soft as it was, was further muffled and absorbed by the high shelves and tomes of books around them. “I do think you’re a bit too enthusiastic about getting into unknown situations, but there is a truth to your words. Perhaps, together, we could get some answers. For Anne, and for my aunt.” 

“Right.” Mira tried to fight down the heat rising on her neck, the sudden sweatiness of her palms. “I’m sure Sebastian will be happy to hear that.” 

Something dark flashed in Ominis’ eyes when the other man’s name left her lips. A furrow of his brow, a clench at his jaw, but then his features were smoothed over again, and he nodded.

“I expect he would. You can- no, I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.” Ominis realized he was still gripping her hand, and- he tilted his head, listening- her breathing was hitched. 

He gently tugged the princess forward, his thumb running over the inside of her wrist, rattling the bangles with a soft tinkling sound. His voice lowered, slightly rougher.

“These sound pretty.”

Whatever sombre atmosphere that had been created by discussing his aunt was shattered to pieces. The princess nodded, thrown by the riot of unfamiliar emotions battling to take the reins in her brain.
“They’re a gift. Women in India often wear gold jewelry for protection and prosperity, and I believe these belonged to my mother. All the family jewelry will go to me, since- well, my brothers aren’t going to wear any of it. But they’re set to inherit the empire because they’re older than me, so it’s a fair trade-off.” 

Ominis nodded slowly, still feeling the delicate bangles at her wrist. “I learn something new about you every day, princess.” He murmured softly, but his tone was different than its’ usual gentle lilt.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve told you about my brothers before, Ominis,” Mira said, not daring to draw her arm back and not at all wanting to. 

“Oh, not that, your highness.” The heir of Slytherin grinned slightly, the moonlight catching his teeth, displaying canines just slightly sharper than she was used to seeing on people. 

Ominis traced his fingertips over the bangles in a show of readjusting them before gently pressing against her pulse point. 

“You’re nervous, princess.” He leaned closer, dipping down to where her ear was. “And you tend to talk more than usual when you’re nervous.” 

 

Chapter 5: Chivalry Fell On Its' Sword

What was worse than a nightmare? In that realm of possibility where the only way out is to wake up, something even worse is knowing that you’re already awake.

Consciousness was not coming to save Ominis Gaunt.

The man in question paced back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The heaviness of decay and mildew pressed in on his senses as he tried to search for some kind of avenue out. But there was no way out, and the despair of that realization, the anger, was what prompted him to turn towards where Sebastian was. 

“I should not have listened to you.” He hissed. “I was so stupid to think this would be anything but a horrible mistake.”

Sebastian was gazing at him, those brown eyes dark with worry and a hint of something else. A determination to not fail now. Not when they were so close, and Ominis didn’t need to see the brown haired young man to know that there was still that stubbornness in his eyes. His silence spoke volumes. A stretching void of words unspoken, of uncertainty and that rock solid conviction that this was the best course of action.

Miradevi exhaled shakily, trying not to focus on the walls trapping them in, on the instinct that screamed at her to run, to get out, that she was trapped and she’d never see the sunlight again-

“Mira.” Ominis’ voice was low as he took her hands gently. The princess’s ears were echoing with the thump of rushing blood, her breathing shallow. She did not even realize he’d used her name for the first time. 
“Mira, look at me.” Ominis reached up to find where her jawline was, tilting her face up. “Breathe. It’s unpleasant to get out, but not impossible. Inhale through the nose, out through the mouth.”

She nodded, trying to ground herself. “I’m fine.” She managed, sounding very much the opposite. “I’m fine, I-“

Sebastian cut in, exasperated. “Casting that curse is far better than dying in here. Do you want her to panic and lose it? No. I’m sorry about your aunt, Ominis, but I’ll not share her fate.”

“Don’t you dare.” Ominis’ voice was cold, a waver of rage in his tone. “Don’t you dare use her or my aunt to push me into this.”

“You agreed to this!” Sebastian raised his voice, the sound echoing in the small chamber. “It’s not my fault your sense of self-righteous morality has warped any reason in that stubborn head of yours!”

Ominis’s wand was drawn back in seconds, a curse fired with deadly accuracy as the magic arced toward Sebastian. Rage burned in his moonstone eyes as Sebastian barely dodged, throwing up a shield charm.

“Very mature.” Sebastian hissed, but there was a hint of trepidation in his voice. “You want to do this now? Here?” His gaze darted to Mira. The princess shone like amber in the small space- a colorful little flicker of flame in the darkness. “In front of her?”

“Don’t look at her.” Ominis snapped, without thinking about what he was saying. “She’s gotten dragged into this mess because of us-“

“Oh, don’t give me that honor,” Mira said weakly. “I was quite daft as well. I jumped headfirst into this situation without thinking and as much as I’m enjoying these theatrics, I would really like to get out of here.”

“Someone has to cast the Cruciatus curse,” Sebastian said harshly. “Ominis has the most experience with it-“

Miradevi raised her brows, turning slightly to face him.

Ominis has the most experience with it. 
Was he saying-

Ominis was silent for a moment, jawline clenched. For a wild second, Mira thought he was just going to launch himself at Sebastian and tackle the other man to the ground- but then he took in a deep breath and took a step back. 

“I won’t.” His words were ice-cold. “I refuse. You will have to sort out another solution.”

“Ridiculous.” Sebastian hissed to Mira. “As if dying in here is better than casting a spell. We’ll have to-“ he looked away before rallying. His next words were low- a confession. “I know how to cast it.”

Miradevi looked at him sharply. “You didn’t say you knew how to cast it. Why ask Ominis to do it if it seems to bother him that much?”

“I’ve never tried it before, so theoretically, I know how to cast it. Either I teach it to you and I take the brunt of it, or-“

He was interrupted by a sharp, cold laugh. Ominis’ voice was low, derisive. His pale eyes seemed to glint a poisonous green. 


“What.” Sebastian snapped.

“For someone so well read, you’re being quite daft right now. Do you know the consequence if you cast an Unforgivable on her?”

“Ominis, I know it’s not ideal-“

“The death penalty.”

Sebastian stilled. “What?” He asked, soft, before turning to Miradevi, who winced slightly.

“The Monarch Protocol.” Ominis cut in coldly. “A bilateral agreement between the Surya empire and the British wizarding nation that casting an Unforgivable curse on a member of either royal family will result in the perpetrator facing the death penalty. The treaty was ratified by the ministry and by the empire recently since the princess is currently on United Kingdom soil and under the protection of our government.”

“Been doing some reading, have you?” Sebastian’s tone was waspish but he turned to the princess. “Is this true?”

“I mean… It’s complicated because I’m consenting to the curse being cast on me. And besides, no one would find out.” Mira added, but the argument was not solid. “Look, it’s our only option.”

There was silence for a moment. 

“No, it’s not.” Ominis sighed, the fight seemingly draining out of him. “Sebastian will have to cast it on me.”

He waved off the immediate protests. “There would be minimal repercussions, and I will not have-“ he exhaled sharply. “I won’t have her enduring that. I refuse.”

“Do I not get a say in this?” Mira said, trying to sound affronted and not like her voice was about to crack and break. “You can’t-“

“I can, I will, and I don’t want to hear another word, princess.”

Mira’s jaw slackened, snapped shut, then opened again. “I do not know who you think you’re speaking to-“

“As soon as you two want to stop playing the sacrifice card and make a decision, we can get the hell out of here.” Sebastian’s grip on his wand shifted as he moved his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m not letting you take that curse,” Miradevi said, incredulous. “I was the one that encouraged us to go in here, and-“

She caught the way Ominis tilted his head at Sebastian, the unspoken understanding that immediately passed between the two men in a connection fostered by their years of friendship. She caught it just a fraction too late as the Cruciatus curse left Sebastian’s lips.

Mira barely had a moment to gasp in alarm before Ominis fell to his knees, one palm braced against the cold stone floor, the other pressing against his abdomen like he could push the pain out.

A scream ripped its way out of his throat, agonized and the worst sound she’d heard in her life.

The princess didn’t care about her extravagant sari getting dirty as she knelt beside him, shaky hands reaching out to grip his shoulders. “Ominis!” Her voice broke, pure panic saturating it. “No, no-“

The red arcs of magic pulsed over his body, wave after wave of pain slamming into him, clawing merciless fingers into his brain and tearing open old wounds. Ominis felt the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, shaking on the cold floor as the door of Scriptorium finally, mercifully fell open. 


“We did it.” Sebastian breathed, letting up the spell, eyes fixed on the chamber beyond them. “It’s open.”

Ominis gasped, slumping forward. Miradevi attempted to grab him and failed miserably, only succeeding in sending them both sprawling on the ground. 
“Are you alright?” She breathed, her heart twisting in her chest as guilt threatened to swallow her whole. “Why would you do that?”

Breathe. In and out, and trust that the pain will go away eventually. It always does. 

Ominis nodded slightly, his hands shaking with tremors. “I’ll be fine.” He pushed himself up, tugging her with him. “Better me than you. Let’s go, I don’t want to stick around till this door closes again.”

Mira nodded, nausea churning in her stomach.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered again as Ominis brushed his shivering fingers over her bangles again, jingling them together in some sort of grounding gesture.

“No worries. It’s the least I could do to avoid international political fallout.” He pulled away, and Mira felt a hole open up somewhere deep in her chest. “It’ll be alright. Truly.” He stood, gesturing with shaking hands. “After you, your highness.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rain slammed against the high windows of Mira’s dorm.

She was grateful for the apartment-style rooms the graduate students received, despite how cramped it was compared to what she was used to. Origami cranes were enchanted to flutter near the ceiling, strings of twinkling little lights hanging along her walls, along with photographs of her friends, her family. The room was a riot of pastel colors; the flag of her empire was hung over her bed- two royal Bengal tigers chasing each other around a blazing sun.

Mira looked up from where she was curled on her bed at the sharp knock at her door. Without her saying anything, the door swung open, and she slipped off the bed, surprised.

She did not expect the figure leaning against her doorway. 

“Hello.” Mira stood, brushing down her nightgown. “… Atticus, right? Atticus Zabini? We had debated in professor Binns’ lecture together. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Princess.” An oily sort of smile graced his features. “I thought I’d introduce myself more formally. It is not often royalty graces the halls of Hogwarts, is it?”

Miradevi smiled and nodded. She thought she’d get a little reprieve from the power games she was used to, but clearly not. 
“The sentiment is appreciated. You certainly had… strong opinions on the freedoms that people like me should be ‘allowed’ in the wizarding world.”

Atticus laughed, casting his gaze around Mira’s room. “You understand the complications of politics. Sometimes protecting your own must take precedence over pandering to the lesser.”

Mira scoffed slightly, folding her arms. “Well, you certainly stand by your opinions, extreme as they might be. Is there a reason you’re here, or did you just want to discuss blood purity politics?”

“I’ll cut to the chase.”

Mira stood aside, wary, letting Atticus walk into the little apartment and sit down at her writing desk. “I have a question regarding one of our fellow students. You know Ominis Gaunt, do you not- ah, there it is.”

Atticus picked up on Mira’s quick blink, the slight reaction she had to his name. “He was at your side like a burr. And now you two are barely seen together. One must wonder what happened. It’s almost like you’re avoiding him, princess.”

“That’s none of your business,” Miradevi said, more surprised than anything, so her words didn’t have the intended effect of intimidation she wanted.

“It is, your highness. Up until recently, you were under his protection. His charge, shall we say. And now, with him clearly distancing himself from you-” Atticus picked up a photograph of Mira and her family that sat at her desk, his lip curling in barely hidden disdain. “That protection is null and void.”

Her brain was reeling. Protection? She had gotten close with him, sure, but she had no idea that he’d-

Familiar, sickening guilt clawed its way up her throat, and she lifted her chin slightly in a vain attempt at playing it off. “Are you threatening me, Zabini?”

“No, your highness.” Atticus sounds shocked, hand over his heart. “There are some in this castle who hold some extreme views and will not hesitate to act on them.” Atticus stood and inclined his head ever so slightly- the barest minimum of a bow. “I’m just looking out for you, with the best of my intentions.”

“How kind.” Mira said drily, wishing he’d leave. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Now, if you don’t mind-“

“Of course. Delightful to speak with you, princess. I hope we grow closer during your time here.”

He smiled and left, shutting her door. Mira’s nose wrinkled slightly, arms folding. 

“Looking after me.” She murmured. “As if. What kind of donkey does he take me for-?” Dissolving into soft grumbles, Mira settled back between her sheets, hoping the book she was reading would distract her, but knowing it would not work.

I won’t have her enduring that. I refuse.

Better me than you-

The least I could do to avoid international fallout-

Another sharp knock at her door.

Mira groaned and threw the sheets off her. One moment’s peace, that’s all I ask. “Was there something else, Atticus?”

On the other side of the door, Ominis Gaunt stilled, hand still raised. He lowered it, slowly, as Mira’s lips parted in surprise. 
“Atticus?” He asked, soft. A hint of venom tinged his words. “Zabini? Why were you expecting Atticus Zabini at your door, of all people?” 

“He just paid me a delightful little visit,” Mira said. “Ominis, what-“

“He did what?” Ominis strode into her room, wand aloft. “What did he say?”

“By all means, come inside,” Miradevi mumbled before sitting on her bed and patting the area beside her. Ominis sat down, yelping slightly in alarm as he practically sank into the bed. That drew a laugh from the princess- a three-note ascending sort of giggle that had his head reeling. But as her laugh died away, the heaviness returned between them.

“You’ve been avoiding me, princess.”

“I’ve been busy with my dissertation and with practicals-“

“Please.” Ominis interrupted her, his voice hushed. “Don’t do that. Ever since the Scriptorium, you’ve been avoiding me like I carry the bubonic plague. If I did something wrong, your highness-“

“What?” Mira breathed, and before she could think better of it, she took his hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles. “Is that what you think? No, Ominis, I’m- I haven’t been-“ she looked away, unable to look him in the eyes despite the fact that he wasn’t seeing her. “You took that awful curse when it should have been me. I feel so guilty I can hardly be around you and I’m so sorry I made you think otherwise.”

“Mira, if I had not done what I did, I would not have been able to live with myself.” He shifted closer, daring. “It was not your burden to bear. It never will be.”

“But-“

“No buts.” Ominis meant to tap her cheek gently in a gesture of goodwill but missed entirely. His finger landed on her lips, full and soft.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Honey-thick and heavy enough to crush Atlas’s shoulders, the atmosphere grew charged as he gently, ever so slightly, brushed his thumb over her lower lip. 

His thumb traveled to the corner of her mouth as Mira smiled. He tilted his head. “You have dimples.”

“I do.” Her voice was soft.

As if he was handling a bloom of flowers, the pads of his fingertips roamed over her face, feeling everything. Thick brows, curling lashes, high, regal cheekbones. Jewelry adorned her ears, her nose.

Back to her lips.

“You’re breathtaking, my princess.” He murmured, head canting to the side slightly. “Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined-“ he cut himself off, looking away. “..regarding the matter at hand, please do not feel guilty for anything. It was my choice, and I don’t regret it. Though- the loss of your presence at my side has been..” Painful. Like you have taken a part of my soul and hidden it amongst your jewelry. Come back to me, please come back- “Inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient.” Mira echoed, slightly more amused. “Right.”

“Will I have the pleasure of your company later tonight for dinner?” Ominis allowed a little smile to tug at his lips, feeling the chasm between them drawing closed. 


“Oh, since you clearly cannot do without me.” Mira heaved a melodramatic sigh, but her heart soared. “Of course, Ominis. And… thank you.”

He bowed and turned, slowly, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding his wand aloft. Then-

“You can.. stay, if you want? It is a Friday.” Mira snapped her fingers, and a bottle of ancient Firewhiskey materialized in her hand, a flourish of magic opening it up with a pop. “I’m going to get silly tipsy, and I’d love for you to join me.”

This was dangerous. This was so dangerous. Not to mention, he had already broken about every single etiquette protocol there was when it came to his interactions with the princess, and this would just cross a line.

Ominis exhaled.

Don’t. Do not, no matter how badly you want-


“How could I say no to such an offer?”

xxxxxxx

It felt like floating.

He, just like every other student, was well acquainted with the late-night alcohol indulgences, but this he was not used to. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a monarch and the woman he was growing increasingly obsessed with- while being absolutely tipsy was new. And it was so lovely with her giggling over the silliest things, relaying animated stories to him, describing the visual components with a mix of pure poetry and slurred half-sentences that made no sense.

And amid that sweet haze, a moment of lightning- sharp clarity hit him.


“I need to tell you something.” He said, anxiety beginning to churn in his stomach as her giggles died down. “About what Sebastian said in the Scriptorium, about me knowing how to cast Crucio.”

Miradevi straightened, nodding a bit shakily.

“Alright.” Her accent had grown heavier, if that was even possible. “Let’s hear it.”

“My family are pureblood maniacs. Beholden to the ideals of Salazar Slytherin, and I have always disliked that and-“ Ominis gestured. “Kept my distance. My aunt Noctua helped keep me from being indoctrinated, essentially. They used to… well, they still- they torture muggles. For fun. For sport. And they tried to rope me into it. I refused. You can infer what action my family took next.” He tried to force away the shake in his voice, the phantom tremor in his hands, the echoes of screaming in his ears.

Ominis sipped from the glass in his hand before shaking his head. “What I did next, out of fear of being hurt further, haunts me to this day. I don’t think I will ever truly be free of it, and frankly, I do not deserve to be.”

A silence hung between them. The princess shifted against the pillows, sitting up straighter.

“You refused initially?” Mira asked, her tone unreadable.

“I did. But all it took was them turning the curse on me a handful of times, and I broke. I am as guilty as the worst of my family, and I can never forgive myself for the lack of strength I showed that day.”

“They used it on you multiple times?” Mira’s voice still had that strange tone to it. “And you still refused?”

“I- yes. Yes, they did. And I refused till it got to a point-“

“I don’t think I’ve ever respected a person more in my life. You have a spine of goddamn steel, Ominis Gaunt.”

He finally managed to place that tone in her voice. Admiration. And he nearly recoiled. “What are you-“

“No, hold on. The intellect and strength of character it takes to recognize injustice and question it, the empathy it takes to endure such a horrible thing from your own family and come out of it committed to be a better person-” Mira shook her head. “- it gives me hope for humanity, I swear by the gods. You’re incredible.”

There was a sort of fierce pride in her voice, and Ominis wanted to grab her and shake her, demand what the hell she was talking about. He wanted her to see the things he’d done, to see him for what he was, but perhaps she did. In a way that no one had ever seen him before, and suddenly Ominis wanted to kiss her, kiss her till she was breathless and only capable of saying his name in that lilting, singsong-y voice of hers-

“Ominis? I’m sorry if I said something to offend y-“

“No. No, never. It’s just... a sensitive subject.”

He elected to take another swig, wincing at the burn. Some tangled, thorned knot in his heart that ripped away at him began to loosen, some thread of relief, of forgiveness weaving into the barbed, tearing roots.

It felt like that day in the fields, with the warmth on his skin and Mira at his side, the grass prickling at his skin.

Something he barely dared hope for.

Peace.

Chapter 6: The Best Of You, Honey, Belongs To Me

As spring swept through the Scottish highlands, Ominis was swamped by deadlines and meetings popping up as suddenly as the daffodils now carpeting the rolling hills.

The incident as the Scriptorium always lingered in the back of his mind, a murky reminder of what had transpired between himself, Sebastian, and- 

That line of thinking, much like quite a few others, brought him back to Miradevi. From day one to nearly four months now into the program, a gravitational pull had dragged him into her orbit, drawn by the melodious jingle of bangles and a soft laugh. 

It didn’t hit him like a flash of lightning, it didn’t light up his neurons in a stunning epiphany. 

Whatever it was- this aching, unbearable swell of joy and a million different things Ominis did not dare put his finger on- threatened to steal the oxygen from his lungs when he caught Mira’s laugh carried in the air or heard her speak during lectures. It snapped and crackled like a live wire as she greeted him with gentle taps against his shoulder, her lips shaping his name like a treasure. The hours on end he spent in her presence under the guise of academia always fell into conversations, occasionally debates, and he reveled in the thrill of hearing her speak. The waver in her voice when she was excited, the way she snapped her fingers when he said something she agreed with, the painfully endearing little huff when she was ready with a rebuttal. 

On the occasions that Sebastian managed to tear himself away from Slytherin’s spellbook, he amused himself by making loud, suggestive jokes in Mira’s presence, delighted by her laugh and the skin-melting glares Ominis shot him in response. His initial concern about being too comfortable around the princess had been quashed out when a filthy joke slipped his mouth once, and, before his mortification set in, Mira had burst into a peal of laughter interrupted by little snorts. It had set him off quickly after and, surprisingly, Ominis as well. 

The memory of the three of them dissolving into hysterics in the light of the dying embers in the fireplace was tucked away in his heart, guarded carefully just like everything that felt too good, too close to the precipice of being ripped away. 

xxxxxxx

Ominis’ presence at Mira’s side quickly became another one of the things people at Hogwarts University could just count on. Certain as the chime of the clock tower, Ominis Gaunt was at her side. If the princess was going to and fro between classes, reading by the Black Lake, or cloistered away in the library in the dying light of the sunset, the heir of Slytherin was there- a hand occasionally against the small of her back, his body angled in front of hers.

Unbeknownst to either of them, they made a striking pair. Miradevi was always draped in intricately woven saris or lehengas, the expertly crafted fabric shimmering in her signature colors of peacock blues and greens, hugging her tall figure. 

Ominis, on the other hand, was almost always sporting classic British formalwear, his suits meticulously matched- occasionally with the princess’s help. Sebastian’s teasing was noticeably relentless when Ominis showed up to classes with a pocket square neatly matching his eyes. Mira had adjusted it gently, cooing over how dashing he looked, which had led to Sebastian had made the obligatory ‘old married couple’ remarks. Ominis’ adoring smile at the princess melted into an icy glare coupled with a quick stinging jinx flicked towards his best friend, who dodged, laughing.

xxxxxxxx

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.
“You realize how many people would take advantage of that loophole?” He leaned back in the high-back armchair, fighting away a yawn. But Mira was pacing up and down the fireplace, her sari swishing at her ankles. Ominis knew by now that when the gestures and ‘speech voice’ was engaged, he wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d better be damn well ready to defend his points. The princess had little tolerance for a badly thought out argument and relished in a good debate, to equal parts exasperation and interest on his part. 

“That’s an issue concerning an unstable judicial system. If the laws are well worded and leave little room for open interpretation, I think-“

“What, that the killing curse should be legal?” Ominis cut in, arms folded.

“Don’t throw a strawman fallacy at me.” Mira tutted. “You’re smarter than that. I said the killing curse should not be Unforgivable. Illegal, certainly. But umbrella laws are dangerous for a number of reasons. What if someone used the killing curse for self-defense? Why should they face the same consequence as the instigator?” 

“Because there’s a thousand other things they could do before killing someone.” Ominis stood as well, voice pitching lower. “Taking a life, in any instance, is unforgivable.” 

Mira made a sound of displeasure, like she had the audacity to be disappointed in him. Electricity shot down Ominis’ spine- something that should have been a hot sting of irritation but was something entirely different. 

“You clearly think otherwise.” He said softly, his tone dangerous as if daring her to continue arguing, like he wasn’t thoroughly enjoying every moment. 

“Let’s say someone you care about- alright, for the sake of argument, let’s say I’m attacked suddenly by someone who is capable of overpowering me and does not care about legal repercussions,” Mira said, not backing down and not noticing the way Ominis’ eyes darkened. “What would you do?” 

“Eliminate them.” The answer came without hesitation, without thought. 

Miradevi nodded, a bit surprised at the speed of the response, trying to ignore the edge in his voice, the cold hint of certainty. “Exactly. Sometimes you need to-“ 

“But I would not use the killing curse.” Ominis interrupted. He tilted his head slightly, lips curling a little at the sudden silence. “Nothing to say, my princess? No rebuttal? That is quite unlike you.” Ominis leaned closer, his fingers brushing against her dangling earrings. “I would not use a Killing Curse because it is far too quick. If someone hurt you? I’d make it slow.” 

Miradevi blinked, thrown, as he gently, reverently brushed a thumb across her face, tracing her jawline. 

“That.. I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered. I think? But my point still stands.” She pulled away, grinning at Ominis’ exasperated groan. “You agree, then, that sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.”

xxxxxxxxx

Mira had told Ominis about the Alpha Centauri system once. A pair of binary stars spinning so close together they looked like one, burning bright in the night sky. He’d spent a little extra time at his window that night, enjoying the cold air and imagining the stars twinkling far above him- two of them, caught in each other’s orbit. 

xxxxxxxxx

 

“You’re going where? With whom?” 

“London, with Ominis. Is it that outlandish to consider?” Miradevi turned away from her closet, swishing a flowing, bejeweled swathe of fabric before her, glittering and opulent. “How about this one?” Her grin fell slightly at the look on Natty’s face. “No? Too much?” 

“If you’re trying to get yourself mugged and robbed blind in London, then I think it’s perfect, your highness.” Natsai cast another glance over the sari, brows raised. “Are those jewels in the dress?” 

“They’re semiprecious stones woven into the fabric, yes,” Mira mumbled, tucking the sari away. “I see your point.” 

“You haven’t spent a lot of time around people our own age, your highness.” Natty framed it as a statement rather than a question, and Mira laughed, sweeping through her closet. 

“Is it that obvious?”

"Painfully. Here, may I?” 

Mira stepped aside with a show of relief and allowed Natty to sift through her closet. She was eternally grateful for the young woman and her friendship- Natty knew the growing pains of adjusting to a new country, of finding a corner and settling into it when it seemed like everyone had already found their people. 

But after a few tentative conversations that grew into full-scale, enthusiastic discussions, Mira decided that Natty was one of the most wonderful people she’d met and was determined to keep the cheerful Ugandan girl in her circle. 

“So- you and Ominis Gaunt,” Natty said, her fingers brushing over the princess’s clothes, looking for something that would not immediately give away her identity. “I mean, you have been spending a lot of time with him since you got here, so I’m not surprised he asked to court you.“ 

“What? No, there’s none of that, we’re not-“ The princess laughed, though it sounded a little flustered. “It’s just been a grueling semester so far, and we have a free evening amidst the constant meetings and assignments. It’s entirely casual, truly.” 

Even saying the words sounded wrong, her traitor heart beating a little faster at the idea of their little outing being something more, but uncertainty locked its’ claws in tight, and she slammed down that line of thought. 

“Casual.” Natty echoed, and even though her back was to the princess, Mira heard the amusement in her voice. “And where, your highness, is he taking you on this oh-so-casual excursion?”

Mira sighed, knowing her response was damning.

“….Royal Albert Hall.” 

xxxxxxxx

“Fascinating opinion, your highness. I’d be honored to hear more of them this weekend. Perhaps at the Three Broomsticks, just the two of us?” 

Mira raised her brows, thoroughly amused at the sudden courage Duncan Hobhouse seemed to be demonstrating. She would have been proud of him had it not been for his rather unsavory views. The cunning little shrew had lured her into a conversation and now had put her into a bit of a tough spot. The halls bustled with activity around them, voices echoing off the stone as Duncan- in a move he considered gallant- ushered Mira off to the side.

“Flattered as I am by the offer-“ The princess began, but was interrupted by two things. 

First was the sudden discomfort flashing across Duncan’s face. 

Second was the feeling of a presence at her back, a hand resting at her shoulder and gently pulling her behind a person she’d recognise blindfolded at this point.
“My princess.” Ominis greeted her softly before tilting his head slightly towards where he pinpointed Hobhouses’ breathing. His tone was noticeably icier when he spoke again. 

“She has a prior engagement. And you are not to touch her like that again.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze fixed just left of Duncan’s face. He felt the telltale embroidered fabric beneath his fingertips, the scratch of threads that no doubt wove intricate patterns over the regal saris Mira always wore. Her presence at his back was a shot of pure adrenaline, heat and light burning in his veins like he’d drank pure sunlight. 

After Hobhouse had managed to retreat with as little damage to his ego as possible, Mira turned to Ominis, brows raised in amusement. 

“The little flobberworm.” Ominis hissed softly, making sure he heard fading footsteps before turning back to Mira. “How dare he-“ 

“Ominis.” Mira interrupted gently, grinning slightly. “It’s alright. I suppose I owe you for getting me out of what would have been a rather unpleasant date.” 

Date. 

The warmth from having her at his side churned and bubbled into molten lava.

“It was no trouble, your highness.” He said, stepping away. “I apologize if I overstepped.” 

“Not at all. But I do hope you have something incredible planned for us this weekend.” 

Surely he’d not heard right. 

“My princess?” He asked, quiet, not daring to believe that-

“You said I had a prior engagement.” Miradevi reached out, adjusting his tie slightly, brushing down the expensive fabric of his suit, and slightly relishing in the way Ominis seemed to have to physically hold himself back. “So. What are we doing this weekend?” 

Despite the tease in her voice and the confidence injected into her tone, Mira was trying to push away the sweatiness in her palms, marvelling at her gamble. If she’d read the situation all wrong- well, she’d just go back to her kingdom in India and finish off her Master’s degree somewhere else. Perhaps in a hold she’d dug for herself. 

But no holes needed to be dug. 

Ominis took her hands, gently pulling her closer.
“Eight pm, Saturday. I hope your love for classical music has not changed in the past few weeks, my princess.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“Be still, my beating heart.” Sebastian grinned, not bothering to knock as he sauntered into Ominis’s rooms, flopping easily onto the other man’s neatly made bed. “Don’t we look dashing.” 

Expecting to hear a snappy retort from the other man but receiving none, Sebastian tilted his head, sitting up. “Ominis. You look fine. You look like a damn prince, which is fitting, given the situation.” 

Ominis’s fingers ran over the wood of his wand, resisting the urge to cast another charm and look for more minor details in his outfit to fix. He turned away from his desk, and Sebastian was surprised at the uncertainty in his eyes. 

“She drives me mad.” Ominis finally managed, adjusting his cuffs. “I hear her voice, and it feels like I’m falling from a height so great Icarus himself couldn’t imagine it. But-“ he exhaled, finally leaving the cuff alone. “I’m worried that I’m going to hit the ground. Hard.” 

Sebastian was silent for a moment. “Disgusting.” He gave his verdict, grinning. “You’re absolutely bonkers for her, aren’t you? You know- well, you would not, but she looks at you as if you’ve hung the moon and stars in the sky. I wouldn’t be worried about her not reciprocating your feelings-“ 

“Alright, enough.” Ominis waved Sebastian off, fighting away the warmth on his ears, trying to control the swooping in his stomach, the pounding of his heart. “I’m.. I’m going to be late. Thank you for stopping by. You’ll be staying in and studying the spellbook, I assume?” 

Sebastian’s grin slipped a little, an exhaustion glinting in his eyes. “Of course. But don’t think about that tonight.” He pulled the smile back on his face and slid off Ominis’ bed, heading for the door.
“Have a good time. Sweep her off her feet, go in for a snog if you-“

“Sebastian!” 

“Apologies, your lordship.” Sebastian teased and tapped Ominis’ shoulder twice. “I mean it. You’re going to charm her silly. Enjoy yourself.” 

Ominis waved his friend off, smiling gently as his door clicked shut. 

Bracing himself, he shook his shoulders out slightly, taking a deep breath as he reached for the bouquet of flowers on the desk.

xxxxxxxx

The butterflies in Mira’s stomach felt more like frogs. 

Firewhiskey-laden frogs, hopping about in her stomach with no care for her nerves.

Adjusting her hair, rearranging her desk- anything felt better than sitting and thinking about what was going to happen in a few short moments. Miradevi caught her reflection in the mirror and sighed.

“You’ve given speeches in front of thousands of people before. Don’t be a chicken. Oh, shoot-“ 

The princess turned, her stomach dropping as she heard a knock at the door. “Just a second!” 

Another quick, frantic check before she opened the door. And could not speak for a moment as she took in the young man before her.

At first, she thought Ominis’ suit ensemble was black. But it was a blue so dark it almost looked like a night sky. A deep, hypnotizing midnight color, paired with dragonhide shoes boasting a blood-red outsole.

Pull yourself together. Say something. Say something- 

“Goodness.” Mira blurted, placed her hands on her hips, feigning offence. “Has no one told you it’s rude to outshine your date? Look at you, Mr. Gaunt.” 

Ominis laughed, the edge of nerves sharpening his features melting away at the princess’s tease. “I apologize for the grave insult, your highness. Though I’m sure it is entirely misplaced.” He twisted his hand in the air, and Mira gasped in delight at the bouquet that materialized before her. “Your beauty would launch a thousand ships, princess. I do not need sight to know that.” 

“You’re inflating my ego to dangerous proportions. But- thank you. These are stunning.” She gently took the bouquet. The blooms of orchids and lilies filled her room with a sweet scent as she quickly summoned a vase, filling it with water with a snap of her fingers. She realized they were shaking slightly. “I- these are lovely, Ominis. And you look wonderful. I’m.. very excited for tonight.” 

“As am I, princess.” He hesitated slightly. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but what are you- I mean-“ he gestured slightly, feeling strangely tongue-tied.

 “Oh! I’m so glad you asked.” Mira grinned, picking up on it instantly. Without a second thought, she took his hands and guided them along the fabric of what she wore. “This is handwoven Banarasi silk. The style is ancient and passed down through generations of weavers.”

The sari hugged her figure, all silk and chiffon. It was soft, light, nearly weightless beneath his fingers. Unlike the embroidery-heavy garments she often wore, this was pure light. His hands ran reverently over the drape of the pallu on her shoulders, down the blouse, skimming the bare skin on her hip as he reached her long, flowing petticoat. Each pleat was lovingly folded, embroidered along the borders. 

Her hair was open too, he realized. Long and thick, curled and glossy against her back. Upon the raven-black tresses sat her crown, as always, the tiara of starlit jewels and silver glinting in the light.
“Mira.” His voice was rough, almost breathless. “Mira, my lo- my princess, you are a vision. This feels beautiful. Like-” He allowed the pallu to run through his fingers, the fabric flowing between the digits. “Like water.”

“I’m limiting the number of compliments you’re allowed to give me,” Mira mumbled, ducking her head slightly as her ears burned. “Shall we?” 

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Ominis tried to shake himself back to reality, tether himself to the earth, to the stunning woman beside him. “We shall, your highness.” 

He reached his arm out for her to take her bangles jingling as she did so. With another quick mental pep talk, Ominis led her from the graduate student’s wing beyond the castle walls. 

xxxxxxxxxx

A cold breeze swept along the cobbled roads of Kensington. The couple walking along the leaf-strewn streets approached the rotunda of the Royal Albert Hall, oblivious to the eyes drawn to them. A woman with deep brown skin and a jeweled tiara set against her ink black hair leaned slightly against her companion- a tall young man, his pale hair slicked back, a cane in his gloved hand. 

She was looking at him with large brown eyes, chattering enthusiastically as he leaned towards her, occasionally murmuring something back. 

Ominis felt eyes on him- no, on his princess- like prickling nettles. He moved slightly closer to her, guiding her towards the arching gates of the stunning hall a few steps away.

“Do you know which composer’s music will be showcased tonight?” Miradevi asked softly, but he heard and cherished the excited little waver in her voice.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” He murmured. “Patience, my princess.” 

Entering the hall, Miradevi gasped softly. As Ominis handed the tickets over to a neatly suited muggle usher, her gaze flitted over the architecture, the crystal chandeliers, the intricate marble pillars, and domed ceiling. 

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered, before perking up at the melodic hum of instruments warming up from within the hall. Ominis nearly laughed at how she seemed to follow the strain of music instead of him, having to correct the straying princess as he led her to their seats up in the Boxes. 

Ominis did not anticipate that anyone would try and talk to Mira, rather hoping to have more time to speak with her before the concert. But all too soon, a few members of the British upper class were already approaching her, a little incredulous at first that the young royal was in Britain. 

Given that the royal family of the Surya empire were muggles, so too were most of the people who recognized her. They approached her with bows and curtseys, exchanging pleasantries with her as Ominis listened, carefully noting the way they spoke to her. 

Another thing Ominis did not anticipate was how natural it felt to be at Mira’s side. How easy it suddenly was to speak with strangers like he was a trained diplomat. 

He felt the way she held herself- the poise in her shoulders, the regal lilt in her voice. He quickly spun a lie when the conversation turned to him, knowing one word out of place had repercussions he didn’t want to deal with- the press being one of them.
Finally, after a quick but stunningly dull conversation with some baron or the other regarding trade routes and a gala that the royal family simply had to attend, the lights of the hall dimmed. Mira gasped softly, her head whipping around to face the stage below. The baron, whose name Ominis already forgot, chuckled and led his wife away from the Box.
“Enjoy the music, your highness. My lord.” He said Ominis’ title with some hesitance, which made sense. His name was not one any muggle would recognize.

“Thank you, baron.” Mira returned before sitting at the plush seat, gently tugging Ominis beside her. “Listen, they’re starting!” 

“Are they? I would have never guessed.” 

“Hilarous,” Miradevi whispered, her eyes glued to the conductor taking a bow, the orchestra seated behind him. The princess leaned forward as the conductor raised his baton.

A symphony of violins started up with a flurry of dramatic notes, and Mira stifled a gasp.
“Vivaldi?” She leaned close to Ominis so he could hear her. “They’re playing- how did you know this was my favorite-“ 

“I asked your neighbors. That gramophone you have is not the quietest, my princess.” Ominis grinned at the sheepish sound she made. “They told me you are quite the Vivaldi enthusiast, and I cannot fault your excellent taste.” He reached out, gently taking her hand in his gloved one. Mira interlaced her fingers with his, ignoring the swooping sensation in her stomach. 

“Thank you.” She whispered. “This means so much more to me than you’ll ever know.” 

xxxxxxxxx

The orchestra worked through Vivaldi and Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, and Bach. The music swelled in a stunning crescendo, each piece a testimony to the player’s skill, the composer’s genius. Miradevi didn’t hesitate to give the pianist playing the Rachmaninoff Prelude in C sharp minor a standing ovation, a spotlight- bright grin lighting up her face. Ominis, for his part, had a difficult time keeping his focus on the music and not the woman beside him, her slender fingers twined with his. 

As the orchestra played their finale- the melody of Opus 20, Act 2 from Swan Lake- Mira was hypnotized. The echo of rising violins and trumpets sweeping into the iconic motif had her leaning forward in her seat, like the music would reach up and sweep her away. 

When the several rounds of applause died down, when the bows were taken and house lights glowed to life, Mira turned to Ominis with an expression nothing short of dazed. 

He did not stop hearing about how incredible the concert was, how wonderfully and brilliantly the musicians played until they had left the theater and reached the secluded apparition point hidden away in an alley. The wind blew colder around them, and Ominis slipped his jacket off, halting Mira’s impassioned ranting as he adjusted the suit around her shoulders.
“Oh- thank you, but you really don’t have to-“ she began, but Ominis waved her words off. 

“It’s frigid right now, and Hogwarts will be even colder. Speaking of which- take my arm, princess.” 

With a sharp crack, the alley was deserted once more. 

xxxxxxxxxx

The halls of the university were somewhat deserted. Mira had fallen a bit quieter as Ominis led he back towards the postgraduate student apartments, the air suddenly far too heavy. 

The weight of anticipation, of do or die reached a painful breaking point as Ominis stopped before her door, looking a little unsure of himself for the first time that evening.
“I’ll cherish this memory for an extremely long time,” Mira said, and he heard the earnestness in each syllable. “It was- well, magical. And thank you. I had a wonderful evening.”
“It is I who should be thanking you for your company, my princess,” Ominis said softly. “I- I look forward to.. doing something like this again.” 

Mira nodded, hope surging in her chest. Do it. Her brain screamed at her, only resulting in her taking a tiny half-step forwards.

“I’d love to.”
He was close, so close to her. She caught the scent of his expensive cologne, the sheen of the buttons on his white shirt. 

Do it. Say it, say something- 

His lashes fanned over his eyes as he tilted his head down at her, the electricity crackling between them unbearable. “We’ll do something like this again. Together.” Her voice was softer, just above a whisper. Her lashes fluttered slightly, nearly dropping closed- 

 

“We will. I- goodnight, your highness.” 

 

“…Goodnight, Ominis.” 

 

On slightly shaky legs, Ominis bowed, and turned away from Mira. The princess quickly slipped into her room and he felt like he’d bitten into a sour blackberry. Something had gotten twisted, something that could have gone differently- 

Upon walking into his own room, he barely noticed that Sebastian had decided to spend the evening there, his books sprawled over Ominis’ bed.

“How did it go?” Sebastian sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Did you two-?” 

Ominis blinked, still dazed, still standing in the doorway of his apartment with a hand on the knob.
“It was… incredible.” He said weakly. “I don’t know why I didn’t-“ 

Sebastian froze. “Why you didn’t… what?” 

Ominis’ gaze snapped up to lock onto his best friend’s. A hint of clarity clicked into focus- a little gleam of pure determination.

“Circe.” He cursed softly. “Wait here. Wait. I have to- I need to- take care of something.” 

Without waiting for a response, Ominis turned and made his way back the way he came, strides purposeful. 

Mira had followed a similar pattern of thinking. After staring at herself a bit incredulously in the mirror for being so close and backing out, she’d gathered her courage and rushed out of her room, navigating the familiar corridors to where Ominis’ room was. She turned a corner and- in the dim light of the sconces, saw Ominis clear the corner at the opposite end of the hall. 

“Ominis-” Miradevi breathed, intending to continue speaking. To try and tell him the tangle of thoughts and feelings gnarled together in her heart and mind-

but he was walking towards her like the gods themselves could not stop him.

“Mira.” His voice was low, almost rough. 

She quickened her pace, the tension swelling and snapping like the orchestra’s climax, and he could barely stand the few meters of distance between them- 

Ominis couldn’t take it anymore. He lifted the princess into his arms and kissed her.

 

Chapter 7: Crawl Home To Her

Ominis knew what it was like to drown. To fight and kick against a merciless current with a growing desperation to break free. He’d been fighting all his life, straining to finally catch that gleam of light far above him that promised freedom from the darkness below. 

As Mira melted against him and kissed him back, whispering his name, Ominis broke the surface. 

Finally, finally- he could breathe, there was the sunlight he’d been chasing, and now it was cupped in the palm of his hands. 

“Mira-“ his words were low, half-spoken between desperate kisses consumed by honey-sweet lips. “My Mira, my beloved-“ 

He felt the princess’s lips curl into a smile and tugged her closer. His hand tightened on the curve of her hip, the other tangling in her hair. It was soft, it was so soft, scented like the sun-drenched land she came from. Something like mangoes. 

Stop. 

His mind screamed at him to yank on his reins, to exert some sort of control over the situation that was careening desperately out of hand.

Enough. You cannot have this. You cannot want this, stop- 

“Ominis.” Her lips parted, her fingers tangling in his hair, and suddenly he was surrounded by her. Every sense drowning in the woman in his arms, in her jasmine scent, soft touches, and that lilt as his name fell from her lips like it was something precious. 

A desperate sound escaped his throat. 

Mira gasped, her feet suddenly losing the ground beneath them as Ominis swept her into his arms and the stone wall pressed against her back. She hissed softly, her legs tightening around his waist.

“Did I hurt you?” 

Ominis’ voice was rough, barely above a whisper, the barest thread of restraint hanging there. Her legs locked around him, the drape of her sari bunching up to expose an expanse of her slender limbs. 

“No. No, it was just- cold. Please, don’t stop-“ 

The thread snapped. 

“Mira.” His lips found her neck, dragging kissing over the pulse that thundered there, down to her bare collarbones adorned by jewelry that probably had its own security detail. “Say that again, tell me you don’t want me to stop, your highness-“

A wavering gasp of his name was all the confirmation he needed. It took a handful of seconds for his suit to be tugged off, crumpling on the stone floor. 

“Fuck-“ his voice shuddered. “How am I expected to handle someone like you, princess?”

His sentence came to an abrupt pause as another low sound escaped her throat. A sound that made his pulse jump and his lips catch hers again, seeking more, seeking everything. 

“Handle me?” Mira laughed softly in between the little gasps of air permitted between the searing kisses consuming her. “You couldn’t.” 

“Gods help me, I know.” Ominis pulled back slightly. Mira caught her breath, and tried to even out her racing heart and the shot of heat and need thundering through her body. But his unseeing gaze burning on her skin peeled apart every attempt at decorum and made her feel like the soft silks of her sari were nonexistent.

Ominis brushed his thumbs over her jawline, his touch more tentative than the desperation that had possessed him a few seconds ago. “I- I should not have-“ 

“Don’t give me that. Not now, not after kissing me within an inch of my life.” 

“You haunt me, princess.” Easing her down from having her against the wall, Ominis gently took her hands, brushing her knuckles, almost apologetic. “Every moment, every second of the past few months I’ve known you. Thoughts of you consume me, darling.” The nickname slipped, but he was too far gone to care about that now. “But I know I am not allowed-“ 

Something that felt a bit too much like embarrassment for her liking burnt at her ears. The murkiness of understanding relationships required a clear head, surely, and hers was still unfocused. His hands were still gripping his hips, the phantom sensation of his lips tiingling against hers.

 

“You’re concerned about… what this would mean. Generally.” 

“If you were an ordinary woman, my darling, I would not- I mean-“ Sighing in frustration, Ominsi raked his hand through his slicked-back blonde hair. “There is far too much scrutiny on-“ 

“I see. I understand.” The embarassment was becoming sick, weighted dissapointment. 

Heartbreak. 

Ominis frowned slightly, catching her tone. “I’m not sure you do.” 

“You don’t want the inevitable publicity, the scrutiny. I have far too many eyes on me, and that is attention you’d prefer not to have extended to you.” Despite having heard it before, it didn’t make it any easier to see another doomed relationship flounder and die on the rocks before actually setting sail. Loathe as she was to admit it, Ominis was one of the few- perhaps the only one who-

 

“Mon soleil, I am a Gaunt. Every move our family makes is lauded in the Daily Prophet, and the Wizarding world regales themselves with speculation on what greatness will come from us.” The bitterness in his voice grew heavier. No matter how much he needed her, no matter how much every cell in his body craved her presence like a plant to sunlight, he could not have her. “Scrutiny is something I have known all my life. My concern is that I have no right to you. I am not a prince.”

Ah.

This was more up Miradevi’s alley. This, she could work with. A tinkle of bangles gave away her crossing her arms, and Ominis frowned.

“What?” 

“You’re right.” Mira said easily. “You are not a prince. But these past few months- including what happened tonight- you do feel something for me?”

 

“Feel something for you?” Ominis picked his suit up off the floor, flicking his wand over it, purging off the dust. “To put it insultingly simply, yes.” He shrugged it back on. “Yes, Miradevi. I feel something for you.” 

Her presence drew closer, and he tilted his head in her direction at the soft click of her heels as she took two steps forward. Her palms came to rest against his chest, and he inhaled sharply.

“Mira-“

“And if I confessed the same? I would have thought my actions enough, but I am saying it. Verbally.” 

Ominis’ lashes fluttered shut, his head lowering to seek out the movement of her lips as she spoke. Intoxicating, the scent of honey sweetness with each word she spoke tugged him closer. “Say it. Say it-“ 

“Prince or not, I do not care. This isn’t the medieval era—you won’t get executed for daring to court royalty while not bearing a title yourself.” A hint of amusement saturated her voice, but it melted away with her next words.

“Tell me what sort of man you are, Ominis Gaunt. I am telling you- you have consumed my thoughts as well. You’re on my mind, always, and I cannot seem to stop wanting you. Will you act from a misguided sense of duty and give me up for someone more worthy- deemed entirely by their title- to take me instead?” 

The words were barely out of her mouth before his lips crashed against hers again.

“Never.” He managed to hiss. An almost vindictive satisfaction burned in his veins as the princess melted against him, a soft whimper driving him half to madness. “I should, I should step aside and let you make a connection with some… royal who will strengthen your kingdom.”

“But you won’t-?” 

“I cannot say what I’d do to someone who tried to stand between you and I, your highness.” 

He shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have verbalized what was essentially a threat to some hypothetical suitor of which there had surely been a few. But Ominis was so far past caring. He’d pined after her for months, and if she was asking a question, who was he to give a dishonest answer? 

Miradevi made a soft, satisfied sound. Though it took every ounce of self-control, she pulled away.

“… Your highness?” 

“It’s quite late.” Mira let her gaze rake over Ominis. His kiss-swollen lips, his disheveled hair- the crisp formalwear he was still adorned in from their night at the Royal Albert Hall. “And I have a few letters to write.” Gathering her sari and pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, Mira waited till she was about to head down the stretch of the corridor before casting her parting words over her shoulder. “My father needs to know about the future prince consort, after all.” 

She laughed at Ominis’ sputter of either surprise or mild shock. The sound echoed as she set off at a run, her heart beginning to pound as the events of the entire evening finally began to settle and process.

“Shubh ratri, Ominis!” 

The heir of Slytherin felt a grin curl across his face at the sound of her heels and the swish-swish of her sari around her ankles. 

“Fais de beaux rêves, ma chérie.” He returned as she turned a corner. Ominis stood there a moment more, his head swimming.

“…Rêve de moi.”

Chapter 8: Eat Your Young

Spring sunlight bloomed into the Great Hall, warming the winter-weary flagstones. The chatter of students, of the university rousing to life after a long weekend, echoed against the high walls, up to the enchanted ceiling. A cornflower blue sky stretched above them, wisps of clouds drifting past. 

A shame, then, that despite the balmy weather, Sebastian’s breakfast was being utterly ruined. 

“One would think I’ve suffered enough- yet I have to watch you two be sickening.” Sebastian relished in the way his words made Ominis snap his head up from whatever he’d been murmuring in the princess’s ear, his own going rather red. 

“Is this going to be permanent?” The brown haired wizard gave a sickly sweet grin. “Because I’m kicking myself for suggesting that Ominis snog you last night-“

“Sebastian, I’m eternally grateful for your ham-fisted advice.” Ominis tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice and focus on the laughter Mira was trying and failing to suppress. “And I am so very sorry that our courtship displeases you.”



“Apology not accepted.” 

Ominis pressed a hand to his heart with an expression of such incredibly feigned hurt that Mira almost reached out to comfort him. “I’m crushed. Debilitated. How will I survive without your approval- oh, you absolute neanderthal.” 

Wrinkling his nose and casting a quick spell, Ominis cleaned off the spoonful of milk and cereal that had been flicked his way as Mira dissolved into a peal of laughter. 

Satisfied at successfully peeving off his best friend, Sebastian turned to Miradevi. 

“Been to Hogsmead yet, princess?” His brown eyes shone slightly with mischief, but the dark shadows beneath them gave away his late nights and restless days. 

“No, unfortunately. Balancing academics and the duties I bear has guzzled my free time like a black hole. Why? Am I missing out?”

“Ominis, this is a disgraceful beginning to a courtship. You’ve been swooning after our little princess for months, and you’ve not taken her to Hogsmead yet?” Sebastian clicked his tongue, and Miradevi happily joined the bandwagon.


“How could you?” She leaned easily against Ominis’ arm, batting her lashes although the effect was useless. “You're depriving me of the authentic Hogwarts romance experience.” 

Merlin. Ominis tried to fight down the hot flush on the back of his neck, but it had been a while since he’d had romantic attachments, and this was the very definition of uncharted waters. He tried to keep his tone stern, floundered, and failed miserably as the princess traced her fingers over his palms. 

He turned to Mira, gently running his hand along her braided hair. 

“You deserved better on our first. date. But Hogsmead is, indeed, a tradition I must oblige.” Ominis tilted his head before his fingertips ran over the shell of Mira’s ear. “You’re radiating heat, princess.” He held down a laugh at the little sound of reproach from her. “Are we a tad flustered?” 

“We are not.” Miradevi’s playfully scathing retort died away as the doors to the Great Hall shuddered open. 

The conversation around them died down as a few sets of footsteps- crisp, purposeful- echoed on the flagstones. Miradevi turned, and it was due to her years of court training that she didn’t instantly roll her eyes. A headache on two legs was walking towards her, chin lifted in his classic pompous manner, flanked by an auror who also looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“What is it?” Ominis leaned closer to her, brows drawing together at the hush in the Great Hall and the telltale shift in her posture. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, nothing. Just something long and tedious I’d rather not be dealing with at breakfast. What is he doing here?”

Christoph Franz, Secretary of International Affairs, seemed to have missed the memo that the Tudor days were long gone. Old-fashioned in more ways than his dressing style, the man’s sense of self-importance was exacerbated by the frills and ruffs draping his clothes—everything hued in a strangely garish purple. 

“Your Royal Highness. It is an honor.” 

A plumed feather on his cap bobbed as he approached Mira and bowed deeply. Ominis smacked Sebastian on the back as the other man choked on his orange juice, and Mira thought it a great testament to her discipline that she did not burst into laughter. 

Pulling herself together, the princess stood and folded her palms, trying to ignore the sounds of Ominis reproaching his remorseless best friend. 

“Namaste, Mister Secretary. This is a welcome surprise- to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“The wizengamot requests your presence in a few days to witness the passing of the Purity Act, your highness.” Franz gestured at the auror standing impassively at his side, who stepped forward with a cream envelope in hand. Miradevi took it, her previous amusement dissolving slightly. Ominis stiffened slightly, recognizing the name. 

“The passing?” Miradevi’s tone was deceptively light as she flicked open the envelope and scanned it. “You seem confident, Mr. Secretary.” 

Franz smiled tightly, the feather futtering in indigantion as he nodded. “I have my hopes, your royal highness. Besides, the Act shall pass. Projections are anticipating a near- unanimous verdict.” 

“Mm. Well, I’m honored to witness such a historic moment in British history.” Mira smiled, and Ominis heard the lilt of mischief in her tone that usually spelled trouble. “I wasn’t aware the Ministry of Magic would make such a fuss about taking a decidedly monumental step backwards.” 

If the Great Hall was quiet before, a pin could have fallen and made a noise loud enough to echo along the walls. 

Ominis straightened and stood, unsure about what exact emotion was choking his lungs. But he couldn’t focus on that; what he did have to focus on was the frigidity in the room and getting rid of it, quick. 

“Mr. Secretary.” He cut in smoothly, and the air seemed to relax. “It has been too long, sir.” 

“Mr. Gaunt.” There was a degree of relief in the older man’s voice. “I didn’t realize you were here. My apologies-“ he shot a look at Mira, who offered a little grin in return. “I was just here to deliver a message. I trust I will see you on Wednesday as well?”


“Of course, sir.” Ominis shifted, standing closer to Miradevi. Whatever the Secretary spoke next was lost. Mira’s usual jasmine scent was replaced today with something rich, something sweet- rose oil, perhaps- a hint of incense hanging around her. He could feel her shoulder brush his, electricity sparking up his spine.

Pulling her closer and kissing that little attitude from her lips in front of a government official and the entirety of the Great Hall was a wonderful idea in theory, but he managed to reign himself in just to catch the tail end of the conversation.


“Well. I will see you in a few days, Mr. Gaunt.” Christoph turned to Mira and bowed, but she caught the disdain in his gaze. “Your Highness.” 

Escorted from the Hall by the stern-faced Auror, Mira watched as Christoph Franz swept off. Ominis managed to hold himself in as breakfast was quickly finished up, but his restraint snapped as the three of them missed a moving staircase, guaranteeing a ten-minute wait till the next one rolled into place. Ignoring Sebastian’s groan of annoyance, Ominis turned to Mira. 


“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” The princess had a carefree streak- he knew that and adored it. But something close to anger was bubbling up inside him- this wasn’t like their mock debates, their heated discussions about hypotheticals. “The Ministry already has a target the size of a Graphorn on you- are you trying to make it worse?” 

“I don’t feel too concerned about it,” Mira replied airily, the lack of concern in her tone doing nothing but dialing up his anger. “If they think they can back me into a corner, I can vocalize my displeasure.” 

Sebastian chose that moment to cut in, turning away from the staircases and leaning against a wall. “Back you into a corner?” He echoed. “Inviting you to a Wizengamot meeting didn’t sound like that big a deal to me.” 

“It’s because they know the Purity Act is going to pass,” Ominis said tightly, not turning to face Sebastian. “It’s a political show of force by inviting Mira to be there. Posturing the might of the British pureblood families by having her witness them voting away the rights of muggleborns.” 

“So you understand why I had to throw in a little jab. If they want to play games-“ 

“They’re not playing games, your highness.” Ominis hissed. “This is them showing you your place and letting you and every other muggleborn know that the power still lies in pureblood ideals.” 

Miradevi laughed, much to his chagrin. “You are so very lucky that I am ridiculously attracted to you, Ominis.” Her voice took on a sugar-sweet tone. “I would not be so lenient with anyone else who had the audacity to speak with me in such a manner.” 

“I’m flattered.” He tried to keep the cold tone in his voice, but failed. Despite the warning in the princess’s words, he felt strangely pleased. She was dangerous, not in her veiled threats, but by how easily she disarmed him. “My point still stands. You know they’re trying to show you who’s in charge, princess. Why stir the cauldron?” 

“Because I am not in the habit of being disrespected and intimidated.” Mira wrinkled her nose as if affronted by the very idea. “Especially not by a gaggle of pompous aristocrats that seem so desperate to cling to their outdated ideals that they will slash their own progress to do it.” 

“What I don’t understand is why you two seem so sure that the Purity Act will pass.” Sebastian cut in again, prompting Mira and Ominis to turn to him. 

“The Wizengamot is stacked with pureblood families, and any dissenting voices are either cut out or silenced. I’m fairly certain it’ll pass.” Mira pointed out. “There’s no way it doesn’t.” 

“Ah, the joy of educating the upper class.” Sebastian grinned. “You two don’t know what’s happening on the ground level with us peasants. The tides are shifting, and people are not happy with the current state of things.” A laugh bubbled out of him at the mirrored reaction from the princess and the parselmouth as both leaned forward almost in sync, eyes wide with interest. The next staircase came and scraped by, shifting merrily away again. 

Clearly, some wisdom needed to be imparted. While Ominis and Miradevi both were aligned with speaking up for the common crowd, it was easy to get lost in the echelons of the upper class, given their positions in society. But Sebastian knew the murmured conversations of the people- the whispers that grew louder each passing day. 

He took their hands, tugging them along a corridor behind a stone wall. It was one of the more secluded corners of Hogwarts- no portraits lined the walls, no students romping up and down. Sebastian leaned forward, tone taking on a conspiratorial edge. “You two are stuck in an echo chamber and aren’t hearing what the people are talking about. They’re sick of the current system, even the pureblood families. Last year, after the Fair Tax system was passed-“

“Wait, I’m sorry- the Fair Tax?” Mira raised a hand. “Never heard of it.” 

“I’m not surprised. It’s one of Minister Spavin’s worst failures.” Ominis said. “The Ministry saw the financial progress of new businesses popping up, and you’d think that was a good thing.. but it threatened the Sacred 28 and their business practices. So, he introduced the Fair Tax system. Increased taxes on new businesses- which was also a blow to muggleborns because they were the ones creating those businesses.” 

Mira sucked in a sharp breath. “The idiot. What happened?” 

“The economy tanked.” Sebastian crossed his arms. “The Ministry overestimated the amount of money contributed by the Sacred 28 and single-handedly decimated a budding market. People were pissed. Purebloods, halfbloods- everyone was hopping mad except the Sacred 28. The Fair Tax went up in the Wizengamot and got voted out.” 

Mira was silent for a long moment, considering. There had been a dip in trade between the Surya empire and Britain last year. “That doesn’t mean sentiment towards muggleborns has changed enough for the Purity Act not to pass. People were upset about losing their profits, not-“ 

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. The general sentiment is changing- people care less and less about subjugating muggleborns and more about boosting the economy and focusing on innovation and progress. Yes, it’s mostly purebloods voting on the Purity Act, but not all of those purebloods are Sacred 28. It might not pass.” 

Ominis felt Miradevi slide her hand into his, her fingers curling around his palm. He squeezed back, reeling slightly. “That’s-“ he began, breathless. “I can’t imagine-“ 

“Secretary Franz doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Purebloods on the voting committee have been keeping it quiet, and everyone in the upper classes thinks the vote will go their way. They’re wrong.” Sebastian grinned and winked at Mira.

“Enjoy the proceedings on Wednesday.” 

Chapter 9: No Grave Can Hold Me Down

The wizarding world is holding its breath as a historic vote poised to take place on Wednesday the 13th draws closer. Years in the making and one of the most divisive laws aiming to be passed in recent years, the Purity Act (in minister Spavin’s words) will ‘strengthen the foundations’ of Wizarding Britain- a stunning move to place power back in the hands of the people and ensure national security. Most are viewing the Act as the deeply necessary measure that it is. However, dissent comes from the muggleborn and nonhuman communitites, citing the Act’s language as ‘discriminatory’ and ‘harmful.’ Serenity Hawkins, leader of MAJIC- the Muggleborn Action for Justice and Integration Consortium- tiraded against the Act, stating that it was ‘a shameful attempt at subjugating muggleborns and keeping power in the hands of pureblood families.’ Mrs. Hawkins and her sympathies for werewolf extremist groups are listed on page 5. 

However, not all muggleborns seem to share that view. 

Her Royal Highness, Princess Miradevi Lakshmi, is set to attend the vote, further solidifying a rapidly flourishing relationship between the Surya empire and Wizarding Britain. It is an honor to have the princess bear witness to the might of the Ministry, and we at the Daily Prophet hope she finds this an enlightening experience. 

xxxxxxxx

“...Mira?” 

Ominis Gaunt was not in the habit of being unsettled. Through twenty-six gruelling years, he’d endured cruelty from his family, excessive scrutiny from the oligarchic sadists his family liked to call friends, and a good deal of things besides. Fortifying himself with the comfort of his scathing glare and don’t-touch-me-I’ll-bite edge to his words, he’d learned to maintain a spine of iron. 

But the princess was pacing up and down the Undercroft, Daily Prophet in hand, strangely quiet. Blessed with the ability to assess when to shut up and let someone get their frustrations out, Ominis fell silent. 

Sebastian, on the other hand, did not possess such restraint. Whistling softly, he leaned back against a stack of crates, twirling his wand between his fingers. 

“Not all muggleborns seem to share that view.” He singsonged the quote, and Mira whipped her head around, a glint in her honey- brown eyes. 

“Franz.”

Ominis had to hand it to her- there was grace in her anger, a cold sophistication in the way she snapped the Secretary’s name.  He leaned back, following Sebastian’s posture. In the months he’d gotten to know the princess, her anger was rare to incur and easily extinguished. But this was different. This was something sharp-edged, and he saw the hint of ruthlessness that was demanded of a royal responsible for tens of thousands of people. There was something strangely addicting about it- an insistent tug into deeper waters as her tone grew colder. Unforgiving. 

“That airheaded dolt managed to gather up a teaspoon’s worth of grey matter in that thick skull of his.” Miradevi scanned the article again. “Of course, that’s why they invited me- they want a show of approval.” 

Ominis took the paper from her- and yes, perhaps he deliberately allowed his hands to brush against hers. In the handful of days that had passed since he’d taken her to Royal Albert Hall and- kissed her, he found himself loathe to have her hands not grasped in his. “You can demand a retraction,” he offered- a suggestion promptly shut down by Mira’s scoff of indignation. 

“It’s too late for that. Anybody who has read the article has drawn an incorrect conclusion that I- and by extension, the Suryan throne- are putting our weight behind the Act. We are not.” 

“You could make a statement at the vote itself.” Sebastian offered. “Before it takes place, I’m sure the Daily Prophet will hound you for a comment. You can tell them to bugger off and that you don’t appreciate what the Purity Act stands for. In more… regal terms, of course.” 

Miradevi nodded, half listening. Being backed into corners and made to look like a pawn of a foreign government was a hefty grievance in her book. If the Ministry thought they could finesse her into being a political tool, they were sorely mistaken. But biding her time was the only move she could make, waiting to say something to the press in person rather than scrambling for damage control and making things worse. 

She shivered slightly, a rush of cold interrupting her train of thought. It had rained an unusual amount in the last few days, leaving the university grounds in a haze of frigid air and cold winds. The Undercroft was a welcome haven, and she had been heartily flustered when Ominis had led her down into the underground rooms late one night. But now, a chill had settled into the stones that not even the crackling fireplace could keep away. It was the only source of warmth in any case, and the princess gravitated towards it with a sigh of relief.

“We can do better than that, yes?” She knelt down before the crackling fire and reached a hand out, drawing heat and energy together. With a snap of her mehendi-patterned fingers and a blast of heat, the fire burned brighter, hotter. “There we go.” 

“Cold?” Ominis left Sebastian by the crates to bend down at her side, settling on his haunches. “You could try wearing warmer clothes, your highness. This material- lovely as it is-“ 

“Looks take precedence over comfort, I’m afraid.” Not looking away from the flames, Mira leaned closer to him, feeling the brush of his suit against her skin. “And let me assure you, I do look incredible right now.”

In a manner that was becoming increasingly common, Ominis found himself laughing softly at the feigned haughtiness in her words and the kernel of truth in them. “I don’t doubt it. You’re beautiful, Mira.” 

The lull of flustered silence on her part was broken by Sebastian loudly- and a tad too gleefully- mentioning that he had places to be. The rattle of the gate gave away his hasty retreat, which Ominis, for one, wasn’t displeased by. In any case, there was a conversation he needed to have with the princess that was a few days overdue. He knew she was looking away from him, probably still staring determinedly at the fire. He shifted closer, dragonhide shoes clicking against the cold floor. “We haven’t.. discussed what happened a few nights ago.” He spoke up, quiet, as the flames crackled away cheerfully.

“When we kissed?” Miradevi asked, and he heard that blessed, teasing lilt in her tone. “Do you mean when you took me to Royal Albert Hall and then kissed me, Ominis? Is that what you are referring to?” 

“Sweet Circe, woman.” Ominis turned away but was instantly halted by a gentle hand gripping his wrist. “Yes, Mira. That is precisely what I am talking about.” 

“What is there to discuss? I quite like you, you know. You need not fret over unrequited feelings.” 

Ominis laughed, surprised again at the candor in her words, the easygoing manner in which she spoke. “Believe me, princess. Your.. affection for me was never in doubt.”

“Humble, aren’t we?” 

“Or perhaps you’re merely painfully obvious?” 

“Painfully obvious? You know, perhaps I’m not that attracted to you after all- it is Spring, and I tend to get into delusional, romantic moods, so perhaps this is just a passing fancy-“ 

“Oh, alright.” Ominis caught her wrist as Mira turned away with a playful huff, tugging her back to him. “That is enough.” She pressed against his chest, her head coming to rest beneath his chin as his arms wound around her hips.

“Terror.”

His gentle admonishment was too low, his voice too rough. She fit so beautifully in his arms- each dip and curve slotting against him, her jewelry and precious stone- studded crown cold and smooth against his exposed skin. Every small detail reminded him that he did not hold an ordinary woman in his embrace. “There are… complications with this relationship, surely you acknowledge that.” 

He didn’t know why he said that- perhaps it was a test. Because no matter the obstacles in his path, Ominis Gaunt had never been the type to back down and stand aside. Least of all when it came to her. He’d take any complication that barred his path to her and tear it apart with his bare hands but for some reason, he needed to hear it from her, too. He needed to hear that she’d not let anything as mundane as complexities keep her from him. 

“You Britishers certainly love the idea of suffering.” 

“… One day you will say something that does not entirely throw me off balance, your highness. Please elaborate on what you mean by that.” 

Mira paused for a moment, considering. Unthinking, she leaned back further against him, eliciting a tighter grip on her hips- and a featherlight brush of his lips against her ear. “I mean, you feel as though you must suffer to be happy. That peace will only come once you earn it through great strife. While I can entirely acknowledge that I’m speaking through a silver spoon in my mouth, you should know that you’re allowed to be happy without struggling for it.” 

“You’re saying I do not have to earn your affections through trials and hardship, then?” Ominis tried not to sound too shaken by her words, opting for a tease. “I do not need to duel princely suitors or pass fearsome trials set by your father to win your hand in courtship?”

Miradevi gave a dry little laugh, prompting Ominis to kiss her more insistently, dipping below her ear down to her jawline. “You’re allowed to have things be easy for you, Ominis. You’re allowed to feel joy without guilt.” 

He paused his ministrations. While the princess’s words did burrow in deep somewhere, into cracks that had split his heart a long time ago and settled there, hesitance still remained. The lessons he’d been taught throughout his life were dealt with something far from kindness, and there was a pain that remained in poking at the seeping wounds left behind. “You make me feel… good.” He managed. “And I’m not sure if I am worthy of it.” 

“Nonsense,” Mira replied, her tone breezier. “I mean- yes, I am a treasure not easily won or deserved by common mortal men, but for you? I’m winking, just so you know- I’d make an exception.” Her tone softened. “I think… I think we could be happy. I’m willing to try, complications or not.” The words were barely out of her mouth before a surprised yelp escaped her lips, and her foot pivoted, sari flaring around her as Ominis spun her around so that she faced him. 

“Complications or not?” He repeated, lower.

“…yes.” Mira tilted her face up, taking in the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brows. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles like that.” 

“Oh, the horror.” Ominis brushed his lips against hers and wasted no time in kissing her again and again, relishing the way she melted in his grip. “Wrinkles.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Professor Ronen scanned the papers before him, the hastily scribbled notes. Nodding in approval, he lifted his gaze. 

“This will prove a useful experience for your thesis, your highness. You have made preparations for notetakers?” 

He wasn’t entirely surprised when the princess shook her head. She was the enterprising sort and willing to take on responsibilities others of her position would scoff at.

“I’d recommend you do.” He offered, before raising a hand to cut off her protest. “Your highness, your focus should be on the vote itself. I admire your initiative, but if you have tools available, you must take advantage of them. I will arrange for excellent notetakers from the Ministry, and you can devote your focus to the proceedings.” 

Miradevi considered his words. While it did feel grating to get by with a number of privileges other students were not given, other students were not responsible for a kingdom. She did have to focus on the proceedings and could not lose precious intel by being wrapped up in an assignment for her degree. 

“I understand, professor. Thank you.” 

“Of course, your highness.” Professor Ronen smiled, walking around to his desk and beginning to write a letter. “It is the first time one of my students will be witnessing such a vote. Do tell us how it goes- and, princess-“ his smile fell slightly. “Do be careful.” His voice lowered, and Mira leaned closer, frowning. 

“Sir?” 

“There are wolves hiding in plain sight, princess. A vote as dangerous as this one will not go quietly, no matter the outcome.” 

Of course. It was a politically fraught situation, and the noise around it had only heightened. The article in the Daily Prophet had not helped matters- back in India, the palace was sending out statements left, right, and center that the princess’s presence was a sign of diplomatic relations, not one of approval. 

“Yes, professor. There will be extremely tight security, I am told.” Miradevi tilted her head, watching the thought blur in her professor’s sharp gaze. “Was there.. something else, sir?” 

“I understand mister Gaunt will be accompanying you?” His voice was carefully light, and Miradevi felt her ears burn. He caught it and waved a hand. “I only ask- well, I know you two have been quite close since you transferred here, princess. And it would be good to stay at his side. While no one sane would incur the wrath of the Suryas, being seen at Ominis Gaunts’ side will do you favors.” 

“Because he is pureblooded, sir?” 

“You expect me to deny it- but yes, princess. Because he is pureblood. You must understand that the hatred of the Sacred 28 towards muggles- and by extension, muggleborns like yourself- is only barely balanced by their loyalty to power.” He cast a significant look at her. “Yes?” 

Miradevi nodded. “Yes, professor.” 

“Good. I’ll see about a notetaker- and I expect a good synthesis of what you learned at that vote!” A hint of levity returned to his tone. “Royal or not, you are not exempt from my assignments, your highness.” 

Cracking a grin, Mira nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of it, professor. Thank you for the advice.” 

xxxxxxxxxx

Draped in ceremonial robes of deep, royal purple, the wide atrium was lined with aurors. Stoic and staring straight ahead, wands holstered at their sides with their arms held firmly behind their backs, the Ministry’s finest parted in two neat rows. The Ministry of Magic was ordinarily a hub of activity- but this was different. Beyond the ministry walls, the Wizarding world watched with bated breath. Protests had begun to break out, quickly dealt with hushed orders of counter measures- violent or not. Normally a flurry of activity with every employee from the custodial house elves to the senators, the atrium was somber, the columns of glass windows of the offices dark. Interrupted only by the soft rush of water from the fountain in the middle of the atrium, hushed murmurs echoed along the high arches of the dark green marbled walls. 

With a crackle of fire and a sudden snap to attention, a handful of people materialized from the emerald green floo flames. 

The grizzled head of the British office of Law Enforcement strode forward, wand in hand. His salt-and-pepper hair, coupled with the pale white scars lacing over his hands and disappearing under a crisp suit, gave credence to the stories of his prowess in the field. Two aurors continued behind him, eyes fixed sharply forward. 

At his side was the princess of the Surya empire. 

Her Royal Highness lifted her chin slightly as bulbs flashed and popped around her. Draped in a pale green sari bordered with silver embroidery, bangles stacked on her wrists, and her crown sitting in raven-black hair, the princess walked forward. Every movement would be dissected, every expression analyzed and discussed by new outlets fancying themselves politicians. And she had to play the game carefully. 

Lavinia Skeeter brushed down her vivid pink skirt, settling starched blonde hair. No matter the outcome of today’s events, she’d get a good story out of it. She turned to a slab of glass that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a full-length mirror. Lavinia’s ears perked as she heard the crackle of flames, and she quickly drew her wand. She nodded at the rather hassled-looking wizard standing by the mirror, who gestured. The mirror flickered like liquid mercury, rippling as the magic woven through it sparked to life. 

And the global broadcast of the vote on the Purity Act began. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

“Your Royal Highness.” 

“Minister Spavin.” 

The man in question bowed low at the waist, and Mira returned the gesture with an incline of her head. He straightened, and Miradevi did not need to look hard to see that he may have carried the title of Minister but was a puppet if she ever saw one. No, her money was on the tall man with almost silvery blonde hair who stood beside him, looking at her with ice-blue eyes. After what felt like an age of posturing and being shown around the Ministry before the broadcasting mirrors and photographers from the Prophet, the Voting Hall was just down a narrow corridor. The press was not permitted entry, and they clustered at the mouth of the corridor to get last-minute photos.

“It is an honor to have you here, Princess.” Spavin shifted slightly, posing for the cameras in a manner just short of obvious. “It is a historic time for British wizarding society-“ 

A historic time. Mira wished people would stop saying that, making the Purity Act sound like it was some great feat rather than what it truly was- a slap in the face to the nations’ muggleborn majority. The tall, pale man sporting a pointed face and an expression that screamed assumed superiority at the Minister’s side must have caught her look, choosing that moment to speak up. 

“Princess.” His voice was saccharine, cloying in a manner that only a trained ear would pick up the underlying hostility. “Zyraxes Malfoy, at your service. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. This is my son, Felix.” 

A carbon copy of Zyraxes Malfoy, outfitted in a sharp suit and a sharper smile, stepped forward. The only difference was in the eye color- his were a vivid, deep green. “Princess.” His tone was similarly syrupy, and Mira raised a brow as Felix Malfoy threw protocol under his boot and crushed it by taking her hand and brushing his lips over her fingers.

Only one man greeted her in that manner, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it coming from anyone else. “Felix. I believe we go to university together.” Mira kept her tone friendly, her words concise. Spurring of any nobility or delegates would be seen as an insult, and over-enthusiasm would further feed into the narrative that she was a pureblood sympathizer. 

“Indeed we do, your highness. If I may be so bold-“ Felix raked his gaze over her, dark green eyes catching on the sweep of her lashes, her cherry- red lips. “You are a vision.” 

The flashing bulbs kicked up a notch, and Mira gave Felix a tight smile. “You flatter me, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“Dispense of the formalities, your highness.” His tone was charming, and if Mira didn’t know better and was a naive little fool, she could almost believe there was an iota of something genuine in his eyes. “Please, just Felix is fine. May I escort you to the Voting Hall?” 

“Pardon the interruption.” An aristocratic voice just barely suppressing a swell of irritation spoke up. “That honor would be mine, I believe.” 

Miradevi turned as murmurs broke out amongst the gathered press and dignitaries. She almost called Ominis’ name, almost rushed over to him with a grin- but she held back. He stood tall, as if he owned every last inch of the building he stood in. A suit and vest ensemble hugged his frame, black dress shoes polished to perfection. Miradevi caught a small splash of color in the canvas of light- draining black he was dressed in. A pocket square. Her pocket square that she had picked out for him. Pale blue, and a perfect match with his eyes. 

“My lord.”

“Lord Gaunt.” 

His title swept over the crowd like a breeze as they parted, letting him walk over to her. The plush carpet muffled his footsteps, the red pulse of light from his wand illuminating his high cheekbones, casting his ordinarily blue eyes with a tinge of deep maroon. Felix Malfoy squared his shoulders and lifted his chin slightly. 

“My lord.” It sounded as though the words were painful for him to speak, but he spoke them anyway, much to Ominis’s secret delight. 

“Malfoy.” Ominis looked at Malfoy Senior and gave a respectful nod. “Sir.” 

“Ominis.” Zyraxes returned a cold smile. “Good to see you here. I assume Lestrange is skulking about somewhere- I should go find him; the vote shall start soon.” 

Miradevi turned to Ominis as the Malfoy patriarch walked away, heading towards the tall, ornate double doors at the end of the hallway. “You’re here.” It didn’t matter that Felix was watching them carefully, that Ominis’ soft smile in her direction was being broadcast internationally. Her true meaning went unspoken, but Ominis lived and died by his intuition. You came to me. 

“I am.” Ominis took her hands. I always will. “You didn’t doubt that, surely?” 

“Of course not.” Mira linked her arm with his, feeling significantly lighter. Ominis was here, and things would be right. Sebastian’s words ran in circles like a hamster on a wheel in her mind- The vote might not pass. People are angry. They don’t want it. It might not pass. 

“Shall we?” Ominis placed a hand on her wrist, brushing her bangles together. He didn’t dare make too bold a move, no matter how badly he wanted to sweep her into a searing kiss right there.

“We shall.” 

He nodded, tucked her closer to his side, and headed down the corridor towards the hall as the cameras clicked and flashed behind them. 

xxxxxxxxx

A high, marbled dome ceiling rose above semicircles of seats curling around a central podium. The Voting Hall was all Intricate pillars, plush velvet carpets, and handcarved mahogany furniture. Pale sunlight filtered through stained glass windows depicting scenes of wizened wizards assisting hapless muggles, and most of the seats had been filled by the upper echelons of wizarding society. Miradevi was good at recognizing wealth and power, given that she had grown up with it. And Sebastian was right- while noble pureblood families certainly seemed deadset on voting for the act, quite a few of the assembled witches and wizards were blank, not betraying anything. She exhaled, keeping her breathing even. A spark of real hope flared to life, glowing like a dim ember. 

The notetaker sitting at her side, courtesy of Professor Ronen, was a lanky, nervous-looking fellow; all freckles and mousy brown hair, large glasses not doing anything to help his wide-eyed gaze. Ominis sat on the other end of the curve. He was lost in thought, Mira could tell. His back was ramrod straight, shoulders drawn back as the minister entered and took a seat at the podium. Her notetakers’ quill slipped, falling with a soft clink, and Mira quickly scooped it up amidst the poor boys’ hasty, whispered apologies. 

“The first time I attended a court meeting back home, I was ten years old,” Mira whispered. He looked dead set on fainting away. “I was petrified. You’re doing wonderfully, trust me. I’m not going to bite, I promise.” 

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.” His voice was reedy, a tad nasally, but there was kindness bright in his soft hazel eyes. 

“Tell me your name.” She grinned, keeping the quill between her fingers. “And you must stop this ‘your highness’ business and call me Mira, or I shan’t return this.” 

He blushed, a hot flush spreading across freckled cheeks. “Leroy LaRue, your hi- Mira.” He shivered slightly. “Leroy.” 

“I’m Miradevi. And I’m just a graduate student who needs this very boring meeting to be documented by someone far better than me at taking notes. That’s all I am, Leroy.” Mira handed back the quill, and the young man laughed softly. 

“Of course, Mira.” He readied his blank sheets of paper, falling silent as Minister Spavin began to speak. “Thank you.” 

Between the speeches from a handful of dignitaries and senators, Mira darted glances at Ominis. He occasionally leaned forward, frowning, listening to each veiled word and its poisoned undertones. The sheer amount of fearmongering toward muggle-borns and nonhuman magic beings was ridiculous. 

The language was extreme, the statistics being touted cherry-picked and arbitrary. 

“I see why they don’t allow press in here,” Mira whispered to Leroy, who already had ink stains on his fingers and a smudge on his nose. “If anyone knew this was how they spoke about the majority of the nation-“ 

“We know,” Leroy muttered. “We are well aware how they view us, whether the Daily Prophet is allowed into the conversations or not.” 

“You’re muggleborn too?” Mira turned to Leroy, brows raised. 

“Mmhm. Barely any magic in my family. Had to work ten times as hard as anyone, and-“ 

“If the House can settle, the vote shall begin.” The minister’s voice cut in, and a hush fell over the room. This time, when Mira glanced up at Ominis, he turned slightly. Her breath caught as he inclined his head like he was listening to her speak, like he was trying to find her voice in a choir. But then the voting began. 

Each wizard and witch raised their wands, the tip illuminated either a forest green for a yes on passing the Purity Act or dark red for no. Miradevi watched carefully as wands went into the air, unable to vote herself, given that she wasn’t a citizen. The walls of the Hall began to be washed with color. The Malfoys voted yes- Every member of the Sacred 28 voted yes. But- 

Her heart leapt, and she reached out to grip Leroy’s hand, guiding him to look up. There was a significant amount of red in the room. “Sebastian was right.” She whispered, eyes wide. “He was- it might not pass, Leroy-“ Her gaze was pulled to Ominis again. His wand was held almost lazily in the air, and this time, the red light at the tip wasn’t from the constant pulsing spell he maintained. 

It was a vote no. 

He turned slowly, and she knew he could sense her eyes on him. A thousand words sat on her tongue, none of which she could voice. 

A low murmur began to rise from the assembly. 

Minister Spavin was muttering with two wizards at his side, draped in dusk-blue robes, his eyes darting over the combative sea of green and red. Miradevi bounced her foot against the floor, resting an elbow on the table, resisting the urge to chew her nails. The very air grew tight, tension drawing taut and sharp as she trained her senses around her. The shifting of the assembly, the tense set of Zyraxes Malfoy’s shoulders in the front row. 

A clatter of wood echoed in the chamber as the table she was leaning against gave a rattle, shaking beneath her. Mira halted her bouncing foot, slightly embarrassed. She hadn’t been moving that much, but it had made a racket. 

However, as eyes turned to face her, confusion adding to the mounting heaviness in the air- she frowned. 

The table was still rattling, despite her being perfectly still. At her side, Leroy gathered up his notes, looking around. 

“What’s going-“ he began, concern saturating his voice. A sharp, unnatural rumble like some ancient, agitated beast echoed in the hall, and a low, deadly hiss abruptly cut him off. Around the Hall, people were standing, murmurs rising like a cloud of locusts. 

“Order!” Minister Spavin banged a gavel, but the sound was drowned out. “I demand order in this assembly-“ 

Mira stood, something purely primal prickling at the base of her neck. She turned and saw Ominis standing as well, wand drawn. An instinct, powerful and refusing to ignored, demanded she go to him and be at his side. She needed to take Leroy and get to Ominis. His eyes were blazing, somehow fixed almost entirely on her as the voices grew louder. Some demanded a recount, some moved towards the exit as the strange hiss and rattle grew louder. 

“Mira-“

The princess heard his voice over the crowd, the low baritone, the aristocratic lilt. She’d hear it and know it anywhere. Mira turned and gestured for Leroy to follow her. “Forget the notes. We need to get out. Something’s wrong, something- I’m not sure, but we need to leave.” 

Leroy nodded, glasses slipping down his nose. “Yes, princess.” He looked at her, and Miradevi knew the trust in his gaze was reserved for leaders. So she had to lead. 

“Let’s-“ 

Her words were cut off by an earsplittingly loud noise, so loud that she barely had a handful of seconds to react. The sound echoed in the chamber, like the sky falling or the earth being ripped apart. She had half a second to turn, her eyes wide, barely able to cry out as her gaze locked onto Ominis. 

A cacophony of panic, a half second of terror was all she could register as the voices rose into a fevered, terrified chorus of yells.

Ominis was pushing through the crowd, frantic, a desperate scream of her name rising over the chaos. "MIRA! MIR-!"

There was a flash of blinding light, a blast of heat scorching her skin, and a crack of the walls crumbling as a fiery explosion rocked the Voting Hall. 

 

Chapter 10: Idealism Sits In Prison

 

Ominis had to explain himself time and time again that being unable to see wasn’t the insurmountable obstacle people seemed to think it was. He had never known sight- how could he miss out on something he had never had? No one seemed to understand that his senses had never felt depleted, just- different. So, no, being blind was not the horrifying experience so many people seemed to think it was. 

When consciousness roused him, his lashes fluttering open, it was no matter that the world was blank around him. 

 

What mattered was that he couldn’t hear anything. 

 

The Hall was burning. He felt the scorching lick of heat eating away at the thick velvet drapes, the portraits on the wall panicking as the flames distentigrated the fragile oil and magic woven into the art. Agonizing pain radiated down his arm, his entire body weighed down like a bag of bricks. His face was pressed against the warm marble floor, something sticky tackying it up. His ears were ringing- a high-pitched, constant drone, an echo of tinny screams. It took everything in him to roll onto his side with a pained cry, pressing a palm against his ears. For a handful of terrorizing moments, nothing happened. He was entirely cut off from the world around him, feeling completely blind. 

 

But slowly, mercifully, the ringing died away, and the world seeped into his senses. Ominis gasped, chest tight and throat burning as he heard distant cries, the crack and thud of furnitur,e and fragments of pillars falling to the ground. Something wet stuck to his lashes, gathering at the corners of his eyes and trailing down his dust-streaked face. 

 

The breath snagged in his ribs, his heart and lungs heavy with panic, with anger. Bracing his palms flat against the marble, pushing himself upright as his body screamed in protest, Ominis managed to get to his knees. Coherence dripped slowly back, his neurons sparking and firing after being rattled out of place.

Mira. 

 

Pushing through the pain was easier when all he could focus on was her, on whether she was safe, whether she was even- 

Ominis exhaled shakily, trying to breathe. Magic curled around him, his wand zipping into his open palm at his wordless accio. The cherry red light began to pulse, and the world materialized around him. And Ominis almost fell back to his knees. 

 

Like some sort of horrific painting, bodies were strewn on the marble floor, blood seeping into the carpet. He turned, staggering, panic clawing at his chest as he swept his wand out and pulled magic from the air around him, from the blood that had gone still in people’s veins, slowly leaking out of their bodies. 

The heartbeats were weak, featherlight, like hummingbird wings- some were still alive, but so many were not. 

 

“Princess! Mira-?!”  His words scraped past his throat like they were raked over jagged bits of glass. Ominis stumbled, forcing his legs to take one step after the other, dodging the strewn bits of furniture and glass, the skeleton of the building treacherous around him. “Mira, answer me!”

 

Frantic, Ominis’ magic crackled at his palms, rolling along his arms and sweeping outwards in pulses of uncontrolled waves. A faint, familiar signature of magic wove a thin, ebbing skein of energy through the death permeating the room. Ominis latched onto it, his own magic tugging him forward along the destroyed desks and steps. 

 

Smoke stung his eyes, his bloodied knuckles white as he gripped his wand tighter, forcing every ounce of energy into following Mira’s energy signature. The pulse grew stronger till he finally knelt down by the steps leading up the semicircled seats. his roving fingers caught on familiar, silken fabric. Like a punch to the chest, his breath pushed out of his ribs in a shaky exhale bordering on a choked sob. 

 

“No, no-“ He could barely breathe, levering his palms beneath her shoulders, pulling her upright. His stomach lurched as her head lolled lifelessly, slumping against his chest. “NO! Mira, don’t do this to me- don’t do this to me, please!” 

 

His thumb brushed over her skin that was worryingly heated to the touch. He hugged her closer, sobs wracking his body as his mind cruelly churned up memories of warm sunlight and her laughter on the wind, her hands curled in his. The peace sparkled like crystal in her presence, the brightness that illuminated even the darkest corners of his life. “Wake up- wake up, Mira- please-!”

 

The faint scent of jasmine lingered against the heavier, coppery tang of blood as his tears streaked her hair. Ominis’s hand braced against the back of her head, her frame tucked against his, and he knew nothing in the world would convince him to let go. 

 

Far above him, the domed ceiling gave a low, shaky groan. He couldn’t care less about it, barely registering the foundations of the Hall beginning to give way. She was too still, her pulse barely present. A scream of grief and rage ripped out of his throat as he held her closer, his body curled around hers as if he could keep her safe- despite failing miserably at doing so, failing when it counted. As the Voting Hall burned and his heart was consumed by the stillness of the woman in his arms, Ominis Gaunt swore an oath. Sealed by blood and the salty tang of tears, the promise etched itself into each cell of his body.

Whoever had done this would pay with their lives.

 

xxxxxxxxx

 

Miradevi was sleepy. But no matter how heavy her eyes grew or how much unconsciousness clawed at her, she could not fall asleep because someone was making a racket. Something tethered her to consciousness, something warm and grounding- 

 

With a monumental effort, Mira’s lashes fluttered open, her sense discombobulated. And everything snapped into place with a clarity that left her head throbbing with pain. Flames licked at the corners of the room, everything around her a mess of rubble. A rush of memory jarred her into action, blinking slightly. The explosion, Ominis trying to get to her- 

Ominis.

Mira shifted slightly, a soft, desperate gasp reaching her ears. 

“Mira? Princess? Say something, say something to me-"

 

“… My foot fell asleep.”

 

Ominis managed a breathless, teary laugh at her croaked words. Relief, more powerful than anything he’d felt before, surged through him as he gently settled her further upright. Her forehead rested against his as his thumbs gently ran over her face, double and triple checking that she was alright, that she truly was alive and breathing and this wasn’t a desperate hallucination his mind had conjured up.  

 

“I’m here.” His whisper was soft, but there was something fierce coloring each syllable. His anger and aching anguish began to ebb, soothed by the rise and fall of her chest, the thump of her pulse. “I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m not letting anything happen to you, I swear.”

 

All she could do was nod and cling to him, hysterically relieved. He was alive. He was alive and she could feel his heart beating a rapid tattoo against his chest as he held her closer.  

 

But that relief was short-lived as she looked around, eyes widening at the riot of destruction around her. In a morbid display, a handful of wizards and witches were dead on the floor- Minister Spavin being one of them, slumped on the podium as blood dripped off the lacquered wood. 

 

Mira tried to stand on shaky legs, wincing at the pain radiating from them. Ominis steadied her, letting her lean her weight against him. She blinked, dazed, before her eyes raked over him. His dishevelled hair, the ripped fabric of his suit. 

The blood seeping at his side, dyeing his ordinarily white shirt a sickening crimson. He felt her gaze on him and quickly shook off her flow of concerned words, waving away her offers of assistance. 

“We need to go, princess. The ceiling is about to come down, and I- I’ll be fine. I’ll get help when we get out, alright?” 

Miradevi nodded shakily before she paused and looked around, suddenly frantic. “Leroy.” Her breathing caught as the merciless reality of the situation pressed in, not giving her a second to assimilate. “Ominis, I need to find- where’s Leroy?” 

 

“What? Who is- Mira, we don’t have time.” 

 

“He’s my notetaker. My- he was sitting right next to me. You have to help-“ Mira stopped speaking. Her words froze in her throat and she barely registered the pain of her knees slamming against the marble as she fell, eyes wide with horror.

 

A cracked pair of glasses lay on the ground beside the body of a tall, lanky young man, his worn, handknitted jumper soaked through with dark red. His eyes were wide, more surprised than anything. Mira tried not to look at the unnatural bend of his limbs, the torn flesh and muscle. 

 

“Leroy.” Her hands ran over his slender throat, shaking, trying to find a pulse that was not there. She barely choked out his name, tears burning her eyes. “Leroy. Get up. Listen to me, I am ordering you to get up. Leroy!” 

 

“Mira.” Ominis tried to bend down, ignoring the pain. “Mira, mon trésor, there is nothing that can be done for him. We need to leave.” 

 

“Don’t say that- why would you say that?” Something foreign was settling in her chest. Something so heavy she could not move, something that felt like poison in her bloodstream. Mira pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her breathing hitch with one choked sob. Then another. Then she was crying, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she gripped Leroy’s shoulders. 

 

“He’s fine, he’s going to be fine. We were just talking, you don’t understand! If I’m alive, then he has to be as well- he was right beside me!” 

 

Another low, rumbling groan echoed overhead. A few others had managed to pull themselves up, gather themselves together to make for the crumbled exits where mediwitches and aurors were making a fuss attempting to clear a path and rescue as many as they could.

 

The idea of leaving him there- the nervous, jittery, kind young man who was there entirely because of her- to be crushed under rubble nearly made her sick. 

 

“Ominis, please.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, didn’t know how to move, how to push off the weight of a thousand suns crushing her heart. Tears tracked down her face, and Mira didn’t remember the last time she had ever cried like this. 

 

Perhaps she never had. 

 

“I can’t leave him here.” 

 

His heart was cracking in two, splitting at the seams at the utter despair in her voice. At the underlying shock that an uncaring universe had the capacity for such apathetic cruelty. He knelt down, gently feeling for where Leroy’s prone form was. “Alright. We’ll take him with us and make sure that he gets looked at by someone from St. Mungos, alright? Then will you come with me?” 

 

“Koee iska madad karega. Vah theek ho jaega, mereko pataa hai. Yeh theek hai, yeh zinda hai.” Mira mumbled through her tears. Staggering to her feet, she leaned against Ominis as he lifted Leroy with as much gentleness as he could manage. 

 

The next few minutes were a blur of oddly out-of-body surrealism. It seemed- not real and yet somehow inescapably concrete that he was walking past bodies, some of whom were people he’d known. His head was throbbing, but the adrenaline rush was still going strong and acting, bessedly, as a numbing agent. All that mattered was getting Mira out. It was nothing more than a butterfly wing-flap of chance that she was alright, that she wasn’t injured beyond hope or already dead. 

And he’d never let her get that close again. 

 

xxxxxxxxx

 

The wizarding world is in mourning after the tragic events that unfolded during the voting of the Purity Act. 

At 11:32 am GMT, as votes were being counted,  a disturbance began in the Voting Hall, ‘akin to the beginnings of an earthquake,’ according to an eyewitness that wished to remain anonymous. Seconds later, an explosion detonated within the chamber, causing what we are now learning were mass casualties. The death toll is still rising, with some survivors being pulled from the ruins. The structural integrity of the Hall was damaged and collapsed not long after the initial explosion. Details are still emerging regarding the suspects behind the attack and possible motivations. All scrutiny has turned on the nations’ muggleborn community, most of whom were staunchly opposed to the vote. 

Minister Faris Spavin was, unfortunately, one of the victims of the attack, leaving the wizarding community reeling in the face of an obvious power vacuum. 

Attending foreign dignitaries at the vote were the Canadian Wizarding Nation’s Premier Benjamin Faulkner,  Minister of Bulgaria Aleksander Stoyanov, and Her Royal Highness, Miradevi Surya Lakshmi, princess of the Surya empire. The backbone of our foreign policy, relationships with these nations are crucial to Britain’s trade, defense, and economy. Only time will tell the impact of this tragic event on future diplomatic endeavors. 

The Daily Prophet will continue bringing the most recent updates as more information on this senseless act of violence is uncovered. In the meantime, Edward Barclay has stepped in as interim Prime Minister until elections can be held again. 

 

xxxxxxxx

 

“You’re bloody lucky you didn’t die.” Sebastian tore his eyes away from the Daily Prophet, flinging the newspaper onto Ominis’ desk. In the handful of chaotic, frenzied days that had passed since the attack, the relief he’d felt that his best friend and his new one had gotten away scot-free was now dying, leaving him feeling almost… empty. 

 

“Are we going to talk about this, Ominis?” 

 

The man in question sighed, looking up from the essay he was hunched over, his quill suspended in the air, pausing its transcription. He turned in his chair, and Sebastian caught the set of his brows, the paleness of his skin. 

“Is it-“ He gestured, knowing that beneath Ominis’ crisp white shirt were several wrapped bandages healing a gaping wound on his side. “-hurting, again?” 

 

“It’s always hurting, Sebastian.” Ominis’ voice was tinged with exhaustion. “And what is there to talk about? I’m fine. I’m alive; Mira is alive.” 

 

“Right. You didn’t trip and take a tumble off your broom, Ominis. It’s not some stupid little accident that happened.” He sat down at the edge of Ominis’ bed, his leg bouncing slightly.

 

“It’s a traumatic-“ he began carefully but was cut off by a sharp huff of impatience. 

 

“Don’t. I don’t need this from you, I don’t need you to tell me how difficult it was or how I should be feeling.” Ominis didn’t know where that edge of animosity in his voice was coming from or why he was lashing out like a tiger in a cage. All he knew was that Sebastian needed to stop pushing, otherwise-

 

“Stop it.” Sebastian slid off his bed. “Stop. If you keep carrying all that and don’t let it go, it’ll burn you from the inside out.” His voice lowered. “I would know. You’re safe, and nothing is going to hurt you here.” 

 

Ominis clenched his jaw and looked away. “I can’t.” He managed, the tightness in his throat making it hard to breathe.

“You can. You should. You need to let go instead of holding all of that close to you.” 

 

Ominis was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “For a few minutes, I thought- I thought she was gone. When I woke up, when I realized what had happened, and- and how many people around me were…”

 

“Yeah. I get it.” 

 

“You don’t understand.” Ominis shook his head, tears slipping over his eyes as the dam he’d built so carefully, so meticulously, began to crack. “Looking for her amongst bodies, and then finding her unconscious-“ 

 

There was a quick knock at the door, and Sebastian looked up, frowning. “Not now! Get out.” 

 

The door creaked open slightly, and the princess’s wan face peeked in. 

“Sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, raspy. Red rimmed eyes and stained kohl gave away how she was handling everything. “Is it a bad time?” 

 

Sebastian stood and beelined for the door with a muttered curse, throwing it open. Before Mira could say anything, he pulled her into a crushing hug. “No, princess. I didn’t realize it would be you.” 

 

Mira didn’t say anything, only burying her face in Sebastian’s shoulder and sniffling. He kicked the door shut again as Ominis stood, walking over to the two of them. 

Fear and grief left gaping cracks, splitting apart what had once been her sunny outlook on life. Her world- that had felt so stable, so safe- broke apart in a matter of seconds. The weight of it wasn’t something she could carry, nor was it something she ever thought she would. 

 

Gentle fingertips brushed her neck as Ominis pushed away her hair that hung loose around her shoulders, down her back.

“I don’t know what to do.” She whispered, her voice muffled by Sebastian’s shoulder. “I didn’t know someone could… feel this much hurt.” 

 

Ominis brought his arm up, hugging her tight, tucking her close. Sebastian adjusted his grip so that the three of them were all holding each other in a strange tangle of limbs, but Mira didn’t care. For the first time since the explosion, the weight was a little easier to bear. 

 

“It’s not alright. It won’t be, not for a while.” Sebastian’s own voice was tight. “But it will get easier to carry, and you’re not doing it alone.” 

 

“I don’t think I can cry anymore.” Miradev croaked. “I’m fresh out of tears, I’m afraid.” 

 

“Makes you a right sight better than Mister ‘stiff upper lip’ over here.” Sebastian teased, his voice brittle. Ominis retaliated with a half-hearted nudge, the tightness in his throat growing worse, the tears refusing to obey his will and stay back. They slid down his face, the tremor of emotions he’d squashed tight finally unravelling. 

 

It had taken half an hour for their emotions to unravel, to allow themselves the catharsis of clinging to each other and doing little more than relish the fact that they were together, and whole, and alive. Eventually, their tears ran dry, and the thread of friendship woven amongst them had tightened its knot in a manner only witnessing each other stripped down and vulnerable could provide. 

 

The princess lay sprawled on Ominis’ bed and took a swig from the glass bottle Sebastian had procured from some dusty corner of his dorm room. Her hair was disheveled, the ordinarily pristine fabric of her sari crumpled. Kohl still streaked her eyes as she passed the bottle to Ominis, who accepted gratefully. His shirt was half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. Mira found the messy state of his ordinarily slicked back hair quite appealing, though she’d hardly say it with Sebastian around. 

 

“This is vile.” Ominis managed, voice hoarse. “I think Sirona is trying to poison you.” 

“Well, I think you’re a lightweight.” Sebastian retorted, taking an extra long sip in retaliation. “You’re used to fancy little champagnes and aged Firewhiskies-“ 

 

“Ladies, please.” Mira pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. “You’re both pretty. Can we return to the topic at hand?” 

 

“Of course, your royal majesty.”

 

“That’s not-“ Ominis frowned, closing his eyes tight, racking his alcohol-addled mind for the correct thought that was flitting around his brain. “It’s your royal- no. It’s-“ 

 

“The correct title is Your Highness.” Mira cut in, and she couldn’t help the amused laughter that escaped her. “But you do not have to call me that.” 

 

“Who had the balls to blow up the Ministry of Magic and assassinate the Prime Minister? And how have they not been caught yet?” Sebastian screwed his eyes shut, fighting off an inevitable hangover. “I don’t understand, it makes no sense.” 

 

“Some pureblood fanatic could have been upset that the vote wasn’t going to pass,” Ominis suggested, shifting as the princess had decided to plaster herself to his side, delicately avoiding his bandaged side. He brushed her hair gently, feeling her soft breathing. “Are you- tired, Mira?” 

 

“Mmhm.” She yawned, and Sebastian got to his feet sluggishly. 

 

“I don’t know. It really was a toss-up; there was no way for someone on the outside to know whether the vote was going one way or another. Anyway- I’ll leave you two. Whatever happened, we can figure it out after we get some rest. Focus on healing first. I need to lie down, I think Sirona really was trying to poison me.” 

 

Ominis laughed softly. “Goodnight, Sebastian.” 

 

The brown haired man smiled weakly before slipping out of Ominis’ dorm room. Ominis turned his attention to the princess tangled in his arms, debating whether to rouse her awake enough to get into more comfortable clothing- but her breathing had already grown even, her hair spilling out of its braid to fan over his pillow. 

 

“And goodnight to you as well, mon chéri.” He brushed his lips against the crown of her head, his mind growing cloudy with exhaustion. He felt her stir and shushed her gently. “None of that. Sleep. I’m here, princess.” 

 

Ominis tucked her head against the cook of his neck, sealing her tight against him. 

 

“I’m right here.” 

Chapter 11: In the Madness and Toil

One week later. 

 

Wizarding Britain was in turmoil. 

In the aftermath of the explosion, tensions that simmered in cracks and spiderwebbed through society had widened to gaping chasms, with little scope for reconciliation in sight. Protests had broken out across London, spurred by animosity and bolstered by the fractured government clawing at securing a foothold of power.  In the wake of it all, uncertainty shook the foundations of Hogwarts as the university’s research began to come under scrutiny by the increasingly paranoid Ministry. Edward Barclay had seemed to decide the cause of the bombing with little regard for the teams of Aurors set on investigating it, and pamphlets detailing decades-old doctrines on the safety concerns posed by muggles began circulating not long after. 

 

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows high on the vaulted walls of Westminster Abbey, casting splotches of vibrant color on a row of sleek oak coffins being levitated above the cold stone floors. Heavy velvet fabrics were methodically draped over each one, tassels nearly reaching the ground as a handful of solemn-faced wizards and witches raised their wands and laid the flag of Wizarding Britain over the caskets. There was a rustle and a creaking of wooden pews as the memorial attendees stood in a sea of black robes. The coffins began to move, floating through the quire to the altar. 

 

There was no way for someone to know whether the vote was going one way or the other. Sebastian’s words ran circles in Miradevi’s brain as the princess stood, lowering her head. The sunlight caught on the gleam of precious gemstones set into her wrought silver tiara- one of the many ornaments as part of her full royal regalia, weighing her down over the black fabric of her sari. A low chorus of baritone voices rose along the stone walls as a choir with hair neatly parted and dressed in crisp robes began to sing- the melody was mournful, something deep and ancient veiled in Latin. Mira turned, chancing a glance at the wooden, gold-burnished pews where the nobility ranked lower than her stood. And her gaze almost instantly caught on Ominis. 

 

His chin was lifted, and his jaw clenched as his head tilted slightly towards the choir. To anyone else, it would have seemed like the aristocrat was merely zoning out, but Miradevi knew he was lost in thought from the way his foot shifted in repeated little half circles and his fingers worried the handle of his sleek black wand. Beside him stood who she could safely assume were his family. 

The Gaunts were well recognizable, primarily because of their notoriety- severe, stiff, and emblazoned with the colors of Slytherin and heirlooms that left little to the imagination regarding their ancestry. They also looked supremely normal. Miradevi’s eyes narrowed as she looked closer at the witch and wizard who were undoubtedly Lord and Lady Gaunt. Surely there was some villainous spark in their eyes, some darkness that gave away their true nature. But no matter how she dissected them or how many stones she tried to flip, there was no hint of the characters she’d created in her head of the people who’d cast the Cruciatus curse on Ominis. Just harsh lines drawn across Lord Gaunt’s face and a firm purse to Lady Gaunt’s lips. 

 

“Mira?” 

The princess turned quickly to her mother, shooting Queen Durgavati a quick smile that she hoped passed off as normal.

“I’m fine. I’m alright.” 

Her parents flanked her, shining like jewels against the sea of black, and Mira knew the eyes of nearly everyone congregated there would be on them. Muggles, at a wizarding funeral. She was well aware that some people in the room would consider the presence of her parents a failing of the wizarding nations- two of those people, at least, were standing beside the man she-

Mira’s thoughts gathered up the quickly bitten off thought with glee and began to run amok, something that felt far too much like an emotion she could not put a word to stampeding through her, setting her heart hammering as she looked at Ominis. 

The coffins reached the altar and were slowly lowered to the ground. Mira kept her gaze on Ominis, willing him to turn, knowing he would not have any way of knowing or seeing- 

"We have lost pillars of our community. Great witches and wizards who had devoted their lives to serving the people have been lost to this brutal act.”

Mira turned away, facing Edward Barclay as he spoke, wand pressed to his throat as the sonorous charm echoed his words over the quiet crowd. The interim Prime Minister’s voice was low as he continued his speech, artfully finding open spots to cast suspicion on muggleborns for orchestrating the attack. The princess glanced at the crowd and cast a wide net over their reactions. Some seemed disdainful- shaken at Barclay’s badly veiled accusations, but others- many others- were nodding. 

xxxxxxxx

Ominis had given enough condolences and shaken enough hands, and bruises were forming at his shoulder as his father gripped tighter, a nerve pinching beneath his touch. Above it all, his senses caught her presence, the shining thread of her hushed voice picked out and unraveled from a thick tapestry, the gentle twinkle of jewelry against the heavy gong and doleful melody of the Abbey bells. 

Lost in the haze of venomous words that often accompanied anything his family uttered, it took Ominis a second to recognize the word- the name that had come from his father’s mouth.

“What?”

“I said, you are not to show that family any respect. It’s a bloody disgrace that their kind are allowed here, much less groveled to.” Derision colored Mortis Gaunts’ voice, but Ominis was only focused on the revelation of his words. 

That family. Their kind. That family. 

Of course. His shoulders stiffened, a sudden rush of nerves thundering through his as his feet seemed to move on their own accord. Of course Mira’s family would attend the memorial. Nausea rose like acid in his stomach, his fists clenching as the hopelessness of the situation thundered around him. And he barely had a moment to think before her voice met his ears, the familiar, melodic lilt somehow acting both as a balm he could not breathe without, and a fire under his skin he could not douse.

“Don’t you dare, Ominis.” His father’s voice was low. “You know the consequences. Do not-”

“Ominis. It’s good to see you here.”

Her voice cut through every tangled thought in his head, striking clarity as if the bells of the Abbey had gone off right by his ears. Memories of a warm spring afternoon spent beneath the blazing sun happily took the place of his father’s voice. 

Ominis took in a breath. He could feel eyes on him- watching, dissecting, peeling back each layer till he was stripped to nothing but the blood in his veins- yet the only thing that mattered was the feeling of her hand in his and the choice he had half a second to make. 

His father’s agitation washed over him in a pulse of angered, dark magic, stinging like needles on his skin, but any fear he might have felt once upon a time wasn’t there anymore. Only a vindictive satisfaction as he bowed low- 

-and pressed his lips to the cold metal of the jewel-studded ring on Mira’s fingers for everyone assembled at the Abbey to see. He felt the hitch in her breathing, the surprised twitch of her fingers before they steadied as he held her.

“Your Highness.” 

The world melted away, narrowing to the weight of her hand in his and the pulse thumping at her wrist- his lifeline and tether.

Ominis didn’t think and acted on instinct, leading her closer till she nearly pressed against him. Her warmth seeped through the chill of the stones around them, his lashes fluttering shut as she stepped closer, as her essence tormented his senses with the urge to take her in his arms and never let go.

He drew her hands up, pressing her adorned fingers to his chest where his heart hammered beneath the fabric of his suit.

Do you feel that? He wanted to ask. Do you feel what you do to me, to every ounce of sense in my body?

“Mira? Is this a friend of yours?” 

The loss of Mira’s warmth against him felt wrong, but not as much as the creeping dread of realizing who exactly he’d entirely glossed over. The King and Queen of the Surya nation stepped toward their daughter whom he’d been embracing like a lover would. The suspicion in their voice, artfully disguised as politeness, was, unfortunately, quite clear to his impeccably trained ear. 

To make matters worse, in a move considered spectacularly offensive at best and an open statement of political hostility at worst, his parents turned away with a low hiss to find them later after he was done speaking with Muggle filth and walked away without a single glance at the Royal Family. 

"Your Majesties.” Ominis dropped into another bow, attempting desperately to salvage his parents’ exit, only focusing on urging his scrambled mind to draw together a coherent thought. When he realized he could not, he played the one infallible tactic he had. “I apologize; I am usually adept at hearing footsteps, but I must have missed yours.”

 

It worked instantly. He heard a hum of indulgence from the King, a soft coo of concern from the Queen,

“Of course, baccha - and there is no need to bow like that, you are a friend of Mira’s, haina?” 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

 

“None of that. You call me Amma, just as Mira’s friends back home do. I am Maharani Durgavati, and this is my husband, Ashok. Mira, stop making faces, I’m merely introducing myself to your friends.” 

 

“Right. Ma, this is Ominis-” Mira’s voice was distinctly flustered. “My- friend, I told you about.”

 

Ominis had to bite back a smile, but the effort was thoroughly derailed when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. He stiffened, his arms hanging at his sides as the scent of citrus and sandalwood overwhelmed him, the soft texture of expensive fabric dragging over his skin. Cold touches of smooth metal against his skin let him know that if Mira was wearing a hefty amount of jewelry, her mother was wearing perhaps ten times as much. 

 

“We’ve heard so much about you, beta. We know that you were with Mira when this entire mess happened.” The Queen’s voice wobbled slightly, and Ominis felt a flash of panic. If the monarch began to cry, he’d well and truly be up a river with no paddle. But Durgavati was clearly a woman who could control herself. She drew back with a little sniffle, and her next words were perfectly stable. “You saved our little girl’s life. You have no idea the debt our nation owes you.”

“What? No, not at all, I just- I-” 

 

“Do you deny that she would have died had you not interfered, then?” 

 

Ominis twisted to face the direction of the King as he spoke up for the first time. He could almost picture the monarch from the depth of his voice, the heavy accent. “I- no, I mean-” 

 

“He’s being humble. I would have absolutely been in a lot of trouble if Ominis had not come looking for me.” Mira pinched him quickly on the side. “Right?” 

 

“It does not matter if your life was saved by myself or a perfect stranger. The only thing that matters is that you are here.” With me, he wanted to continue, but managed to bite his tongue in time. 

 

Ominis didn’t know where the words came from, but his ears burned as the Queen enveloped him in another hug, murmuring something in a language he did not understand. He heard Mira giggle, and his heart responded by beating just a little bit harder. 

 

“Your Majesties.”

 

Ominis didn’t think twice before stepping closer to Mira and her family as Edward Barclay approached the Royals. Despite being invited, he knew that their presence alone was drawing the ire of families who’d lost people in the attack and were being fed nothing but anti-muggle propaganda. Angling himself slightly in front of Queen Durgavati and Miradevi, Ominis watched as the Prime Minister bowed before Mira and her family.

“I am glad you could join us. The British wizaring world appreciates your show of support during this tumultuous time.” 

 

“Of course, Prime Minister.” King Ashok stepped forward, giving the other man a firm handshake. “You have our condolences- this was a truly atrocious act. Any support you might need from us, you need only ask.” 

 

Barclay smiled tightly. “That is appreciated. Though the people may not look too kindly on me if I were to take you up on your generous offer.” 

 

Ominis frowned slightly, and clearly the barb was picked up by the King, because his tone was deceptively light at his next words.

“And why is that, Minister?” 

 

“You must know that prime suspicion for this attack is on violent muggleborns who were upset with the vote taking place that day- a vote your daughter was privileged to witness. The general sentiment does not favor that group as of now. Though I do not, of course, condone stereotyping.” 

 

“Yet you seem to be doing a stellar job of encouraging it.” Ominis didn’t care about the sharpness in his voice, nor the way Mira’s hand darted out to squeeze his- either in warning or in support, he didn’t know. Though, knowing her, it was likely the latter. “You seem quite content with the Ministry circulating baseless propaganda against muggles and muggleborns with very little to show for it.” 

“Very little to show for it?” Barclay sounded amused, and Ominis bristled. “A Ministry building was blown up, and this very memorial had to be closed casket because of the gruesome damage that was wrought. I think there’s quite a lot to show for it.”

 

“I know very well what the consequences of that event were.” He hissed. “I was there. The princess was there and nearly died. I’m merely surprised that you are not giving anyone the grace of a fair trial before throwing around dangerous accusations.”

 

“Perhaps this is an inappropriate place to politicize this event.” Barclay shot the King and Queen a tight smile. “It is nearly time to release the dead and complete the ceremony.” 

 

“Minister-” Mira cut in, speaking quickly. “I have- I had a friend who- passed in the attack. His name was Leroy LaRue, he was a Ministry-appointed notetaker, and he’s not here. Where-” 

 

“Princess, if he was a lower-ranking official, his body was sent to his parents for a personal burial.” 

 

“So they excluded employees of lower rank from being given the same honors in their death?” Mira’s tone took on a hint of derision and a flint of anger. “Their son died doing his duties for the Ministry, and you did nothing but hand his body off?” 

 

“Your Highness, as I said to Lord Gaunt, this is not the time or place.” Barclay spoke through gritted teeth, and Ominis felt the itch of magic simmering beneath his skin at the way he spoke to Mira. 

 

“She has every right-” 

 

“Ominis, isn’t it? I’m sure your family would be proud to know their son has such… passion, for justice. I’ll be sure to let them know. If you’ll excuse me- the bodies are nearly ready to be released, and the ceremony needs to conclude. Your Majesties, it was an honor.”

 

The calmness was back in Barclay’s voice, and Ominis decided that he didn’t need magic; he’d be happy to throttle the Minister with his bare hands. But Barclay turned and walked away, quickly exchanging hushed words with an Auror trailing after him. 

 

There was a slight pressure as Mira squeezed his hand gently- 

-and the feeling of a larger hand on his shoulder, where the bruise inflicted by his father twinged painfully. But this touch was lighter. Gentler. 

 

“That was impressive, beta.” There was something that Ominis swore was admiration in King Ashok Surya Lakshmi’s voice. “Not many at your age would have the stomach to pull something as audacious as that.”

 

“It’s not right,” Ominis said, his voice tight, not willing to say anymore because he was not going to tear up in front of Mira’s family. 

 

“No.” The King’s voice was painfully soft. “It’s not.” 

 

xxxxxxxx

 

Atticus Zabini watched as the aged wizard draped in bone-white robes moved forward to where his father’s coffin levitated before the altar. As he did for all the coffins before, pale silver magic flowed from his gnarled wand as he spoke a low murmur of Latin in his harsh bullfrog voice. 

 

But Atticus could hear nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears as the edges of his father’s coffin began to melt at the corners as the magic ate away at the wood. His fists clenched, and whatever remained of Zabini Sr. was reduced to a puddle of what looked like liquid Mercury on the cold floors of the Abbey. Then, another wave of the older wizard's wand- and the silver seeped through the cracks where Atticus knew it would drift down to the mausoleum buried deep beneath the floors of the Westminster Abbey- the final resting place for wizards and witches of high birth and nobility. But he didn’t care. Nothing mattered, except the woman standing front and center at the pews, having the audacity to look like she gave a damn. 

 

Atticus gripped his wand tighter. He hated her. He hated the way she flitted around the university halls, draped in her extravagant silks and jewels, her infernal laughter bright and unabashedly joyful. He wanted to rip her delicate little wings off, he wanted her writhing at his feet where she belonged. She did not deserve any of the praise or the respect. If he had his way, her kind would be serving him on bended knee and thanking him for the opportunity. 

 

Yet, there she was- leaning against Gaunt, looking at him like he’d crafted the universe personally for her. Adorned in her finery and intricate, opulent clothes, her kohl-lined eyes dark and beguiling- she had no right. No right to stand there like a treasure he could not have, not when she was supposed to be nothing but filth beneath his shoe. People like her were the reason why 25 wizards and witches, including his father, were now nothing but liquid silver buried in the earth beneath his feet. 

The hours crawled by, and the churn of rage and something else heating his blood burned away at his skin. Finally- finally, the memorial ended. Atticus stood from his seat on the pews, pale eyes burning with rage.

And he began to approach the princess.

Chapter 12: Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine

Where words failed, wars began. A single failed negotiation, a misstep, a miscalculation- and the dry and cracked earth would be nourished with the blood of millions and the sorrow of their lamenting widows. Miradevi knew that diplomacy was a careful game of chess where one failed pawn would transform a board to a battlefield and leave the other pieces scattered and scrambling for desperate purchase. She’d learnt the art of choosing what to say and to whom and prided herself on her ability to rally, broker, and conquer without raising a sword or her magic. Yet that meticulous training seemed to vanish at this moment as words, for once in her life, failed her. 

“Answer me. You owe me a life, princess.”

Zabini stepped closer, and that jolted her slightly out of her stunned silence. The cold, aged stone of the Abbey’s walls pressed against her back, a warm spring breeze ruffling the neatly trimmed grass. Miradevi had stepped out for a moment as the funeral ceremonies concluded, her mind fixed on a whirl of thoughts- Leroy, Barclay, Ominis, his parents, her parents- Ominis, Ominis, Ominis and the way his father had approached them with a sneer curling his lips, asking if he could speak with his son for a moment -

“I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse me of.” Miradevi managed, lifting her chin slightly. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but lashing out like this will not bring you any closure.” 

Atticus looked at her for a moment- then laughed softly. 

“The only reason I’ve not drawn my wand is because I know I will be dead on this lawn before I can cast a curse.” He whispered, leaning closer to the princess. “Your security would have no qualms in eliminating any threat against their precious charge, wouldn’t they?”

“No,” Miradevi said, her lip curling. “They wouldn’t. And quite frankly, this is the first time I’m seeing some sort of honesty from you. It’s a refreshing change.” 

“What do you know about honesty, Mira?” Atticus reached out and caught a lock of her wild black hair that had freed itself from her braid. He curled it around his finger, his gaze locked on hers. “It was people like you who are the reason my father is dead beneath my feet. He always said that this would happen if we gave you a lot more breathing room than you deserved.”

“Don’t touch me.” Mira hissed. She knew there were eyes on her, knew that Aurors and her own family’s security were watching from rooftops and shrouded by shadow, tracking her every movement- but Atticus was careful. Vitriolic words were soothed by touches that could be mistaken for a lovers’ caress, and he wasn’t stupid enough to give anyone the idea that he was going to harm her- no matter how much his heart burned to break the princess down till she was on her knees before him. 

“Or what, Your Highness?” Atticus looked around, making a show of searching for someone amongst the wizards departing the Abbey in a sea of black robes, drawing some confused looks from the muggles milling around Abingdon Street. “I don’t see your faithful lapdog anywhere.” A little grin split his face- something vindictive and satisfied bared in the crack of his smile. “His family probably wanted some words with him after his little display back there.” 

 

That was why Mira’s head was spinning. 

Ominis’s small but weighty decision had sent ripples scattering outwards, a wake shaking the carefully balanced hierarchy of wizarding society. And the Gaunts did not appreciate a rocking boat. She could only imagine their anger at being openly defied- a knight making a move on the board they did not anticipate. 

“Ominis’s relations with his family are none of your concern.” She managed, her tone curt. “And, if you don’t mind my saying- it says a lot about your pureblood loyalty that you take pleasure in his family conflicts.”

“Ominis Gaunt was never one of us. He took the privilege of being born as a son of Slytherin and crushed it under his foot. Who am I to condemn the price he rightfully pays for his dishonor?” Atticus stepped forward, his hand resting on Mira’s shoulder in a gesture of faux camaraderie. 

 

His fingernails dug into her skin and broke it, staining his fingers red. 

 

“Do you know what a blood traitor is, Princess?” Zabini breathed, her lips closer to her ear. “It is someone who turns their back on the purity of their line. Someone who has no respect for the life they were lucky to be born into.” He lowered his gaze to where a thin line of blood trickled on Mira’s exposed collarbone. His thumb brushed over her, smearing red against her dark skin. 

 

“ Filth.” His whisper was soft. Almost reverent. “Look at you. Bedecked in your finery and your jewels, yet the blood that runs in your veins deserves nothing more than to be spilled on the dirt right here.”

 

“You know you’ve done enough to me in the last few minutes that would warrant your instant execution if I were to tell a single soul about it.” Mira’s whisper was similarly soft. Almost intrigued. “What game are you playing, Zabini?” 

 

“Chess, Your Highness.” Atticus smiled, the ghost of his father leering through perfect teeth. “And I believe this is checkmate.”

 

A soft scoff escaped her lips as Mira adjusted the drape of her sari. “Melodramatic, aren’t we?” Her comment was light, but cold anger hung in each syllable. She leaned closer to Atticus, her eyes boring into his. “Your father is still dead.” She hissed. “He’s dead and buried in the earth beneath my feet, and no amount of blood you draw from me will bring him back.” 

 

“No,” Atticus returned. “Perhaps not. But you underestimate how good revenge tastes, princess. After all,” he tilted his head in a poor mimicry of empathy, “Poor Leroy didn’t deserve to die like that, did he? I’m sure you want your retribution for the little mudblood.” 

 

There were sore spots, raw wounds, and then there was this. 

 

This hurt that went so deep that it inscribed itself into the winding helixes of her DNA itself, tearing her cells apart and reshaping them into something new. Leroy LaRue’s broken body and shattered glasses lingered in the shadows of her room, his spindly fingers gently prodding her consciousness awake as she tried to sleep, pulling her from rest with the one infallible truth she could not deny. 

 

If not for her, Leroy would not be dead. 

 

“Did I touch a nerve, princess?”

 

Her fingertips buzzed, magic roiling in her veins and the cavity of her ribs, begging to be released. A high, tinny ringing echoed in her ears- and she was kneeling over Leroy’s body. he was dead, and it was all her fault- and she was going to kill Atticus where he stood for even breathing that name-

 

“What exactly is going on here?” 

 

Ominis’s voice was tinged with suspicion, a rough edge of anger serrating the lilt of his words. He strode towards them, his wand surreptitiously held at his side. The image it was mapping out and projecting back to him was one he was distinctly unhappy with. 

 

Atticus was pressed up against Miradevi- and if he twisted his wand slightly to focus, the details only pushed him closer towards the edge. Mira’s hair twisted in Atticus’s fingers, and-

 

“Are you bleeding ?” Ominis’s voice was sharp, an anger his ancestors would have been proud of radiating off of him. He strode forward, one hand reaching out to yank Zabini away from her, the other attempting to find the source of the faint, coppery tang that hit his nose. 

 

“Ominis-” Mira began, but his thumb brushed over the spot on her shoulder where Zabini’s nails had dug in, and everything stilled. 

 

Slowly, Ominis’s fingers dragged along the dots of blood welled up on her shoulder, smearing his alabaster skin with streaks of red. Silence, tense and heavy as a looming thunderstorm, hung over the three of them. 

 

“Did you do this?” 

 

The Heir of Slytherin’s voice was deceptively soft. He turned, slowly, away from where Mira was pressed against the wall, towards where Atticus had backed away. The other man lifted his chin slightly.

 

“A mistake.” Zabini sneered. “I was too enthusiastic in my greeting.” 

 

“I understand.” Ominis spoke quietly, a low hiss warping his words. “Mistakes are so easy to make, are they not?” 

 

“Ominis-” Miradevi began, but his attention was consumed by the blood on his fingers and the serpentine hiss of voices tangled in the recesses of his brain, luring out the part of him he’d spent so long hiding away. 

 

He hurt what was yours. He put his violence-mongering hands on the woman you love and claims innocence. What will you do, Prince of Serpents? What will you do to protect what is yours? Will you sink your fangs into his unworthy neck and overrun his lifeblood with venom- or reduce him to stone with a single gaze and crack his bones under the force of your coils- 

 

“ Ominis.” Miradevi’s voice cut into the rattle of noise slithering across his brain. “What are you doing?” 

 

Atticus Zabini was lying on the grass, a soft whimper of fear escaping his throat. Four Adders were curled around his wrists and ankles, binding tighter as their scaled bodies moved further up his legs and torso, stopping briefly around his neck. 

 

Mira stepped forward, and the princess’s dark eyes gleamed with interest. “Loathe as I am to put a stop to this, you should stop. People are looking.” 

 

“ I will take tenfold of every drop of blood ss-spilt by his unworthy hands. I want him drained and empty at my feet, I want him burning in agony till he never makess-s another mistake again-”

 

“I can’t understand what you’re saying, meri jaan.” Mira’s whisper was soft, and she tried not to focus on the muggles passing by who were staring at the odd spectacle in the grounds of the Abbey. She ducked her head slightly, her lips brushing over the pulse thundering at his neck. 

“Ominis. Pyaare, let him go.”

 

He hissed softly, that same strange, sibilant tone escaping between sharp canines, and the Adders seemed to obey, slithering over Zabini’s body and escaping into the undergrowth. The other man scrambled to his feet, hand flying to his wand. Ominis retaliated by drawing his own wand, the voices hissing in jubilation at the unfettered rage twisting his mind into something not his own. 

 

The cold undertow of treacherous waters crept higher and higher, demanding he pull Zabini down with him and listen to the other man choke and struggle for air as he relished each waterlogged gasp. It was only Mira’s insistent tug on his arm that quieted the cacophony in his head.

 

“You’re fucking lucky we’re surrounded by muggles, Gaunt.” Atticus hissed. As angry as Ominis looked, Miradevi knew that Zabini would not let this slight go anytime soon. He turned his gaze on Mira. Abandoning all pretense of respect, he let his gaze sit on her like burning coals.

“Watch your step, lest you end up like Leroy. Filthy mudblood.” 

 

Mira tightened her grip on Ominis as he nearly lunged at Atticus. The other man pushed out a derisive laugh and stepped away.

 

“I’ll see you two back at university.” 

 

Ominis didn’t trust himself to speak for a few moments as Atticus brushed down his mourner’s robes and stalked towards the secret Floo flame hidden away on the opposite wall of the Abbey. When he’d managed to tamp down on the lava-hot bubble of rage threatening to burn him from the inside out and turned towards where he heard Mira’s soft breathing. 

 

He met her in his arms in two quick strides, her hands gripped in his as he pressed one rough kiss after the other to them, his lips running over her slender digits and cold jewelry. 

 

“Your parents are searching for you.” Ominis’s voice was low. “I’ll meet you at the castle, Mira. Let me- I have to take care of some things, alright?” 

 

“Ominis, what did your parents want to talk to you about?” Her words spilled out, rushed. “Atticus said that your father-” 

 

“Later.” He ducked his head lower as if only the thinnest thread of restraint held him back. “ I’ll tell you everything back at Hogwarts, I promise. For now- assure your family that you are fine.”

 

xxxxxxxxx

Miradevi bid a goodbye to her parents that was far too hasty for their liking. They’d received word of the brief tension on the grounds of the Abbey from the Aurors skulking in the shadows and keeping watch on the princess, and the monarchs attempted to pry answers out of her. The princess deflected as best she could till her parents were standing at the portkey glowing in a sequestered-away room of the Abbey. The portkey was charmed to work for muggles- the result of lengthy and expensive research that faced multiple points of dissent but pulled through anyway. 

 

“I nearly lost my daughter.” Durgavati brushed a thumb along Mira’s cheek, her eyes soft. “Do you know how terrified your father and I were when we received news of the bombing? And now it’s time to leave you again, and I barely saw you for a few hours.” 

 

“I’ll visit soon,” Mira promised, quickly pulling her mother into a hug. “And I’ll tell you everything. I don’t know who was behind this attack, but Hogwarts is quite possibly the safest place for me to be. Trust me.” 

 

“And the boy?” Ashok cut in. His sharp words were smoothed over by the bear hug he dwarfed his daughter with, the only edge in his words aimed at Ominis. 

 

“He’s twenty-six.” Mira huffed softly, finding comfort in the soft fabric of her baba’s sherwani and the scent of sandalwood. “Hardly a boy.” 

 

“His parents hate people like us. People like you. I spent barely a few moments in their presence, and I could feel the hatred seeping from their pores like poison. Is their son truly someone you wish to associate with?” Ashok raised a hand at Mira’s automatic protests. “I saw that he is nothing like his family and certainly knows right from wrong- and unafraid to voice those beliefs. But you must forgive me for worrying, Mira. You’ve hardly been at this place for a year, and… it is bhagwan ki daya that I am not burying you right now.” 

 

Her heart ached at the waver in his voice. Her father was her strength and the cornerstone she positioned her life on. His stature had not seemed to change even since she was a little girl. He was still the person she looked up to, and to hear such heartbreak in his voice rattled that foundation. 

 

“I know. I know, Baba, it’s- there’s so much happening, and I need to sit down and talk to you and Amma about it, but-” 

 

“Your Highnesses, the Portkey is primed to leave, and you don’t have much time. I’d recommend you say your goodbyes.” 

 

The Auror’s dispassionate words pulled Miradevi out of her swirl of thoughts battling for dominance in her head. She didn’t say another word, quickly hugging her parents as they spoke final, rushed parting words in a spill of Hindi before moving towards the portkey- a glowing chess piece. Miradevi stood back, flanked by aurors, and gave a watery smile as her parents reached for the piece and snapped away in a rush of periwinkle-blue light. 

 

Back home. Back to the palace, to her brothers- to sun soaked hills and provinces drenched in magic and riots of color. 

 

Silence fell upon the hallowed halls of Westminster Abbey, and Miradevi exhaled softly before turning to the Auror at her side.

“Back to Scotland, then?” 

“Yes, princess.” 

 

Mira nodded, her thoughts drifting as she was escorted to the Floo flame. The entire memorial had been one minor disaster after the other, and the fallout- much the explosion itself- would continue to rattle their world. Much like a broken clock striking a single correct mark, Atticus had been correct about one thing. Leroy’s death and slight by the Ministry was not going to go unchallenged by the princess, and she had a pressing matter in that regard to take care of when she returned to the Highlands. 

Chapter 13: Step A Little Bolder

From the central pillar of the Abbey’s Chapter House bloomed a domed, vaulted stone ceiling, segmented like a star, arched over the chamber like an umbrella. A rudimentary spiderweb of stone and history melted into high stained glass windows, sunlight spilling in dappled patches of vibrant colors over the floors. 

 

Mortis Gaunt cast an uninterested glance over the space. Pureblood pride tunneled his vision and pushed away the craftsmanship carved into each inch, dismissing it as Muggle rubbish , a waste of effort to even acknowledge. Besides, he had more pressing issues to take care of- namely, his son’s open defiance, his rebuke of the family name. His actions to align himself with the mudblood royal were already stirring discussion that cast a lumos -bright beam of scrutiny on the House of Gaunt, and he’d rather not have people peering too hard lest they get an eyeful of the skeletons rotting in his closet. 

 

Had Mortis not choked the air with silencing charms, his sons’ screams would have surely drawn more unwanted attention. All Ominis could do was lie there on the floor, seeking comfort from the chill of the flagstones, trying to catch his breath in between bouts of agony burned into every cell of his body like memory. 

 

“I don’t understand what you hope to achieve.” The Gaunt patriarch’s words were almost contemplative, as if the question was genuine. “All this defiance, this ridicule of the blood you are lucky to carry in your veins…and for what? A mudblood girl with a title?” His derision was carried by the high walls, echoing along the domed ceiling. 

 

He circled his son, lying on the floor like an offering- a lamb given up to the unfeeling divinities crafted in glass. But there was a darkness in Ominis’s eyes that no innocent sacrifice would have. A fury that burned like the merciless touch of hypothermia, of starvation. Mortis tilted his head and looked down at Ominis, who was already pushing himself onto his knees. 

 

His lips were moving, clearly saying something, and Mortis found out exactly what when he flicked his wand and lifted the silencing charms. 

“- million times the person you are.” Ominis’s voice was hoarse, whether from screaming or just from anger, Mortis could not tell. 

 

Silence, broken only by Ominis’s soft panting, hung before them. He heard his father step away, the click of footsteps magnified by the domed ceiling.

“A serpent is flexible, adaptable. We do not throw ourselves against a wall, knowing the outcome will be the same. We understand the necessity of changing tactics, and perhaps the time has come to do the same with you.” 

 

Ominis didn’t put it past his father to follow through on the poorly veiled threat, and his hand curled into a fist. “You can’t hurt her. They’d rain hellfire on you if you tried.” 

 

“Mm. But accidents are so easy to occur, aren’t they? Did the princess not narrowly escape with her own life during the bombing?” Mortis’s voice was saturated with mock contemplation. “To think it was luck and not her formidable military that saved her life. She’s just another human being- not invulnerable.”

 

Ominis’s ears were ringing. “If you had-” he began, his voice wavering. “ Anything to do with this, with any of this-” 

 

“Don’t you dare accuse me of such a thing.” Mortis hissed. “ Twenty-five noble men of high birth and pure lineage lie dead under our feet, and you have the gall to accuse me? It should have been mudblood scum like her in their place-” 

 

“ Enough. If you’ve dispensed your punishments and have nothing more to say to me, then I’m leaving .” Ominis gripped his wand, sensing the door a few feet away. However, something made him pause over the threshold of the ancient door. Some desperate ache to know why.  He directed a final question at his father that, in any other situation, he would have never thought about asking. But his walls, it seemed, had been dissolved under the acid of the cruciatus curse. 

 

“I don’t understand why you can’t let me go.” His voice was quiet, and a silence followed his words, prompting him to continue. “Marvolo can take over the family. You can burn me off the tree and never have to remember that I was in your life.”

 

He wished his father would yell. Scream or say something cruel, perhaps cast another curse. Anything would be better than the silence that gave away how deeply Mortis Gaunt was thinking. And when he did speak, Ominis felt the net around him just… tighten. 

 

“Why would I let you go, Ominis?” The words could have been misunderstood as affection. Ominis wanted to be sick. Then came the final nail in his coffin, the albatross that had followed him his entire life. 

 

“You’re my son.” 

 

His father’s words refused to give an inch of space for anything else in his brain as Ominis left the Chapter House, his wand seeking the familiar little hum of Mira’s magic or the scent of jasmine. And the thing that managed to push Mortis Gaunt’s death knell of a statement out of his mind was the image his wand was slowly mapping out as he approached the Abbey grounds. 

 

Miradevi, pinned against the outer stone walls by…his wand hummed, and Ominis’s anger flared as he recognized the acrid magic signature. 

Zabini. 

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

In the three days since the funeral, the Daily Prophet had, surprisingly, been rather tame. A lengthy, tearjerker of an article about it had been splashed everywhere with the growing accusatory tone towards Muggleborns, but nothing Mira hadn’t seen before. 

It had taken some pestering on her part to get Ominis to spill what happened between him and his father when the Gaunt patriarch had pulled him aside, and even though the princess could make an educated guess, getting unwilling confirmation that Ominis had been tortured while in the same damn building as her was another thing to add to the list of things keeping her up at night.

 

“Rajkumari. Aap yahan kya kar rahe hain? Aapko thaand lag jayigi.”

 

Miradevi had expected the Astronomy labs to be occupied by students fretting over their experiments and models, but not the Tower itself. It was, as Amit Thakkar kindly pointed out, an absolutely frigid night. She had scarcely been out there half an hour, her fingers now numb. Her legs dangled over the edge, clad in silken sleepwear, and the scent of mint and bergamot gave away to whom the clothes belonged.

 

“I’ll be fine.” Miradevi turned slightly, shooting Amit a smile as the Ravenclaw edged closer and sat beside her, tentative. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re going to keel over from hypothermia.” 

 

“I don’t even remember the desert nights getting this bloody cold.” He shuddered theatrically. “If my fingers fall off, how on earth will I-” 

 

“ Write your memoir?” Mira finished the sentence, a grin blooming on her face. “Do I get mentioned in it? You had better dedicate entire chapters to me, or-” 

 

“The threat of exile might have scared me when I was little, princess, but not anymore. Perhaps I’ll grant you a quick mention here and there,” Amit said loftily, mimicking writing. “ I grew up with a rather spoiled girl who habitually threatened to feed me to her tiger-” He paused, dark eyes brightening. “How is Jaya? You must miss her terribly.” 

 

Mira looked back out on the moon hanging in the octopus-ink sky, stars glittering in its vast expanse. “I do.” Her words were quieter, a huff of cold air leaving her lips. “I miss… all of it. Don’t get me wrong, I love it here- I really do. But it’s felt like I’ve hardly had a moment to breathe.”

 

Amit nodded. He was calmer now , but when the news of the explosion had initially broken out, he’d panicked horribly, mind jumping to the worst possible conclusions, scrambling to cope with the possibility that his best friend would be lost.  

“I understand. I miss home as well. But you know you’ll always have me, yeah? A piece of home when you need it.” 

 

“ Hai, how sweet.” Mira cooed, pinching his cheeks, more touched than she’d care to admit. Amit sputtered and shrank away, feigning offense. “Look who’s grown up so much-” 

 

“Save the affection for Ominis Gaunt, not me-” Amit grinned at the way Mira froze and yanked away, her eyes wide with disbelief. “ Kya hua, didi? The entire castle knows how infatuated you two are with each other, there’s no point denying it.” 

 

“And why should I do such a thing?” Miradevi tried to inject haughtiness into her tone and failed, succeeding only in sounding like a blushing schoolgirl. “He’s-” 

 

“-wondering why you’re out in the cold, and why your best friend is doing nothing to discourage it.” 

 

Mira turned, surprised, as a heavy coat settled on her shoulders, providing blessed relief from the cold. She sighed softly and tucked herself deeper into it, the buzz of warming charms settled against thick fabric.

 

“Hello, Ominis.” Amit glanced between the two as the Heir of Slytherin stood behind Mira, looking painfully unamused. “In my defense, I’m not the best person to act as Rara’s impulse control.” He checked the watch on his wrist, feigning surprise. “Would you look at that, I’m awfully late-”

 

Mira knew damn well the watch mapped out each night’s stars and constellations, and had the same capacity to tell the time as a Honking Daffodil. But Amit’s ruse worked- or at least, Ominis didn’t call him out on it as the Ravenclaw grinned sheepishly at her, said a hasty goodbye, and darted off. As his footsteps retreated, Ominis sighed softly and settled beside Miradevi along the tower edge.

For a moment, he wondered if he should fill the silence with something, saturate it with words, and strike up a conversation because gods knew they had much to talk about. The seconds crept past, and neither one of them spoke; the silence was ordinarily something he would have found unbearable and excused himself from. But with her, he could always find a piece of that warm afternoon in the hills and sequester himself in the peace her presence carved out. 

 

“I recall promising you an outing to Hogsmeade.” 

 

There was a lightness to his tone that Mira hadn’t heard in a while, and she willingly indulged in it, unraveling the heavier threads of thought tangling in her mind to focus on this. On the moonlit lake far below them, the bite of chill was soothed by his arms wrapped around her, secure as a promise.

“I seem to recall the same thing.” She shimmied a little closer and ducked down to rest her head against his shoulder. But the ghosts clawing at every corner of her brain snatched the lightness she felt away, pushing her back under the roiling tide. Ominis noticed how she seemed to deflate again, returning to her strange, uncharacteristic silence.

“Talk to me.” The murmured words bordered on a command, drawing her out again- a lifeline not so much offered as physically secured in her hands. “You’ve never retreated from speaking your mind, so don’t start now.” 

Miradevi mulled over it, picking apart the web of emotions swirling in her mind. “Call it survivor’s guilt, I suppose. I walked away with barely a scratch while Leroy’s parents are mourning their son. Sure, you could say it’s a tragic chance, but look at what happened after. He didn’t even get the grace of his name being remembered because of his blood status. Being muggleborn follows you into death, it seems. It’s unfair , and I don’t like that there’s no one I can blame for it.” 

“You can blame the system, surely. The government, the Sacred 28- people who uphold these twisted ideals and try their hardest to maintain a status quo, no matter how harmful.”

“And how much of that blame should fall on us?” Mira turned to Ominis, finally voicing the guilt gnawing away at her. “Us, with our power and prestige, and our voices that carry echoes no matter where we are. We’ve never upheld this system, sure. But have we done anything to dismantle it?” 

Ominis was silent for a moment, his mind strangely quiet.

“Every time I stand up to my father, I get nothing from it but pain.” Anger edged his words, masterfully masking hopelessness. “ Not merely from the punishments he enjoys doling out, but from watching nothing change. He throws money at harmful legislation, lobbies for causes I am ashamed to be aware of the existence of, and nothing ever changes. After a point- sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night when all I am aware of is just how tired I am- I wonder whether it's worth it.” 

 

The last words slipped out like a confession, a low whisper witnessed only by the cold stars and the princess wrapped in his arms. It tasted bitter in its truth, and sweet in the asbolvement of finally putting to words the moments he loathed himself most. There was righteousness in fighting back- and a heavy guilt when the payoff refused to show.

“What’s the point?” Ominis felt Mira’s fingers gently brush along his scalp, and he leaned into her touch. “If we are to make any change, how? How do you look an insurmountable obstacle in the eye and find it in yourself to keep pushing, knowing the wind will never be at your back?”

 

The night offered no answers, and neither did she. Try as she might to rack her brains and think of something royal, something a person with authority and power would say- some words of wisdom- she fell short. 

 

“I don’t know,” Mira whispered. “I have no idea.” 

 

More silence, and she shivered slightly, though it had nothing to do with the cold. 

 

Ominis pushed out an exhale of air, forced lightness in his voice in a desperate bid to make Mira laugh. “You and I, Hogsmeade tomorrow. We’ll continue this debilitatingly depressing conversation there. Does that please Your Highness?” He got to his feet and reached an arm down to her, indicating he’d help her to her feet.

 

Mira did, to his relief, grace him with a soft giggle. “It pleases me greatly. But- Ominis, you’re facing the wrong way.” 

 

He smiled, soft and secret. He knew damn well where she was sitting, but the laugh he’d drawn from her was worth it. 

 

“So you are. Silly me, my wand must be malfunctioning.” He turned on his heel and theatrically bowed low. “There we go. Come along, Mira. It’s getting far too cold out here.” 

Chapter 14: And I Blink in Sight

Sebastian Sallow was happy for his best friend. He was completely, a hundred percent happy that Ominis and Miradevi’s fates had intertwined, that they’d managed to find each other. She was good for him, Sebastian thought, as he fluffed his pillow a tad too aggressively. The princess had the uncanny ability to flip any argument in her favor and speak absolutely perfect Politic, which unnerved him just a little. She could be an intimidating figure beneath her soft eyes and luxurious attitude if she so chose, with a charisma that Sebastian flagged as a bit too much like his own. 

Perhaps she reminded him of Anne. 

Perhaps she reminded him of himself. 

Sheafs of parchment indented from the print of cramped notes on both sides cluttered the small desk by the window in his little apartment space, a calendar pinned above his bed. Scribbles in red marked out meetings with his phD advisor, days he ought to set aside for data collection, days he devoted to poring over curse-breaking magic. All of it blended in a mishmash, and he’d given up on neatness or sense at this point.

The cleanest space was his bed. Crisp, well-made sheets neatly tucked. Turmoil on his desk and turmoil in his life meant frequent bouts of insomnia, and having a neat bed was the least he could do for himself. 

The plush mattress creaked under him as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling, the dim moonlight carving its way across the lakewater pressing against his window. Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook sat far too innocuously on his bedside table, ancient and promising, and the only scrap of hope he was clinging to. Miradevi’s attempt to find something from the royal libraries back home had resulted in a slight issue- the texts were written in absolutely ancient Sanskrit, and any reliable magilinguist with a hope in hell of providing an accurate translation would be found in Surya, not Scotland. 

Then there was the issue of the bloody bombings. 

A close second to Anne’s plight, it was yet another thing pushing and shoving for purchase in the rolling hurricane of Sebastian Sallow’s mind. None of it made sense. It could have been a Muggleborn attempting to obstruct the passing of the Purity Act, or a backup plan from a deranged pureblood in case the vote didn’t go in their favor. Either way, people he cared about deeply were involved. Therefore, it was not a slight that would go unpunished or uninvestigated. 

Sebastian groaned, turning over. The dungeons were too cold, the moonlight filtering through the water far too bright. 

And his mind was being louder than ever, interspersed with low, serpentine whispers from the book at his bedside table. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“You had better be wearing lab gear, my darling.” 

Princess Miradevi grimaced at Ominis’s stern tone and accepted a sleek robe with a murmur of thanks from whatever poor, unpaid undergraduate intern had been assigned to Ominis as an assistant. The charmwoven fibres left a pleasing prickle of magic along her skin, the woven runes creating a net of glittering gold curling and locking like tattoos, protecting from the heavy haze of experimental magic that hung in the air.

The Flamel Laboratory of Spellweaving was a sprawling chamber of stone and wood, the corners of the room creating a perfect hexagon. Heavy tables sat in each corner, weighed down by glass apparatuses holding various miasmatic substances that sparked, fizzed, or glowed gently. The center of the chamber held a longer table, mostly empty save for a scattering of sheets everywhere- and her lover standing at one end, hunched over something she could not see- but shimmering signatures of potent, powerful magic rippled around his fingers. 

His wand was suspended between a metallic structure shaped like a square bracket, spinning languidly, the tip pulsing with its signature cherry-red light. 

“Dare I ask?” Her voice was soft, unwilling to break whatever it was that held his focus. 

“You may do more than that, actually. I might need your help with something. ” Ominis straightened, rolling his shoulders slightly. “Where are you? Say something else-” 

“Here.” She reached out, gently tapping his shoulder, guiding his attention to his right. “What do you need help with? European spell composition and invention isn’t my forte, but I could try.” 

A sheepish little smile crossed his face as he stood, his hand searching for his wand, pulling it away from the bracket it was suspended between. The structure stopped humming as he did so. 

“I need you to be my…well, the muggles have a good saying for it. My canary in a coal mine, as it were.” 

“Ominis Gaunt, are you going to run experiments on me?” Miradevi wiggled with an air of anticipation, the long pleats of her lehenga brushing the stone floors as she stood from the stool. “Sounds like incredible fun.” 

“You’re not going to ask for my Human Subjects Research approval? The appropriate documents? How very anti-bureaucratic of you, Mira.” He was leaning against the desk, arms folded, giving her that infernal little smile and head tilt combination. Miradevi nodded, her ears heating slightly. 

“I trust you. Go on then, what nefarious tests are you going to run?” 

“The spell my wand employs to let me assess my surroundings is not, in fact, a spell at all.” Ominis let her run her fingers along the wood. “The wand itself is made for people with blindness or low vision. The issue is that there are not very many of them, since the magic is finicky and difficult to replicate. My thesis is centered around audiomancy and- well, making this sort of magic better. Right now, it’s like… listening with a bit of cotton in your ears, or looking through a mildly grimy window.”  

“So you’re tweaking it.” Mira reached for a few of the notes scattered on the main desk, rather impressed by the concise way Ominis put his thoughts on paper. “That’s impressive-” 

“Not just that. I’m looking to expand. There are far more people like me than the wizarding world would like to acknowledge. Getting funding for this project was a real nightmare, but that’s a different story. Here, would you indulge me? Close your eyes, and take my wand.” 

He had said it fairly lightly, and while wandless magic was the norm she’d grown up with, even Mira knew the significance of being handed another’s wand. She obeyed, gently reaching for the sleek wood. 

The awareness that closing her eyes robbed her of was suddenly supplemented by sensations that bloomed to life around her; she stumbled, thrown completely off balance for a moment as sounds, shapes, and a strange haze of magic began to map out her surroundings. 

“Ominis-” 

“Disorienting, I know. Focus, for a moment. Find your balance and trust the magic. Trust me. This is an extension of myself, and I’d never lead you astray, Mira.” 

“You sound different.” She murmured, screwing her eyes shut tighter to avoid the instinct to open them. Her shin connected with the edge of the table leg. “ Ow. You sound more sybillant. Like I’m hearing your voice in more depth.” 

A hand brushed her shoulder, and she leaned into Ominis’s touch as he guided her gently away from the table, towards the pathway around the lab. She could begin to feel where heavy structures began and ended, a faint hum of magic pulsing outwards like waves of sound, bouncing off the walls, and returning the data input to her brain. 

“You hear the Parseltongue in my voice. You hear me and what some would call my essence more clearly.” He braced Mira’s shoulders with his hands, a shiver running down his spine at the feeling of her back pressed against his chest. He ducked down, his lips just above her ear. “When you speak, I hear the heavier edge of Hindi underlying your words. The weight of Sanskrit your ancestors passed down, that your tongue remembers. Like deeper layers, only focused hearing can unveil.” 

“That’s amazing.” She took a few tentative steps forward, managing to avoid a stray chair but catching her foot on a crack in the flagstones. A flaw. A rather glaring one. She paused and turned slowly. “It didn’t pick that up. Your wand, it didn’t show me the crack on the floor.” 

“And that is the issue.” He was having far too much fun with this. Despite feeling thoroughly thrown off balance without having his wand in hand, Ominis could hear the rustling of her clothes, the jingling of her jewelry, and the touch of her fingers as she reached for him like instinct, he noted with something far too satisfied. “It’s not polished enough, not as sharp as it should be. For someone who relies on it to navigate their entire life? It falls short.” 

He couldn’t resist. His hand traced along her shoulder, past the soft fabric of her lehenga, along her slender neck where her usual weight of jewelry sat. His lips caught the thump-thump-thump of her pulse- and he shuddered at the way she gasped when his sharp canines dragged along her throat. 

“Ominis-” She tilted her head back, and his hand found her jawline, her lips, her eyes- still closed. 

“Good girl.” His murmur was soft, approving. And his palm slowly rested over her fluttering lashes, ensuring that her vision remained void. “That is what I am working on. That is what I hope to produce. Magic that is so precise, so intricate and detailed, that no one like me will ever trip on a crack in the floor again.” 

She shifted, wiggling out of his grip to face him. Her soft breathing whispered over his skin as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her arms coming up to tangle with his hair. Spurred on by the fact that the undergrad had beaten a hasty retreat a while ago, he found her jawline and lifted her face up, searching for her lips.

“Come to me.” 

His soft command was met with a kiss, and he hummed, low and appreciative. Heat settled in his abdomen as Miradevi pressed closer, a soft sigh slipping from her, and he took the opportunity to taste her, to swipe his tongue along her mouth and draw her closer. His back hit the cold stone wall, the rattle of equipment drowned out by her moan of his name, his low groan- 

“Wasn’t I supposed to take you to Hogsmead?” Ominis growled, his hand finding the sliver of skin between the blouse and flowing skirt of her lehenga and gripping at the slim curves there. 

“We can push it by about half an hour-” Mira gasped softly as he hitched her into his arms. “I don’t mind a delay.” 

Ominis’s laugh held an edge of danger in it. And she was more than willing to fall into whatever web he was laying out for her. “Half an hour? I’m going to take my time, Princess. And I’m hardly going to do it here.” 

Much to her chagrin and growing anticipation in equal parts, Miradevi allowed Ominis to pull away from her, his hand in hers as he gently led her from the lab room. 

“One hour. One hour, and then I’m taking you to Honeydukes.” 

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 15: Your Love is Sunlight

It was in the same small patch of garden where he’d discovered his magic that Leroy LaRue was buried by a mother who refused to believe he was gone. Dirt clung to her fingernails as she dug with her own bare hands, her hard-sown sweeps of blooming flowers and bursting clutches of leaves shrouding her hunched figure. The sun had burned cruelly bright in the sky that day, unusually warm. Beyond the low stone walls encircling her too-empty home, she wanted to scream at the voices raised in cheer and levity beyond, the chatter of life like acid against her ears.

How could you? She dug harder, her hands shaking desperately as she wrapped her son in the same soft cottons she’d once swaddled him in, painstakingly, lovingly crafted stitch by stitch. How could you be so happy? How could you laugh when my baby is gone- 

She’d soothed him to sleep just like this, so many times. Marie LaRue pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead, her mind dragging forth the cruelest memory of the day she’d brought him home from the hospital, when he was so small in her arms, squirming and babbling with a fussiness typical of newborns. She’d never loved anybody more in her life. 

The sun hung high in the sky as Leroy LaRue was laid to rest. 

_____________________

“Clear.” 

The command was echoed, double-checked, and only then were the glass doors held open with a sweet little twinkle of bells. 

 

“Clear. This way, Your Highness.” 

 

August Steepley tried not to stare as a tall, dark-skinned woman draped in a burst of flowing, peacock-hued fabrics and precious stone-encrusted jewelry swept into his teashop. The rank, skill, and unquestionable lethality of the aurors flanking her were given away by shieldrunes woven into their dark robes, the metal gleaming and deadly, and a clear sign of who they were.

 

Once, perhaps, before the bombings happened, he would have said the level of security was overkill. But the wizarding worlds were changing and, in his humble opinion, not entirely for the better. 

 

What was overkill was a bloody auror showing up at his house in the middle of the night to curtly inform him that the princess of Surya would be at his teashop the next day. The information could have been conveyed via owl, but the French blood in the tea connoisseur's veins allowed him to appreciate a touch of drama. 

 

With a haughty look of practiced disinterest, August laid down two velvety menus before the princess and her date, exchanged pleasantries and a botched bow he’d practiced in front of the mirror, before retreating behind the counter in the solace of his teawall and silverware. 

Miradevi’s jhumka earrings, sporting vivid, tiny blue crystals, twinkled softly with the movement of her head as she took in the quaint little place. The day’s ensemble for her long overdue outing to Hogsmead was an Anarkali. The sweeping folds of handwoven cloth were a deep, ocean blue swirled with green—a perfect backdrop for the block-printed peacocks fluttering painted feathers against the rich fabric. Her gaze shifted around the little place, taking in the details. 

 

The teashop was small in a manner that sought to project exclusivity, and very carefully made to look cluttered with classy French bric-a-brac. The table itself was quite tiny and ear-warmingly intimate, tucked away from the large windows, up against the pink stone walls sporting intricate paintings of ornamental teaspoons. 

 

As much as she wanted to tell Ominis how charming the place was and how well he’d chosen, looking at the man was proving to be mildly difficult. 

 

“You are not being subtle right now.” Her voice was soft, but a hand came up to cover her eyes, as if obstructing her view of him would do anything to douse the prickling heat of his attention. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness.” Faux innocent, Ominis ran his wand along the menu, holding it between pianist's fingers like it was a quill, allowing the pulse of its magic to read each promising option. 

 

His mind was running in hamster-esque circles, going over and over what he’d just spent an hour doing to her after taking her from the lab. Each sound, every soft gasp of his name, all the little noises of ecstasy he’d drawn from her dipped and rose in a melody he itched to transcribe on sheet music and play on his piano till his fingers bled. The memories burned in his mind, warming him like the first rays of sun after a long, long winter. 

 

“I can tell you’re fixating on what just transpired between us, and I’d urge you to stop being so obvious that you’re thinking of it.” Mira tried to sound prim, the effect ruined by the fluster in her voice.

 

“Stop thinking about you, my darling? It would be easier to tear the moon from the sky.” Ominis smiled behind his menu. “And you’re being painfully obvious as well. I can tell you can’t even look at me without remembering what I reduced you to, and how much you liked it.” 

 

“Oh, go on and announce it to the world, why don’t you?” Mira buried her face in her hands, a laugh slipping the confines of her fingers, too late to cram back into her mouth. “You’re awful, Ominis Gaunt.” 

 

“My restraint and good sense are things I have prided myself on all my life, yet they are undone in the best of ways at your hands. I’d say my lack of composure is entirely your fault.” 

 

For eight months, she’d known him. Each of his delectable traits, each beautiful, enigmatic quirk, had unfurled like a Gulmohar bloom in the heat of summer. A wonderful secret she could keep tucked away close to her chest, a treasure trove of soft smiles and gentle touches that the heir of Slytherin granted her. His quiet strength and supplemental passion both set her at ease and heated the blood in her veins- a double-sided coin she delighted in flipping over and over between her fingers, overjoyed at whichever side landed in her open palms. She settled at his side like a prophecy fulfilled, and occasionally wondered where on earth she’d been wandering this entire time while he was right there. She knew what this feeling was, intimately acquainted with the nervousness that came with the l-o-v-e word. Their courtship, though marked with near tragedy and growing political unrest, was like a dream she didn’t wish to wake from. He treated her like- well, as she deserved, really, and Mira decided that she’d hardly ruin what they had by tossing around such a weighty statement if he didn’t seem ready. 

 

“You have been silent for nearly two minutes.” Ominis sounded mildly impressed, as if her silence was a novelty.“You didn’t even notice that I ordered for you.” 

 

“What?” Mira snapped out of her stupor, blinking rapidly. “But you don’t know what I-” 

 

“A masala chai with two extra tablespoons of brown sugar.” Ominis took her silence as stunned appreciation, a smug little smile playing on his lips as he didn’t hear a correction or amendment. He was entirely unaware that the princess was coming to terms with being ridiculously, madly, and wholly in love. 

 

______________________

 

Cobbled stone paths wound around clusters of homes and shops, interlaced with the occasional patch of wilderness just off the neatly paved streets. Hogsmead made her think of home. Not in their similarities, but more so in the stark differences. Where the streets of Surya bustled with activity that made one feel like any stranger on the road was a potential friend to be made, Hogsmead- and by extension, Britain- was drenched in formality. But it was charming nonetheless, and Miradevi relished in Ominis’s arm hooking hers as he guided her, wand in hand. 

 

He’d taken her to Steepley and Sons, and then Honeydukes, where he had the honor of witnessing just how indecisive she could be. Mira agonized over a chocolate frog or a cauldron cake, waving away his insistence that she could just get both. He was perfectly willing to stand around all day if she so desired, more than content to feel her warmth close to him, the scent of jasmine and marigolds mingling with cloying, heavy sugar. A decision was finally made when she’d given up on herself and turned to one of her bodyguards, who was caught rather off guard, but suggested the chocolate cauldron.

 

They’d left only after Mira had purchased a sizeable amount of tooth rottingly sweet treats for all six aurors in her entourage in a small gesture of thanks. 

 

Sunset came with conversation, soft and meandering as her pinkie finger curled against his, fresh mehendi swirling along her digits and up her wrists. They settled by the low stone bridge, the sun slipping down the horizon casting the sky in burning pinks and golds. Ominis saw none of it, but he heard the flutter of wings as birds settled to roost, and their chorus of dusk song. An evening chill soothed the warmth of the spring afternoon, and if he focused well enough, he could hear the phantom thump of Thestral wings against the sky as a herd left the confines of the Forbidden Forest to begin their nightly hunt. 

 

Mira traced the back of his hand with her little finger, mapping out each ridge and bump of veins and muscle. The conversation lulled slightly and she turned her face up to him. “This might be a bit out of the blue, but how long have you known Sebastian?”

Ominis raised his brows, but considered. His elbows rested against the parapet of the bridge, the look in his eyes growing slightly distant. 

 

“It feels like I’ve known him all my life. We went to the same school as boys- Merlin Academy, if you were wondering.” 

 

“Oh, posh.” Mira was caught between a laugh and a grimace. “They have an exchange program with one of the wizarding schools in Surya. I’m not saying this in any official capacity whatsoever, but those children can be rather ruthless.” 

 

“You have no idea. It was only my last name that protected me from the, er, initiations. Putting the teenaged children of the most influential families in wizarding Britain together under one roof is a recipe for disaster.” Ominis smiled, a hint of begrudging pride in his words. “Sebastian got in on pure merit. He was always one of the smartest people I knew, and he excelled. I protected him the best I could, exerted my family’s influence to keep him from being torn apart. Turns out, I didn’t need to. If you think he’s a terror now, you should have seen him at fifteen.” 

 

“I can’t imagine.” Mira lifted her gaze to a flock of owls sweeping overhead, ghostlike against the falling dusk, letters fluttering in their claws. “Ominis, I- I have to ask, about his sister- and her curse. With everything that happened since the bombings, with everything that continues to happen, I worry we’ve left that issue on the wayside.”

 

His shoulders sagged slightly as he rested his weight more fully on the parapet. He’d known he’d have to tell her the whole story someday, and while he would have rather spent the evening kissing her senseless, it did seem prudent to get this out of the way first. 

 

“We split up for college. Sebastian came to Hogwarts for his undergraduate studies and I wanted to go with him, but my father wanted me to go somewhere prestigious. I had the grades for it, certainly, but I always felt like that wasn’t the reason I could go wherever I pleased. My father pushed me into going somewhere essentially exclusive to purebloods. He hoped to beat out the disdain I have for blood purity rhetoric, but unfortunately for him, I actually learned a modicum of critical thinking.” 

 

Mira nodded, keeping silent. Ominis wasn’t typically the talker between the two of them, so she rather enjoyed this rare steady stream of his voice, his cadence dipping and rising like the tide. 

 

“My loathing of pureblood supremacy was only reinforced. And.. a few months short of graduation, I received a letter from Sebastian.” His voice tightened slightly. “Anne had been cursed- a byproduct of growing tensions with goblin rebellion forces and the wizarding community. Initially, I thought it would be easily taken care of. But even after the best cursebreakers in St. Mungos yielded no results, I began to worry. I- we- grew desperate. I had sworn off dark magic but when someone you care for is withering away before you, your morals begin to sway.” 

 

Ominis gently brushed his thumb over Mira’s hand. “Are you still with me? I- I realize this is a lot, and feel free to stop me, if-” 

 

“No. No, not at all. I’m just listening. I’m listening.” 

 

“Very well.” Ominis took a breath, moving on. As much as he wished to bury those memories so deep they’d never be able to crawl out, he needed to tell her. He needed Mira to understand. 

 

“We found a book. In the recesses of the libraries in my home, and that should have been my first warning sign. Nothing good could have come from anything there, but the spell seemed promising. No strings attached. Instant removal of someone’s pain, of any debilitating curse.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. Only self depreciating remorse. “Everything I had learnt, all my education, went out the window in that moment. All the cautionary tales of magic demanding a price, every case study, every warning. We set the ritual up with- well, blind faith. We cast the runes, wove the sigils. It was only by sheer luck that I noticed a single thing out of place. One crooked runemark, expertly disguised to look like something for healing- but it was inverted. This-” Ominis traced a shape on Mira’s palm. “Instead of this.” He traced another, and Mira barely noticed the difference. She looked up, her gaze flicking over the tension tightening Ominis’s features. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

“We almost killed her.” The words tasted like ash, but he spoke them as dispassionately as he could. “It was a bloody death ritual disguised as cursebreaking. The ‘instant cure’ was essentially a sacrifice.” 

 

Miradevi had a gnawing feeling that this was where the story was going, and the confirmation made her stomach lurch in horror. “I can’t- I can’t imagine-” 

 

“Anne and I were adamant after that. No more dark magic. Sebastian and I came to Hogwarts for our postgraduate education, and just as I thought he was cooling down, sticking to traditional methods- he heard about the Scriptorium. And you were there for that mess.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sebastian Sallow is a very intelligent wizard, I will give him that. Once he makes a mistake with a spell, or a potion, or anything, he’s highly unlikely to make it again. I know he’s going to be cautious, especially after what nearly happened. But I can’t help but worry that he’s going somewhere I cannot follow.” 

 

The sun had dipped, and Mira leaned against Ominis’s shoulder, her mind whirling. In Surya, dark magic was nowhere near as taboo as it was in Britain. It was considered a ‘heavier’ form of magic, one that had to be navigated carefully, delicately, and with hefty spiritual protections. But the potential of it was recognized and had been studied for tens of thousands of years, giving them a significant advantage over newer nations. But the strain of dark magic born from European cultures was different. Finetuned and tailored for cruelty, for nothing but damage for the sake of it. 

 

“I know how things work where you come from.” Ominis’s voice was soft, cutting through her thoughts. His fingers interlaced with hers as he lifted her hand to his lips, soft, gentle presses of featherlight kisses against her skin. “I know Surya prides itself on the pursuit of knowledge, and constant re-examining of things assumed to be known. I know that dark magic is not something you shy away from.” 

 

“Ominis-” Mira began, uncertain. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.” 

 

“I need you to know that I understand the difference.” Ominis insisted, taking both her hands in his. He felt for her bangles, his fingers jingling them together to draw out his favorite sounds. “I trust the centuries of history behind the choices you make today, and I’m well aware of the strict repercussions your empire has for those who lose themselves. But Europe is different. Our magic is different. All I ask is that you keep it in mind.” His kisses trailed up her wrist and he gently urged her closer, finding her jawline, her neck, kissing the marks he’d left there earlier in the day. “I cannot lose you, Miradevi. I will not lose you.” 

 

“You won’t.” Mira guided his face to hers, that same flood of buttery, heavenly warmth settling in her veins, that rush of the word she was too frightened to say. His lips met hers, a reverence and a sense of ownership rolled into a searing kiss. “I promise, you won’t.” 

 

_____________________

 

The aurors left them only after they’d been escorted into the courtyard of the castle. They bowed, a fist over their chest in the Suryan salute, and apparated away in sharp snaps, weighed down slightly with bags from Honeydukes. 

 

And Sebastian Sallow quickly filled in that little gap of alone time Mira was hoping to get. 

 

“He seems riled.” Ominis murmured by her ear and his hands wound around Mira’s hips. She turned slightly, her brows raised.

“Now how on earth could you know that?” 

“His footsteps. Rapid, heavy, like he’s stomping. And I can nearly hear his teeth gnashing from here.” 

 

“Have a good date?” Sebastian drew up to them, and Miradevi was rather taken aback by the draw of his brows, the flicker in his eyes. She’d seen him angry. She’d seen him stubborn and sometimes a little callous. She’d seen him sheepish and happy and sad, but she’d never seen this. 

 

He almost looked… frightened. 

 

“Wonderful, actually.” Mira said, cautious, as Ominis rested his chin on her head. “Dare I ask what’s got you in a tizzy?” 

 

Sebastian said nothing, only handing her a copy of the Daily Prophet. After Ominis coughed politely, Mira began to read out loud with a quick apology kiss to his jawline. 

 

“- Suspected to be partially responsible for instigating the tragic bombings that took place almost a month ago, Serenity Hawkins has been placed under arrest-” Mira looked up, startled. “I know that name. The Muggleborn Action for-” she trailed off, trying to pry the acronym from her brain. 

 

“MAJIC.” Ominis cut in, his voice harder. “Muggleborn Action for Justice and Integration Consortium. She was one of the founders of the consortium, and fairly well respected. Did they say why she was suspected?” 

“They’re not arresting her on grounds of being part of the actual bombing, they’re- they’re arresting her for suspected instigation.” A harsh scoff of incredulity and derision escaped her lips as she read between the carefully crafted lines. “They’re arresting her for organizing one of the protests on the day of the Purity Act.” 

 

“A lot of people were.” Sebastian’s hands rested on his hips, his dark brown eyes gleaming with concern. “And that’s not all. You know Roger Burbage?” 

 

“Head of the Muggle Studies department? Yes, he’s quite the character. My parents loathe him, but that’s to be expected. Don’t tell me they arrested him?” 

 

“No, but I overheard him talking with Ronen. Apparently the Ministry wants to ‘re examine’ what is being taught about muggles and muggleborns.” Sebastian put the words in air quotes. 

 

A cold wind swept through the open courtyard and Mira shivered slightly, though it had little to do with the chill. Ominis shrugged his suit off, settled it around her shoulders, holding her still as she attempted to squirm away in protest. It hardly went along with her outfit, but his touch was insistent, even though his mind was occupied. 

 

“The Ministry is acting with the confidence only a written testimony and confession would warrant.” Ominis said. “But they don’t have one. I don’t know what the hell they’re playing at-” 

 

He was cut off by magic singing to life around them- a silvery swirl of a corporeal patronus taking shape. Ominis felt the wash of soothing magic, the residual happiness of whatever memory the caster had pulled on to summon it. 

 

Mira straightened, recognizing the silver-blue lion that padded towards her, and the low, gravelly voice speaking from its jaws. 

 

“Your Royal Highness. Your presence is requested at an ESS of the International Wizarding Consortium, called by Prime Minister Edward Barclay, regarding the current unrest in wizarding Britain. You will be escorted to a porktey secured by Vice Chancellor Matilda Weasely, and IWC security will take you to the General Assembly building. The meeting will begin at eight pm, CET. We look forward to seeing you there.” 

 

The lion shimmered away, silvery ribbons of magic unspooling and dissipating in the cold evening air. 

 

Sebastian watched as the princess groaned softly, pinching the bridge of her nose. And- in the span of a few seconds, her demeanour changed. Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted slightly, and she transformed the ring on her finger back into the tiara she wore, settling it on her head. A formal, steely glint sparked to life in her eyes and she rolled her shoulders slightly, as if warming up. 

 

“Duty calls, I suppose.” She turned to Sebastian, handing him the newspaper. “Be careful, both of you. Times are changing, and I don’t like the direction things are going. I’ll try and tell you two everything when I get back. Ominis-” 

 

“Is this going to be broadcasted anywhere?” His voice was cold. Unyielding. 

 

“Ordinarily, no. Something like this is a concern of national security but, if my suspicions are right, Barclay wants this projected everywhere. There’s a narrative he’s trying to push, and I have a sneaking feeling that the whole reason behind this meeting is to rally the other nations into following suit with this kick of muggleborn scrutiny he’s on.” 

 

“Sebastian, I need a moment alone with her.” 

 

The chestnut-haired wizard cast a quick look between Ominis and Mira before giving a sharp nod and turning away, heading back to the castle, his mind swirling with the events unfolding before them. The future seemed murky, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not tell up from down. 

 

Miradevi turned to Ominis. “The meeting shouldn’t take long. I expect-” 

 

She was cut off as he kissed her, and wasted no time in reciprocating. His palms cupped her face before one hand traveled down to grip her waist, pulling her closer, the frantic stutter of his heart outweighing any pleasure he might have felt. The kiss was desperate and rough, and Mira allowed him to take the reigns, to let his iron composure slip further. 

 

“I’ll be fine-” she managed to breathe, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. “I swear, I’ll be fine, Ominis.” 

 

“I can’t be there with you.” the words shuddered out of Ominis like it caused him pain to speak them. “If anything happens- if one hair on your head is out of place, if you come back to me with so much as a papercut, so help me gods, I will-” 

 

Mira pulled back and gently placed her hand over his lips. A soft, amused smile playing on her own. “No threats.” She murmured, chiding. “I’ll be fine, the IWC boasts some very good security.” 

 

“They’d better do their bloody jobs well.” Ominis hissed, drawing her hand away. “Because I’m sending the woman I love into a nest of vipers.” 

Miradevi stilled, and it was as if the night had fallen silent around her. For a moment- she was hyperaware of everything. The dim glow of light from the castle, the wind whistling against the aged rock and beneath the arch of the bridge leading into the courtyard. Matilda Weasley’s footsteps as she rushed out to escort her to the portkey. 

 

“The what?” She whispered, as Ominis’s grip on her tightened. “The woman you what?” 

Somehow, hearing him say the word- the cosmos clicked into place. Everything aligned, and the very stars seemed to say- of course. Of course, silly girl. What else did you expect? 

 

“I don’t recall stuttering, Mira.” He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to her palms. “I love you. I am desperately, madly in love with you, and I expect to hear you say it back only after you return to me, safe and sound.” 

 

Chapter 16: Fuel the Pyre of your Enemies

“The portkey will take you to the Palais de Chaillot. You will have half an hour before the meeting is called to order, and it should run for 90 minutes. This is your dossier for every statesman in attendance, and I have outlined the ones who expressed a wish to speak with you. They have been vetted, but given the short notice of the meeting, only a handful can be given some time.” 

Ravi Chawan was one of the best courtiers she could have asked for. Hailing from a province in Surya tucked away in the more mountainous regions of the Himalayan foothills, Ravi navigated diplomacy and politics like it was a symphony. He, the conductor, helped her fine-tune each wayward note to fall into line with the others to make a coherent melody. 

Mira was handed a black, leatherbound file, embossed in gold with the seal of the International Wizarding Convention. A spinning globe, threads of glittering magic weaving amongst the various continents, connecting each major wizarding nation. Professor Weasley had kindly led her to the offices of the university’s Chancellor- the infamous Phineas Black, about whom she’d heard a myriad of horror stories from Ominis. Ravi was waiting for her in Black’s office, salt and pepper hair neatly done, his beard trimmed perfectly, and Mira had to appreciate his efficiency. He’d made the jump from India to Britain in less than an hour, and not a hair was out of place. 

“Thank you, Ravi ji .” She flipped it open, trying to focus on the photographs and words on the pages instead of Ominis Gaunt’s voice in her head telling her he was in love with her. “Will there be press in the Assembly Room?”

“Yes, princess.” Ravi watched as she flipped another page of the dossier, committing as much as she could to memory, recognizing a few faces. “This document is a general outline of answers to provide for anything they may ask. We anticipate a higher concentration of questions directed towards yourself, Premier Faulkner, and Minister Stoyanov, given that you were all survivors of the bombing. You are to deflect and not commit to any narrative being pushed right now. The palace’s stance is that we express our regrets for the deaths that occurred, and hope the culprit will be captured soon.” 

He raised his hands at the look on Mira’s face, nodding. “I know, princess. But this is a multinational meeting, and your first time doing something like this without your parents or your brothers at your side. The raja is merely being cautious. He does not want a target on your back.” 

“Very well. Do I have any time to change into something a bit more appropriate?” She gestured at her anarkali, and Ravi nodded, guiding her to the gleaming portkey on Chancellor Black’s desk.

“Ten minutes, Your Highness.” 

Mira nodded, a faint smile twisting her lips. A familiar rush set her magic alight, keening to be let loose- the same thing that lit the gleam in Sebastian’s eyes when he secured another dueling victory, and the smirk on Ominis’s face when he mastered a complex movement on the piano. For her, this was it. 

This was her dueling ground, her magnum opus. The global stage, a chessboard of pieces ready to detonate at a moment’s notice, tangled in threads where one wrong touch would bring them cascading down. Navigating it meant deadly precision, and Mira was not merely content with surviving. At her hand, Surya would dominate its opponents and foster its allies, and she would be instrumental in making sure the other pieces knew their place. 

___________________________

 

Ominis relied on Sebastian to bring the university’s massive broadcast mirror to life in the opulent auditorium. Heavy velvet ropes edged the mahogany stage, arches of plush seats stacking up to the doors at the top. He chose a spot, middle upper seats, crossed his arms, and waited. Beyond the auditorium, the halls of Hogwarts were relatively silent, broken only by the whisper of postgraduates burning their midnight oil. 

“There. I don’t know how much they’re going to show-” Sebastian’s voice was cut off by Lavinia Skeeter’s voice, wand to her mouth, standing before the Palais de Chaillot as her image shimmered onto the mirror like liquid mercury. The heavy doors creaked open behind him, and Sebastian looked up to see Amit, Natsai, and Poppy trail in, their voices raised in chatter as they wasted no time in settling beside Ominis. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you all doing here?” Ominis asked, surprised but not entirely unhappy at the addition. Lavinia was chattering in the background, her voice amplified around the auditorium through sound-magnifying runes, and Sebastian darted up the steps to take his own seat, slouching casually against the plush velvet. 

“Supporting a friend,” Poppy held something out to him. “Chocolate frog?” 

“I- alright, thank you.” Ominis accepted. “I wasn’t aware that you and Mira were acquainted.” 

“Honestly, not particularly! But she once helped me tell off Marcus Slughorn for trying to hurt Persephone, and I decided I liked her.”

Ominis must have looked confused, because Poppy quickly clarified that the ‘Persephone’ in question, whose honor Miradevi was defending, was a pet Kneazle from their Beasts Physiology practical seminar. 

“She’s my nation’s princess.” Amit offered. “What sort of upstanding citizen would I be if I didn’t see what my country’s leaders are up to?”

Sebastian coughed, and it sounded vaguely like hippogriff shite. Amit threw his hands up in mock frustration. 

“Alright, I’m here solely to find reasons I can make fun of her when she gets back.”

“She’s good at listening. I don’t know how many times I’ve shown up at her door in a bout of homesickness to wallow together.” Natty cut in. “Did you think you were the only one who got to monopolize her time, Ominis Gaunt?” 

He scoffed at the tease, but there was an ease in his shoulders. “I’m well aware that you two are friends. She’s raved about you often with me.” 

“I could say the same myself.” Natty was silent for a moment. The broadcast had fallen into a lull till the Emergency Session began, advertisements for broom cleaning gear droning in the background. “I was hesitant to approach you at first. I’d heard… things. About your family.” 

The already chilled auditorium seemed to grow frigid. Ominis bit down on a far less good-natured scoff at Gryffindors and their penchant for being so confidently wrong. “You’re not the first to have those assumptions, Miss Onai. And you will not be the last. I hardly care about the misconceptions people have regarding my character.” 

 

“No, listen-” Natty reached across Poppy, her hand on Ominis’s knee. “It was my mistake. I knew little about this country, nor its culture. It’s difficult not to make snap judgments when all you listen to are the whispers of others.” She didn’t sound proud of the fact. And Ominis did have to admire her self-awareness. “I’d like to be friends, if you are amenable.” 

Ominis didn’t like the soft, warm glow in his stomach. It felt too clichéd, too ridiculous. It was childish and overly emotional to ruminate on things like this- friends laughing at his side, olive branches being extended from unlikely places, and the love of his life standing proudly before the world. Life gave solely to snatch away, and he’d learned not to scrabble for purchase on those fine grains of happiness, because they inevitably slipped from his fingers. 

The voice in his head sounded like his father, low and hissing. He didn’t need to be happy. He needed to be great. 

But a different voice broke through the miasma in his mind. Much softer, yet it was all he could focus on. 

You’re allowed to feel joy without guilt, Ominis. 

He reached out and found where Natty’s hand rested on his knee. And he smiled. 

“I’d like that very much, Natsai.” 

 

______________________

 

Two massive Byzantine colonnaded wings curled in a wide arc, separated by the Central Esplanade, from where the Eiffel Tower could be seen right across the street, resplendent. The air around the Palais de Chaillot shimmered with protective wards and enchanments to disorient muggles from straying too close to the tourist destination like static trapped between the very molecules. Every major news outlet across the wizarding nations worth their salt had secured press passes as soon as possible, lining up beyond the marble steps, speaking before gilded mirrors. 

The stars scattered in the depths of the sky above witnessed as dignitaries began to arrive, either in snaps of apparition, by portkey, or through a Floo flame hidden away along the pillars. Low murmurs and questions began to rise from the reporters; questions the attendees themselves had as well. 

Ignoring the reporters with well-practiced ease, Benjamin Faulkner strode up the well-lit marble steps and met the President of MACUSA halfway. Security formed a tight perimeter around the building, a patchwork dome of magic shimmering every fifteen minutes as protective enchanments were strengthened over the Palais.. 

“Good to see you, Ben.” Josiah Jackson reached out, gripping the other man’s hand in a firm shake. “Barclay has some crappy timing, doesn’t he?” 

“Good to see you too, Mr. President. And, well,” The Canadian Premier shrugged slightly in an it is what it is gesture. “His country’s in shambles. Barclay is being a damn fool.” Faulkner leaned closer, his voice hushed as they approached the esplanade, floating lights illuminating the wide pillared wings that arced around it. “To call an emergency session barely a month into your leadership, on the heels of domestic terrorism- it’s idiocy. He’s offering his throat up on a platter, practically begging for a coup. He needs to project strength, whether he has it or not.” 

“He needed a majority vote to call the ESS.” Jackson muttered, after giving a low hum of agreement. “Surya, Japan, and Uganda were the only ones to vote no.”

“They’re trying to mind their own business. They know better than to get involved in this mess- but the West has a vested interest in the British wizarding world.” Faulkner turned as his security approached, a crest of Red Oak, Canada’s primary source of wandwood, pinned to their signature maroon red and white robes. “What is it?” 

"We’ve been asked to move everyone up to the esplanade, sir.” The auror muttered. “To clear the way.” 

Faulkner exchanged a glance with Jackson as the clamor from the reporters kicked up a notch. 

“Her Royal Highness has arrived.” 

 

_______________________

 

The portkey sparked and whirled like lightning caught in a bottle, before stilling as a group of people emerged from the heavy transportation magic- a handful of Surya’s special forces National Security Guard, yantras locking over their armor like chainmail, glowing steadily as the protection wards shimmered over their bodies. 

Princess Miradevi wore red. 

Her sari was draped in the Nivi style, the garment a hue of freshly spilled blood. Burning gold trishulas were woven into the fabric instead of her usual flowers and paisleys; a statement and warning. The trident motif was a symbol of war, of going on the offensive. Surya had not forgotten nor forgiven the fact that their princess had nearly been a casualty in an attack on foreign soil, and the royal family was making their stance clear. 

She had abandoned the tiara in favor of her true crown. A mukut was more helmet than headgear, adding a few inches to her already rather imposing height. It gleamed gold, carved with the visage of snarling tigers, their eyes studded with precious stones. Each ridge was meticulously crafted, metal flames and sigils engraved along the sides. Her eyes glittered in the soft lights illuminating the Palais as she approached the marble steps. Ravi took her hand and gently guided her as she lifted her sari with the other, hushed words murmured in Hindi between them. 

Pleasantries were exchanged with each of the dignitaries, and Mira played the game well, her smile charming, her words quiet but pointed. Each statement was carefully chosen in a split second, each hesitation and cadence crafted to perfection. In the back of her mind, as Miradevi listened to the President of MACUSA going on about a Sasquatch rebellion, she thought vaguely that whoever was under the impression that diplomacy was a peace tactic was either naive or had never met a politician. 

As the clocks neared eight o’clock, they were ushered into the Théâtre national de la Danse. 

_____________________

 

“The heads of state have entered the Palais de Challiot, and in a few moments we will switch the broadcast to the assembly hall where Edward Barclay will give his speech regarding the current turmoil in wizarding Britain. Supreme Mugwump Frederick Fielhauser will oversee proceedings in the first Emergency Special Session called by wizarding Britain in twenty years. This is Lavinia Skeeter, with the Daily Prophet.” 

Ominis clenched his jawline, tension tightening every angle of his body. He’d grown more and more antsy, one awful scenario after the other running circles in his mind. Their companions were all in various stages of interest. Natty was watching the broadcast mirror, her eyes focused. Poppy and Amit were leaning close together, whispering, and Sebastian noticed they were rather close. 

Poppy and Natty had oohed and ahhed over Miradevi when she’d appeared on the broadcast, and, for a moment, his stomach had lurched as he realized that entire wizarding nations would be watching her. Tens of thousands of people would have their eyes on his girl. 

Everyone had stumbled over their words, clamoring to all describe the princess’s ensemble to Ominis, and he’d settled them with a rather smug reminder that he’d have the opportunity to acquaint himself as intimately as he wished with what she was wearing when she returned. To him. 

“Wait- it’s starting.” Sebastian cut in, and Ominis sat a little straighter. They fell silent, watching- and in his case, listening. 

“That’s a huge room,” Sebastian murmured, his gaze fixed on the mirror. “Sort of like the Great Hall, but much bigger, and with chairs in ascending rows, sort of like this auditorium. It’s like a theater. There’s a large stage, where a bunch of the wizarding countries’ flags are set up behind a glass podium. Er- nice architecture.”

“I’m following,” Ominis murmured. “Is there any sign of her?” 

Sebastian tried to scrounge up as much detail as he could. “Not yet. Everyone’s taking their seats, and there are plaques with names in front of each one.” 

As it turned out, Ominis didn’t need Sebastian to tell him when Mira entered the room. Somehow, from miles away, through a mirror, he felt it. 

There was a low rumble of chairs as every person in the assembly hall stood, facing the main doors to the assembly space as they were held open, and Princess Miradevi walked into the room, along the aisle between the rows of seats. 

“What’s happening?” Ominis murmured. The transmission had grown strangely silent, but the hush was charged with something he could feel, all the way in Scotland. 

Amit responded, his voice hushed. “They’re giving her the salute of Surya- like this.” He reached over and guided Ominis’s hand into a fist. “Crossed over your chest. Then you bow. That’s what they’re doing, all of them.” 

Ominis felt his breath catch slightly. The most powerful people in the wizarding worlds bowed when his princess walked into a room. “Does that… usually happen?” 

“Always.” Amit bit down on a smile. He had to give Ominis credit; the only indication of his surprise was a slight rise of his brows, a faint loosening of his jawline. “She makes it easy to forget who and what she is. But I always tell her- sometimes, in times like these, people need a reminder.”

 

Chapter 17: It's Not the Waking, It's The Rising

Prime Minister Edward Barclay was charming. Well spoken. He managed to strike the perfect balance of impassioned drive and roguish, down-to-earth humor with the precision of a tuning fork, and it set Mira’s teeth on edge. There was no hint of the man she’d spoken to at the funeral, and she highly doubted he’d slip up like that again. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing something too grotesque to acknowledge; the similarities in their public speaking methods were far too noticeable for her comfort. He’d immediately broken the tension with a faux self-deprecating joke about calling a convention of the IWC in the first place, unabashedly- fearlessly- dragging into the open what most people in the room were trying to hide behind hushed conversations. 

 

I know what you all are thinking. Barclay had given a fake wince and shrugged behind the podium. Bloke’s barely been in the Minister’s seat for two weeks, and he’s cracked under pressure. 

 

The statement was met with hesitant laughter that grew indulgent. Miradevi narrowed her eyes, arms crossed in front of her as she waited for him to finish dallying and make his play. She couldn’t imagine what could warrant him wanting to gather the entire damn global wizarding community together on such short notice- unless…. 

 

Mira leaned closer to Ravi, her voice a hushed murmur. “Did we receive any intelligence from our contacts in the DMLE?” 

He shook his head, quickly cottoning on to her assumption. “If the Minister knows who was responsible for the bombing, he would have announced it on local news first. It’s protocol, Rajkumari . Though I admit, it would have been a dramatic move to make- but I don’t think this is some grand expose. It seems like a standard call for the support of the international community to me.” 

 

Barclay’s voice continued, amplified by the wand he held delicately to his throat as Mira settled back, more confused than she was earlier. Based on a glance around the room, she wasn’t the only one. 

“The attack on our nation was a despicable one. Cowardly, senseless violence that we shall not be cowed by. Now, I want to make no assumptions regarding the perpetrator of this heinous crime-”

No, of course not. Mira’s inner monologue was being a tad vicious, snapping its jaws at the man on the podium. You just so happened to crack down on Muggleborns as if the entire population had given you a signed letter of confession. 

 

“-but a stance must be taken. Britain will not take this attack lying down, and we come before you, the rest of the world, to make an offer.” Barclay exhaled softly, looking around the room. There was a brilliantly done gleam of passion in his eyes that Miradevi found herself faintly admiring. The only thing that gave it away as being completely feigned was the way he had locked his eyes onto the broadcasting mirrors lining the back wall. “The bombing occurred while the Purity Act was being voted on. Due to the tragedy, it was never passed, but today, I come to you with a greater goal.” 

 

Miradevi learned closer, her eyes narrowing. A few hundred miles away in Scotland, Ominis did the same thing, not liking what he was hearing one bit. 

 

“I want safety and security for our people, everywhere.” Barclay looked up, as if steeling himself. 

“As of this evening, I am presenting the motion to have the Purity Act be adopted internationally.” 

 

___________________________________

 

It had been two hours. 

 

Two hours since Barclay’s explosive statement, two hours since the media had gone into a frenzy, two hours since the IWC was locked in debate. The clock was nearing midnight, and no resolution had been made. Within the walls of Hogwarts, the small group assembled in the auditorium was caught between exhaustion and pure incredulity. 

 

“He cannot do this,” Natty repeated, perhaps for the tenth time. She turned to Sebastian, to Amit, to anyone who might agree and settle the issue, but they were equally shell-shocked, watching the large mirror and the events unfolding on it as if they were watching a ship go down. 

 

Ominis hadn’t said a word. Stony-faced and impassive, he continued listening, even as the broadcast showed little else but heated debate. Eventually, the Supreme Mugwup would call for order, and each country would make its case, which would instigate the process of passing the Purity Act as an international statute. The fact that Barclay had made it to the IWC itself was a worryingly large step in itself. It meant that he had the support of the British Wizengamot and the Tribunal, a multiagency group representing various wizarding guilds, and the last hope for Muggleborn representation in the government. 

 

“If enough countries say no, the Act gets shot down.” Sebastian addressed Natty, his voice low. “But the chances of that happening are slim. Barclay’s covered his bases, and a lot of wizarding nations with Muggleborn majority populations are worried that they’ll be next. Besides, the Act needs a two-thirds majority to pass.”

 

“MACUSA might agree. So will France, probably. Their latest census data reported lower than average births of pureblood children, and instead of acknowledging that the inbreeding might have something to do with it, they’re running anti-interstatus campaigns.” Poppy snorted softly, dragging her hand through the air and putting on a cheery voice as if advertising. “ No magic? No date. Do your part in preserving our people!” 

 

“That’s just two countries.” Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, trying not to focus on the fact that the Australian government was also likely to vote in favor of Muggleborn suppression. 

 

“Well, actually-” Amit spoke up, his thumb rubbing against his palm. He knew what he was going to say was not going to be received well. “Surya is going to either vote yes or abstain from voting entirely. And abstaining from voting just means one less powerful country to resist.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and then a cacophony of voices rose in outrage.

“-They would never-” 

 

“-Half their population are muggles, they can’t-” 

 

“ Mira would never-” 

 

“ Miradevi’s entire family is Muggle. Besides, Poppy’s right. Half their people are muggles, and they’re the only integrated wizarding nation in the world. Why the hell would they vote in favor of the Purity Act?” Ominis’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. 

 

“Because Barclay is a slimy, dhoort politician who played his cards extremely well,” Amit said, a rare note of anger in his voice. He gestured at the mirror, where the broadcast had cut to Lavinia Skeeter recounting the bombshell announcement outside the Palais. “He invited Mira to be present at this meeting, not her father, her mother, or even the Crown Prince. She’s the youngest, she’d not been involved in international politics before, and he’s counting on her to abide by the unspoken protocol that decisions are made by the official leaders of the family.” 

 

A quiet but rather colorful string of French curses followed Amit’s words, and Ominis got to his feet, unable to sit still in the velvet seats anymore. His fingers tapped against his thumb, but even counting out a 4/4 beat didn’t provide its usual comfort. His mind swam with this new information. Miradevi had no political weight to make such a decision, and she’d be torn to shreds in any cross-examination or follow-up if she tried. It was in the best interests of everyone involved to lay low, to abstain from the vote, and deal with it in another way. 

 

Barclay’s pompous lilt over the mirror caught his attention again, and irritation… no, anger, flared hot and searing in his veins. Helplessness bolted him to the spot, his fists clenched and palms stinging from the force of his blunt nails digging into the skin. 

 

“He’s using- he’s using her as a pawn.” He hissed. “As a piece to be discarded, to be manipulated for his own machinations. Does he think her family will stand for this? That they won’t see the two-bit scheme he’s trying to pull?”

 

His words were met by empty silence, heavy with the realization that Barclay could, very much, get away with it. It was broken by the creaky, ancient voice of the Supreme Mugwump crackling through the mirror. 

 

“The Consortium calls for a referendum from the General Assembly. A two-thirds majority in affirmative votes is needed to pass the now-named Purity Treaty, agreed by member nations to be upheld within their own countries.” Fielhauser settled back in his chair, adjusting the half-moon glasses perched on his nose, wand in hand. “The proceedings may begin.” 

 

Japan. 

Uganda. 

The United States.

Bulgaria. 

Argentina. 

 

Ominis felt his palms grow clammy as each nation voted, as the quiet halls echoed with yes’s and no’s, as each country decided on the fates of their people on a cold Saturday night. He tried keeping track at first, counting the majority, his stomach churning, his heart hammering faster. His ears were ringing strangely, every single sound amplified, every soft voice like a gunshot. Any moment he’d hear a rattle and a hiss, and the earsplitting sound of the earth ripping apart around him- his hands were shaking and he braced his hands against the back of the chair in front of him, bowing over it, exhaling sharply. 

 

Miradevi was so far away from him. The last time she’d been at something like this, being across the room had been the worst form of torture he’d known. Worse than what he endured at his father’s hands, worse than the basilisk venom that pumped through his veins. The feeling of being too far away, the desolation of knowing he wouldn’t get to her in time, to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe from the flames and crushing debris. She was hundreds of miles away now, if something happened- he exhaled sharply, nausea rising like a merciless tide. If something happened, if something happened to her- 

 

“Breathe.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet, his hand firm but gentle on his back. “It’s not going to happen again, Ominis. Take in a deep breath from the nose, out through the mouth.” 

 

“I can’t-” Ominis cursed the way his voice broke in a gasp, his ribs not expanding enough to suck air in. “I can’t, she’s so far away from me, Sebastian- I can’t get to her in time-” 

 

“Nothing is going to happen to her, I promise.” Sebastian was grateful that Poppy, Amit, and Natty had averted their gaze, fixed rather pointedly on the mirror. He leaned closer to Ominis, lowering his voice. “She’s safe. And she’s going to come back to you once this vote is over, I swear.” 

 

“Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi, representing the Surya Empire.” The Supreme Mugwump’s voice simmered in the churning tumult of his mind, Mira’s name breaking through the acrid memory of fire and heat that sat on his senses like he was still there. 

 

A hush fell over the auditorium. Ominis’s knuckles whitened on the back of the seat, his lashes sliding shut as his ears trained onto her every breath, each heavily accented syllable, and the precious space left between them. 

 

“The Surya Empire does not vote in the affirmative.” Her voice was quiet, but steady, and there was a collective intake of breath. Ominis tried to clear the ringing in his ears, the strange mix of pride and worry that clung to him as the ramifications of what she’d done sank in. But before anyone could speak or respond, her voice continued. 

 

“Permission to set a precedent vote, Mugwump Fielhauser?” 

 

Silence. Incredulous, tense silence. It echoed in the Palais, in the auditorium at Hogwarts, and Ominis felt his fingers going slightly numb from how hard he was gripping the chair. 

 

Frederick Fielhauser regarded the Indian woman sitting three rows away from the podium, adjusting his glasses slightly. He gestured with a gnarled hand, nodding, ignoring Barclay’s quiet, pointed scoff of annoyance. “Proceed, Your Highness.” 

 

“Due to concerns regarding justice, equity, and extremism,” Miradevi lifted her gaze and locked it with Edward Barclay, sitting a few seats ahead of her. Her ears were ringing slightly, her own words echoing, sounding as though she was speaking from deep underwater. “On behalf of the Surya Empire, the royal family, and my people, I would like to cast a preemptive veto vote on the Purity Treaty.” 

 

Silence. 

 

Miradevi kept her gaze straight ahead, not wanting to look at Ravi, or the mirrors, or anyone except the small patch of wall right by the Supreme Mugwump’s head. Her heart hammered, her breathing tight and quick, but she didn’t have the luxury of being nervous. If she projected anything besides perfect poise and confidence now, she’d be called into question and her defense would crumble in seconds. 

 

“You cannot veto a treaty that has not passed yet.” Barclay hissed, turning in his seat. “You have the patience to wait until an outcome is reached and then cast your vote, Your Highness.” 

 

“I said I’m setting a precedent vote.” Mira looked at Frederick, her eyes soft, imploring. He was an ancient, wizened old wizard, and she hoped to the gods he could hear the voices clamoring in her head. Voices that were echoing again and again with the words in the treaty, with the ridiculous, dangerous rhetoric it pushed for. “I’m giving countries that vote after me the chance to veto the Purity Treaty as well.” 

 

“I know what a precedent vote is, Your Highness.” Barclay’s voice was tight with anger. “And I don’t think you have any grounds to make that call.” 

 

“I was invited by the British Ministry of Magic in the capacity as a voting member of the International Wizarding Consortium.” Mira returned, wondering by what miracle her voice wasn’t wavering, whether she truly sounded as steady as she thought. “I have the right to cast my vote as a representative of Surya.” 

 

“Your advisor seems rather shocked by your motion.” Barclay’s lips curled in a sneer as his gaze turned to Ravi. “He is free to shoot down your motion if this was not what the Surya Empire intended to do.” 

 

Mira’s heart dropped slightly as she finally turned to face him. The elder Indian man was staring ahead, fingers interlaced. She’d explicitly gone against what Ravi had said, but then nobody had expected the meeting to be called for a voting session. Surya would have never been in favor of something like this, and she was acting as her father would have.

 

Ravi seemed stony-faced, his dark brown eyes glinting slightly, and Miradevi’s shoulders slumped slightly. He was well within his rights to recall her vote, or at least challenge it. 

 

“Not at all, Minister,” Ravi said smoothly. Mira exhaled sharply and caught it just in time. She couldn’t appear too relieved, she couldn’t appear too anything. “The princess is voting as the Surya Empire sees fit.” 

 

“Motion approved. Henceforth, should any country wish to follow the veto precedent, they may be allowed to do so.” Fielhauser nodded at Miradevi, and she allowed herself a moment. A quick, brief nod, an unspoken thanks. The old wizard’s eyes softened and crinkled at the edges before he returned to his usual stern demeanour. “We shall proceed with the vote and move on to the Kingdom of Denmark.” 

 

Mira slumped slightly in her chair and darted a quick look at Ravi. He met her questioning look with a quick shake of his head. 

 

You were reckless. He scribbled quickly in Hindi on a piece of paper, angling it so she could see. That could have gone horribly wrong, and you could have turned the entire IWC on you. You don’t have the social capital that your father, mother, or even your brothers do, and to make a move like that, knowing it could have backfired- 

 

Mira nodded, chastised. She’d taken a gamble and it had paid off, but despite his dire warning, she couldn’t imagine voting any other way. She could already hear other countries taking advantage of the precedent vote and following her veto. Ravi’s handwriting grew a little messier. 

 

I am so proud of you. I know your parents would be, too. 

 

“Stop it.” Miradevi whispered, her voice finally wavering slightly. If she looked at her advisor, she’d lose the composure she was trying so hard to maintain. “You’ll make me cry, and that’ll mess up my kajal.” 

 

______________________________

 

It was cold, it was windy, and it was nearly 3:00 am. 

 

Ominis Gaunt’s fingers were numb despite repeated warming charms, but he’d brushed off everyone’s insistence that he wait for the princess within the walls of the castle. Perhaps that would have been a good idea but right now, his heart was going to slam clean out of his chest with nervousness and a lingering sense of dread mixed with aching, desperate love, an itching need to have her in his arms again, where he knew she was safest. 

 

The broadcast had ended half an hour ago, and she’d be back any minute. There was to be not an inch of space between them if he could help it, and he wanted to be the first damn thing she saw when she returned. 

 

A crackle of energy and the scent of something like ozone filled his senses as he rose to his feet and strode across the courtyard where the bridge led out of the university. He recognized the prickle in the air of portkey magic, and his legs kicked into a run, pure, utter relief coursing through his body. 

 

She was home. She was safe.

 

Miradevi barely had time to stumble on the cold stones before she caught a blur of motion and was being swept into a pair of arms she’d recognize anywhere on the planet. The princess laughed softly, her own arms winding around Ominis’s neck as he pressed one breathless kiss after another to the crown of her head. 

 

“Brilliant, brilliant girl.” He breathed, his forehead resting against hers, the cold night air forgotten int he face of the brightness, the warmth she bestowed on him. His hands cupped her face, his lips finding hers. “You utter madwoman. What were you thinking?” 

 

“ It didn’t pass.” She said weakly, her voice almost hoarse from pent up nervousness that had finally found an outlet. “It didn’t pass, but they’re not going to stop trying to-”

 

“I know. I know, my starlight. But that is a problem for tomorrow. You’ve done your part for tonight, and you’ve taken care of your people.” Ominis tucked his coat around her shoulders, his lips finding the slope of her neck, three kisses placed in slow, relishing succession. “Let me take care of you.”

 

“Gladly. I’m in desperate need of sleep- I don’t want to be awake anytime before noon tomorrow.” She turned her face up to him, a soft smile pulling her lips. “You listened to the broadcast?” Miradevi was delighted, a part of her preening at the thought. Ominis scoffed softly muttering something along the lines of as if I’d do anything else, and gave her cursory details, enjoying the way she cooed in adoration at the fact that Amit, Poppy, Natsai, and Sebastian had joined in to watch the broadcast. 

 

He was interrupted by her hand suddenly reaching out to grab his elbow, the inviting warmth of the castle only a few paces away. Ominis turned, confused. “Mira, it’s freezing, let me get you inside-” 

 

“I almost forgot- you told me that I was only allowed to… say it back if I returned safely to you.” 

 

Ominis stilled. He turned fully to face her, and somehow his breathing had grown even more shallow. He heard the soft rattle of jewelry and caught the familiar scent of jasmine, the faint taste of her ozone-tinged magic as she drew close. Her palms braced against his chest and he allowed his hands to rise and find her wrists, pulling her even closer. 

 

“And what did I ask you to tell me?” His voice was deceptively light, knowing damn well what his last words had been before she was whisked away to Paris. 

 

“I love you too.” He heard the smile in her tone, her accent getting heavier as she grinned. Ominis heard the words, and for a moment he wondered if the stars themselves were echoing them. Whether he was imagining the peace that had settled on his shoulders, or the way the universe seemed to slowly tilt on its axis and snap into place. “I love you, Ominis Gaunt. Wholly, entirely. For everything you were, are, and will be.” 

 

“ Je suis à vous , je t’aime , Miradevi, my heart, my love.” Ominis stole her lips in another kiss, wishing he could bottle up the soft, dizzying sound that slipped from her mouth to his. He was ravenous, devouring each precious thing she was willing to offer. His loyalty belonged to her, captured in her jewel-encrusted palms and the steady security of knowing it would be treated like a treasure drove him to kiss her again, again, again. He trusted. Her love, her presence, her words. He trusted like he never had before, and it wasn’t the dizzying thing he’d always imagined love to be. 

 

It was steady. It was the serenity of quiet lulls between conversations held before the fireplace and the peace of knowing it didn’t need to be filled. The strength of conviction that needed few words, where actions spoke louder than anything he could yell from the highest turrets of the castle. He’d known the frigid bite of painful winter his entire life, and now that he knew the heat of sunlight, now that he had warmth itself pressed against him and murmuring his name, he made an oath to the stars. 

 

Forever. One quiet word, kept secretly in his heart. It settled like a secret doused in sunrise, burning brighter as each day passed in her presence, as he felt his soul flare like sunflower turning to the light. This was eternal, this was forever, and he would do everything in his power to keep her where she belonged, In his arms and at his side. 

 

Chapter 18: The Future's So Bright, it's Burning

Miradevi woke to an empty bed. Pale sunlight diluted by the waters of the Black Lake seeped between the wooden slats of Ominis’s window, indicating that she’d perhaps slept far longer than she intended to. A fact that she wasn’t too guilty about, given the ridiculously late night she’d had. The IWC meeting had dragged on till far too late o’clock, and Barclay’s narrowly-avoided disaster of a treaty still hung over her. 

 

Ominis’s side of the bed was still warm as she blearily reached an arm out, his name a dazed mumble on her lips. 

 

“Finally awake, princess?” 

 

Ominis turned around from his desk, away from the essay that had consumed his morning and drawn him from bed. Miradevi blinked her sleep away in a desperate bid to get a good eyeful of the man she loved. A little bubble of joy settled in her ribs and made a home there as she recalled his words from last night. He loved her. And he knew that she felt the same way. There had always been a worry, a little burning ember of doubt, that the thorny tangle of his family politics would ignite his self-sacrificial tendencies and keep him from baring his heart in the name of protecting her and keeping her safe. 

 

She’d never been so happy to be proven wrong. 

 

“Somewhat.” She returned quietly, her voice still hoarse from sleep, her accent heavier than usual. “I think I’m still half asleep.” 

 

“Well, Morpheus has had you long enough. It is time to seize the day, my love . ” Ominis stood from his chair and gently tugged her off the bed, laughing softly at her displeasure. His heart ached with fondness as she pressed a kiss to his face anyway, before dragging her feet to freshen up. He clung to their little domesticities like a treasure. Walking back from lectures together, bringing each other small treats in their labs, or even the peaceful silence that settled like a warm blanket over them as they worked. He adored it all and decided that not even the smallest moment would be taken for granted. 

 

Over the last few months, his dorm had begun sprouting doubles of certain objects. Two toothbrushes in the adjoining washroom, two pillows on the bed, and a second set of bathing supplies that needed their own little space in the cupboard. The delicate glass bottles bore names he’d never heard like multani mitti, neem, Kumkumandi oil- but he adored hearing Miradevi say the words. And he especially liked reaping the benefits of her ridiculously soft skin and the rich, heady scent of foreign blooms that clung to her wherever she went.

 

Sebastian called it the girlfriend effect. Ominis called it a privilege. 

 

“There are a few sets of your clothes in the bottom drawer.” He paused, grinning, as he heard Mira pattering around behind him. “And just in case you were torn on what to wear today, I’m rather partial to the… lehenga with all the little sequins embroidered onto it.” 

 

The amorous grin on his face quickly slipped as his self-writing quill dutifully scribbled his diction onto his essay. Ominis snatched his wand from the desk, mortified, and a low whisper of magic began to recite the ruined sentence. 

 

The mass production of wands designed for those with disabilities opens up a concerning avenue for corporate exploitation. There are a few sets of your clothes in the-

 

“Scratch that last,” Ominis muttered, and the quill scraped across the paper and struck the last offending sentences from the essay as Mira gave a soft laugh. 

 

_________________________

 

The princess had a lot of things to do. And she was beginning to feel like she was holding desperately onto a handful of balls of yarn that were rapidly unravelling despite her best attempts at pulling them together. 

 

Between her thesis, a fresh new hell of Barclay pushing for a unanimous treaty targeting muggleborns that she knew he wouldn’t give up on, still not having any idea of who was responsible for the bombing, and Leroy’s mangled ghost constantly lingering in the forefront of her mind, she was sure she could feel her neurons fraying. The quiet moments with Ominis kept her sane, and she cherished the counsel her friends offered. Even though Sebastian’s advice was too incendiary and Natty’s a bit reckless, the princess valued the support they gave.

 

And gods, she’d need it today. Despite a cheerful start to the morning, her mood had quickly sobered up. She’d attended her lectures, made a half-hearted focus on her thesis for about an hour, and then she’d had enough. 

 

The scrap of paper sitting in her satchel was a weight dragging her down. She pulled it out from where it was tucked safely between the pages of one of her notebooks. She’d wrangled the address from the Ministry a few days ago, and that process had been another damned headache, but she’d gotten the information she needed. 

 

The research Mira had been working on lay forgotten as she fiddled with the scrap of paper. There was a phantom tremble in her hands, a strange tightness in her throat. And suddenly she felt as though she were going to be sick. The time spent with her friends, her dates with Ominis, the love they shared-

 

She had no right to any of it. To take pleasure in her life, not when it was so unfair how the fates' cards had been dealt. 

 

52 Chapel Street, 

Islington, London.

 

The chair scraped loudly against the flagstones as she stood suddenly and swept from the Ontokinesis lab. She needed to get to London, and she needed to do it as discreetly as possible. 

 

The princess headed straight for Matilda Weasley’s office and prayed to the gods she wouldn’t spot Ominis along the way. 

_____________________

 

Marie LaRue opened her door to the sound of horse hooves on cobbled pathways, the chatter of London echoing in her ears as life bustled around her. Sights and sounds she’d once taken pleasure in, that had now faded into something discordant and grey. She’d been surprised when she heard a knock at her door, and had wondered whether whoever it was had simply gotten lost. 

 

When she opened the door, she was almost certain that was the case. 

 

“Can I help you, dear?” Her words were polite, and perhaps, once, her tone would have been the same. Perhaps, once, if her son were still alive. If she had anything left to give to a world that had taken everything from her. 

 

The woman standing at her doorstep was tall, with a strangely regal stature and dark… everything. Skin, eyes, hair. She was lovely, but there was a distinct look of distress on her stately features. A deep tension in her shoulders, in the shallow hitch of her breathing. 

 

“I’m so sorry to bother you.” Her accent was heavy, and Marie felt a faint flicker of curiosity. “Are you… are you Leroy LaRue’s mother?” 

 

The pain would never go away, it seemed. The grief of losing her son had dulled from a sharp, lancing agony to a near-constant ache, and hearing his name would never get any easier. Marie nodded and stepped aside, letting the woman into a home she’d not cared to maintain in months. The windows were shuttered, and a few dishes were lying in the sink, unattended. A layer of dust settled like a shroud over the furniture crammed into the little red-bricked home, and a door down a narrow hallway was firmly shut and locked. 

 

Marie gestured for the woman to sit at the dining table. She took a seat opposite, the wooden chair creaking slightly. 

 

“You’re one of my son’s lot, aren’t you?” She asked, weariness in her voice. “The… witches and wizards, and all that.” 

 

“Yes, Mrs. LaRue. And my parents are non-magical as well, which is something I had in common with Leroy.” The woman said, her voice tight. She fiddled slightly with a delicate, ridiculously intricate ring on her finger. “My name is Miradevi, and I was with him, the afternoon of the bombing.” 

 

Marie didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that the girl’s name was faintly familiar. She moved quicker than she had in months, gripping her dark, slender hands, grief welling in her chest like a tsunami, cracking her ribs and breaking down whatever was left standing. The word made her heart sink and shatter at the same time, an electric current reigniting fresh grief. 

 

“ Bombing? My baby- that’s how he died?” 

 

Miradevi’s lips parted in shock- first at the sudden movement, then at the grieving mother’s words. “They didn’t tell you?” She asked. Anger- hot and sharp and debilitating- made her fingers shake in the woman’s grip. 

 

“Oh, those people from the government showed up-” Marie continued, her grip tightening, the memories of that horrible day gripping her like a vice. “With my son’s body in a box and pointless condolences in their mouths. I knew how hard they made him work, how much time he dedicated to that job of his, and yet they told me nothing. Said it was something that I would not understand. As if there’s anything in the world I wouldn’t understand when it came to my boy. And they left me without another word as to what happened. They left me to bury my son and not know why.” 

 

Mira didn’t realize when tears had started tracking down her face, but her cheeks were wet, her breathing trembling. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered, her voice cracking. The older woman’s eyes were rimmed red, and she’d clearly cried herself dry already. “Mrs. LaRue, I’m so sorry. I’ll- please, I’ll tell you everything.” 

 

Marie ducked her head, her shoulders beginning to shake slightly. “Give me a moment.” She managed. “I thought- all I wanted was to know how this happened, but… I need a moment. Please.” 

 

“Take your time.” Miradevi said softly. “I’ll wait.” 

 

Her heart cracked and splintered with each minute that the older woman spent trying to come to terms with what she was about to hear. And Mira willed herself to have the strength to tell her. Utter rage mingled with heartbreak as Marie’s words ran around and around in her head. The Ministry of Magic had told her nothing. They’d not given Leroy’s mother the courtesy of knowing what had happened- why? Because it was wizarding business, because she wasn’t entitled to the information as a Muggle?

 

The windows began to rattle slightly, accompanied by a low, deep growl of thunder. Mira didn’t care to draw her magic back, to control herself. Lightning forked across the rapidly darkening skies as she clenched her fist tightly. Rain began to lash against the grimy windows, coming down harder by the minute. 

 

“Even the gods weep for my son.” Marie’s quiet words broke the haze of Mira’s anger, and she refocused slightly. “Tell me. Tell me what happened.” 

 

Mira nodded. And calling on every goddess she knew, she began to speak. 

 

She told Marie everything. Starting with the background on the Purity Act itself, Leroy being assigned to her as a notetaker for the proceedings. The suddenness of the explosion, the fact that she’d told Leroy they had to go. Memories ripped themselves out of the depths of her subconscious mind, clawing out of the dirt she’d tried to bury them under. The strange rattle and hiss, the unbearable flash of heat and light-

 

“The last thing I remember was taking his hand and telling him we needed to get out of the Voting Hall.” Mira managed to force the words out. She couldn’t breathe deeply enough, the air in her lungs refusing to move. “And… when I woke up, he was-” 

 

Marie was quiet. Silent tears tracked down her face, her eyes empty windows to emotion that her body had long since given up on being able to regulate. 

 

“He wouldn’t have died if they hadn’t assigned him to you.” 

 

Mira knew the words were coming, and yet it felt like an axe cleaving her apart. “No, Mrs. LaRue.” She breathed, her voice cracking. “He would not have. And he would not have died if I’d been a little faster, if I’d moved quicker. And I- I came here to apologize, but I can’t be that selfish and ask for your forgiveness. I won’t.” 

 

Marie was silent for a long moment. Her eyes may as well have been glass marbles, and something about her silence made Mira’s words spill out, unrestrained. 

 

“If there’s anything I can do- anything you need, or-” She knew how insane she sounded, her voice shot to high hell, tear tracks fresh on her face, her eyes rimmed red and puffy. “There is no resource that myself or Surya will not give-” 

 

“Now I know why your name sounded familiar.” Marie finally spoke, her voice quiet, silencing Mira instantly. “Leroy mentioned you. He sent a letter, the night before he was taken from me, about his new assignment at work- personal scribe to a member of a royal family, can’t say much more because of confidentiality. But I’ll tell you everything when I come to visit.”

She’d memorized each line of the letter he’d sent, her son’s bright spirit echoed in the words.

“That was you.” 

 

“That was me.” Mira nodded, and suddenly she didn’t have any more words. Suddenly, all she felt was exhausted. The rain continued a mournful melody outside, as the princess and the mother sat together in a silence heavy with grief. 

 

“I do not have it in me to say that it is not your fault.” Marie finally spoke, and Mira was almost relieved. It was a guillotine to the neck, but at least it had finally fallen. Fresh tears spilled down her face, but she nodded slowly. 

 

“I know, Mrs. LaRue. I would not- I would not be so self-centered as to ask you to absolve my guilt when you’ve lost your son.”

 

“Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to accept it. You did not place the explosive; you did what you could to save him.” With each word, the older woman’s voice grew duller. “You made sure his body was brought back.” 

 

Another fork of lightning flashed closer, and Marie noticed the way a spark of static electricity danced along the girl’s dark, slender hands. 

 

“There is nothing you can do for me now. There is nothing you can do for him. You told me what happened, and for that I am grateful. ” Marie stood slowly, and Mira followed her movements, twisting the ring on her finger. 

 

“I understand, Mrs. LaRue.” 

 

It was only when Mira was at the door that Marie paused. 

 

“He told me he was treated differently. Badly. Because I am not magic, nor was his father. If there is… one thing, you can do for my son-” she gripped Mira’s upper arm, a feverish little gleam in her eyes as she looked up at her. “You can make sure they don’t forget. Don’t you dare let them forget what they did to Leroy. He was a good person, and a hard worker, and-” her voice broke. 

 

“I won’t.” Miradevi shook her head, her hand slipping from the doorknob as she faced Marie. “I’m going to figure out who did this, and every last person who was involved. I will use every last scrap of influence I have to make sure they face justice in an international court of law, and if that does not work, I will take matters into my own hands.”

Miradevi knew, with every atom in her body, that she meant every word. 

 

“Don’t let him be forgotten.” Marie choked out. “These people march towards more power, not caring whose lives are destroyed and tread on in the process, or how many mothers and parents grieve children who are sacrificed in the name of their infinite greed. You won’t let my son be forgotten, will you?”

“No ma’am.” Miradevi managed. “No, never. And- If it’s alright, I have an idea on how to make sure he is honored correctly.”

______________________

 

Leroy’s grave was small. Marked by an arrangement of smooth stones in the backyard, decorated with flowers, and blurred from the tears in her eyes. She didn’t care that her sari was plastered to her body, that the frigid rain she’d torn from the skies slicked her skin and numbed her fingers. Marie watched from inside the house as the princess knelt, and suddenly there was a fresh bouquet of Lilies adorning Leroy’s grave. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Mira whispered. The mound of upturned soil sat there and soaked in the rain, a promise of fresh life showing in tiny green shoots that cracked through the earth. “I wish-” she broke off with a soft sob, her palm scrubbing roughly against her eyes in a futile attempt to wipe away her tears. “Well. There’s no point in any of that, is there?” She ran her hands over a smooth stone, her throat aching. “You were so kind. So damned gentle , Leroy. I barely knew you for two hours, and I already considered you a friend.” 

 

She slowly reached into her damp satchel and drew out a deluxe peacock feather quill used exclusively by the royal family. “Next time,” Mira said quietly. “In our next birth, I’ll make sure you come work with us instead of the stupid Ministry. They didn’t deserve you anyway.” 

 

Maybe it was her delusion, maybe it was the hypothermic rain playing with her senses, but she could have sworn he heard a soft, nervous little laugh. 

 

Marie only said one more thing to Mira as she stepped out onto the deserted London streets. The princess felt as though she’d walked a hundred miles with weights on her ankles, every drop of energy in her body depleted, even though all she’d done was sit and talk. But she had nothing left to give or to hold. 

 

“Your parents have no idea how lucky they are,” Marie LaRue said quietly, barely audible over the drumming rain. “That you returned to them alive.”

 

Mira’s throat tightened again, and she nodded wordlessly. She didn’t know what more to say. Whether there was even any worth in trying to speak anymore. 

 

“Goodbye, Mira.” Marie LaRue gently closed the door and retreated back into the dark, dust-stale house. 

 

__________________________

 

Matilda Weasley knew she had about three more minutes before Ominis went nuclear. All the telltale signs were there- the fidgety hand on his wand, the faint curl of magic shimmering like heatwaves along his shoulders, down his arms, his wand practically vibrating in his hands with barely restrained energy. He’d burst into her office late in the afternoon, clearly harried, stating he had not seen the princess in hours. 

 

“Mr. Gaunt, I can assure you the princess is safe; she let me know where she was going, and she will return shortly.” Matilda Weasley knew she might as well be talking to a brick wall at this point. The fireplace crackled happily off the the right of her desk, and she willed it to turn green before Ominis Gaunt decided to go off to London himself. 

 

“Professor, with all due respect, just because you know where she went does not mean she is immune to anything happening to her while she is there.” 

 

“Mr. Gaunt, please-” 

 

“It’s been hours! Did she say when she’d be back?” 

 

Matilda sighed. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t beginning to worry. The princess’s safety was her and Headmaster Black’s responsibility, and she’d already faced one near-death experience on British soil. 

 

“She has at least one auror following her at all times.” She tried. “If there is any cause for distress.”

“She doesn’t need an auror, she needs me! And I need her here, now-” Ominis finally snapped, his voice rising. His breathing came tighter, faster. The room was shaking around him, a faint rattling hiss in his ears, and he could feel the impending burst of heat blistering his skin, the panic of not knowing where Mira was. 

 

Matilda thanked Merlin and Morgana, and everyone in between, when the flames burned emerald green. And all those thanks went out the window when she saw the state the princess was in. 

 

Drenched to the bone, her fingers shaking slightly from what she hoped was the cold. Her eyes, ordinarily bright with a perpetual cheer, were dead. Downcast, puffy from crying, and glassy with emotion. She was a mess. 

 

Ominis only needed to catch the faint scent of flowers, of incense, and hear the slight hitch of her voice to know it was her. And he was across the room in a handful of strides, yanking Mira into his arms. 

 

“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? Where were you?” His hiss was soft, but there was shaky desperation layered beneath it. He tucked her head against his chest, his other arm around her side as she practically collapsed against him, only serving to escalate his worry, his anger. And then she began to shake with sobs. Harsh, wracking cries that he’d only seen once before, right after the explosion. 

 

He heard Professor Weasley quickly moving around, her presence warm, gentle, her magic a soothing balm that he knew should have eased his nerves, but he wanted to snap at anyone who got too close to the princess sobbing in his arms. 

 

“Your Highness-” 

 

“ Please don’t call me that.” The devastation in her voice made Ominis want to tear something to shreds. He gripped her tighter, his hand gently running down the back of her head. “Please just use my name-” 

 

“Of course, Mira.” Professor Weasley soothed quietly. And she switched her tone, instinctively going into the same one she used with her nephew on his bad days. She drew her wand quickly and began casting warming charms over the shivering young woman, quickly siphoning away water as she did so. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need Nurse Blainey?” 

 

Mira shook her head slowly. She needed Leroy to be alive. She needed to know that Marie LaRue was not spending another evening in a dark home with the grave of her son in the backyard, waiting till she could join him. 

 

She needed her mother. 

 

Ominis had had enough. There was only so much his heart could take when it came to her, and it had hit its limit. She hiccuped slightly in alarm as he wound an arm around the back of her knees and pulled her off the ground into his arms. “I’ll handle this.” His voice was quiet, firm. “Thank you, professor.”

And he turned on his heel, his wand gripped awkwardly as he strode from the office. 

 

________________________

 

Steam curled over the hot bathwater, the humidity heavy against his skin. Ominis had elected to take her to her dorm room instead of the far more opulent option available on the fifth floor, with the bathroom reserved for graduate students. But the chance of running into someone was too high, and he knew she needed privacy, not plush comfort. 

 

His back was pressed to the marbled wall, the princess slotted between his parted legs. Her back rested against his chest as his hands gently massaged richly scented shampoo into her ridiculously long hair. 

 

“I don’t understand why you went,” Ominis said quietly, finally speaking up after she’d calmed down enough to tell him everything. “Well- I understand the principle of it, but why do it in such secrecy? How long have you been carrying this guilt?” 

And why did you not trust me to share its weight with you? 

 

The question went unspoken, but he knew she understood.

 

“I was ashamed, and I knew it was going to be messy, and emotional, and I didn’t want anyone, least of all you, to be around when that happened.” She said quietly, her voice hoarse, but her words were honest. There was no point in lying after the fact. Mira knew that the least she owed him could have been to mention where she was going.

 

Ominis paused, frowning. “That’s hurtful, Mira. What do you mean, least of all me? I get the honor of your joys, and not your sadness? I share your highs, but not your lows?” 

 

Her fingers traced the surface of the water, lathered bubbles and blooming suds sticking to her hands. “I know I’m being a right hypocrite. I wouldn’t want you to have done something like this without telling me. But the idea of you being there was-” 

 

“It’s not about me being there, princess. It’s about you trusting that I won’t judge you when you crack. Even you can’t be happy all the time, and if you try to push me away every time you’re not, then you’ll end up making both of us miserable.” 

 

Silence hung between them for a few moments before Mira spoke again, a confession offered in the quiet. “I worry sometimes that… I can’t be loved if I’m not happy. That the bad days are tolerated, but it’s the good days that people are really in it for.” 

 

“You think I don’t love you on your bad days?”

“I think you tolerate me on my bad days.” 

 

“You think I- gods, Mira, do you ‘tolerate’ me on my bad days?” Ominis gently tugged her head back, making her look at him even if he could not return the gesture. “Or do you stay, and help me through them, because you love me?” 

 

“... The latter.” Her murmur was soft. Guilty. “I see your point.” 

 

“There, then. Don’t ever think that I’m with you for so superficial a reason. I adore your happiness, but that does not mean that’s all I expect.” He resumed soaping her hair. Then- “Are you scared that I’ll treat you differently? Have I ever given you any reason to think that I’d be anything but supportive if you needed me?” 

 

Mira finally gave a little laugh, but it was humorless. “Ominis, if our brains operated solely on concluding logical patterns from consistent behavior, there would be far less in our lives to worry about, no?” 

 

“You have a point. But, I’ll tell you right now, outright. I’m with you, happy or sad. Emotional, angry, vulnerable- I’m in this for all of you. Don’t sanitize yourself to be more palatable for others, least of all me.” He echoed her words and relished in the genuine little huff of laughter that drew from her. 

 

“That was mean, what I said. And untrue. I feel safe being sad around you, which is a horrible compliment, but it’s true. I feel safe being anything around you.” She sighed, her hint of levity leaving. “I just don’t know what to do with all this guilt. I feel like I’m not allowed to put it down, but the weight of it is crushing me. I want to let it go, but that’s awful of me, because- Mrs. LaRue was right. If Leroy hadn’t been assigned to me, he’d be alive.” 

 

Ominis thought for a moment as Mira rinsed off her hair. “Mrs. LaRue is grieving her son.” He said softly. “You’re looking to the wrong places for healing, Mira. This guilt you carry can only be put down once you let yourself put it down. And your brain will rebel, it’ll say that it’s your duty to carry it, that it’s a price to pay for survival. It’s not. You didn’t ask to live. You didn’t ask for Leroy to die. You are not responsible for the cards fate laid out. You take the cards, you say thank you, and you leave the table. No lingering. No ghosts.” 

 

“No lingering.” Mira echoed softly. His hands ran along her arms, the soap sliding between their slicked skin. “How long did it take you, Nissy? To put your guilt down?” 

 

Ominis traced soap down her back, the faint screams of a Muggle boy ringing in his ears. 

 

“It’s a process.” He said softly. “But I trust you to help me on the days it gets heavy. Do you trust me to do the same?” 

 

Miradevi settled back against him, her body finally relaxing slightly, and the tension in her shoulders eased under his loving touch. His words were a balm on a wound she hadn’t realized was festering beneath her skin, unspoken and unacknowledged. 

 

“With my life.” She meant it just as much as she’d meant her promise to Leroy’s mother. “I trust you, Ominis. With my joy. With my sadness, and everything in between.” 

 

Notes:

Ya'll. I've been a passive lurker in fandom culture since I was 11, and I never, ever thought I'd post my work so publicly. But here I am! I adore getting comments, feedback, and reactions to the story, so lay it on me! (nicely ofc <3) I hope you enjoy! <3