Chapter Text
Sometimes, a life could be ruined with a single unfortunate circumstance.
Anne Sallow had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She was the last to leave the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Forensics laboratory: it was her day for cleaning duty, and organizing every sample and piece of paperwork took her far longer than she thought it would have.
The rusted clock in the center of the laboratory told her it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Sebastian would still be somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, partnered up with a senior Auror to hunt down their quarry. Ominis would be back at the flat they shared. If the young Healer wasn't out cold, he would be bent over his own take-home paperwork, drinking his millionth Pepper Up of the day.
Anne's aching feet and sore back were longing for a bed. Outside, the streets were relatively quiet. Pale yellow lamplight flickered from behind brick walls and darkened windows. August was fading into September. Summer was turning into autumn, bringing with it cool, fresh winds.
Anne turned her head up to the night sky and breathed in the silence. Home was only a ten-minute walk away. She would dive into her bed, nip a glass of Sebastian's not-so-secret whiskey, and sleep the weekend away. It was a good night for little luxuries.
Or it would have been, anyway.
A sharp crack of Apparition burst behind her. The sound of it snapped loudly in her ears and threatened to burst her aching drums. Reeling, Anne barely had two seconds to gather her wits about her before she was knocked flat onto her back, pinned under the weight of someone who looked and smelled like they had seen far better days.
The someone was a woman: wire-thin, pale, and dressed in ragged clothes. Her breaths were coming out in ragged gasps. A confused Anne had barely helped her get to her feet before she stumbled again, dirt-caked hands gripping at her sleeves for purchase.
“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” Anne cried, steadying her by the shoulders. “You could’ve Splinched yourself—you could’ve Splinched me!”
The woman raised her head. Anne felt ice creep into her veins, felt her jaw go slack.
Behind a curtain of thick, tangled hair, jagged wounds were scoured into the woman’s skin. She began to yell in a language that Anne didn’t understand, digging her hands into her shoulders and giving her a shake. Her voice rose: a question, repeated over and over.
“I’m so sorry—I haven’t a clue what you’re trying to tell me,” Anne blurted. “Who are you? What are you—”
Before the strange woman could speak another word, distant sounds of Apparition snapped over the deserted street. There was a snap. There was another. One, two, ten new wizards were arriving at the spot, shouting to each other in panicked tones.
A harrowed look crossed the woman’s eyes. She reached into the recesses of her filthy, lumpy clothes and pulled out an object that positively sang with magic. Anne barely had a second to look at it. A breath later, it was hastily Transfigured, pushed into her hands, and the woman began repeating a single word over and over again. This time, Anne understood her with perfect clarity:
“Run!” the woman shrieked, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Run, run!”
Her strange new friend was gone before Anne could say another word more. Anne sped away. She raised her wand, fully intent on Apparating the rest of the way home. She would make it. She would get home, tell her flatmates of her strange, strange night, and give herself the lounging she deserved.
But it didn’t work that way. Life didn’t work that way. Sometimes, unfortunate circumstances found their way into undeserving lives, and there was little any lone witch or wizard could do anything about it.
It was a new year: January 1898. Everywhere else in London, careers were thriving. Everywhere else in London, eager young witches and wizards were finding new life paths to explore. Time was ticking on by for every other soul in the city.
For Sebastian Sallow, life had come to a grinding, screeching halt.
It had been five months. Five months since he came home from a week-long mission with a senior Auror, smile wide and bearing presents for his sister and best friend. He came home to an empty flat and a hastily-scrawled note. Sebastian had rushed to St. Mungo’s, found Ominis barking orders to frazzled nurses, and saw his sister stretched out on a bed, face beaten black and blue.
She hadn’t remembered his name when she woke up. She hadn’t remembered Ominis’.
And she hadn’t had a clue about how she wound up beaten half to death on the streets of London, wandless, heavily Obliviated, and carrying nothing in her pockets except for a lumpy metal ball.
At the moment, Sebastian Sallow was staring listlessly at the sky over the River Foyle, watching each wispy cloud as it floated over tiled rooftops. He was dressed in as casual of a Muggle fashion as he could manage. Sitting among the non-magical families enjoying the riverbank, Sebastian and his partner—a wily woman by the name of Mariana Cierra—were in for a gruelling few hours of stakeout duty. Their cosy little setup wasn’t helping: any second now, he would fall prey to the cushy picnic blanket beneath him, job security be damned.
He needed to be out on the field, Sebastian thought miserably. He needed to be out there fighting something, chasing villains and miscreants all around the Wizarding World. Sebastian would’ve taken paper duty back at the office over this: silence and boredom would only serve to fuel his overactive worries, and Merlin knew he had enough of those already.
“Eyes on the target, Mr. Sallow,” Cierra sighed, flipping another page of her book. “Who knows? Maybe something suspicious will happen in the next twenty seconds.”
Sebastian snorted, leaning back against his elbows. He obediently spared their quarry a glance. It was a sweets shop: unassuming, bustling with activity after a mother wrangled her rather large brood inside its sugar-laden walls. Head Auror Jericho Robin was convinced it was serving as a front for illegal Wizarding activity.
Sebastian was convinced that Head Auror Robin was getting a little batty, but he wisely chose not to voice these concerns.
“Anything?” Cierra grumbled.
“There’s a little boy throwing a fit,” Sebastian noted drily. “His Mum looks about ready to slap him for it.”
“Ah. The peak of criminal activity.” Cierra shifted beside him, wiggling irritably in her restrictive Muggle clothes. “Gods. I almost feel like Robin wanted an excuse to get us out of the Department for the day.”
At that, Sebastian had to grin. “In his defence: if one of my Aurors swore at a member of the Wizengamot, I’d have good reason to leave them out of the workforce for a day or two.”
Cierra smacked him lazily on the arm. “And if one of my Aurors had been spending the last five months investigating everything else except his job, I would’ve tossed them out onto the street.” At that, Cierra’s piercing black eyes softened, lips spreading into a gentle smile. “How is your sister, Sebastian? Doing any better?”
Sebastian shrugged. “She’s got most of her memories back. All the important bits, anyway. Except for—well.” He reached up to run a tired hand through his hair, letting out a long, slow breath. “Except for anything actually helpful.”
“I do miss her,” Cierra sighed. “Whip-smart, that one. Far more useful than you ever were.”
“Your kind words flatter me.” He turned his focus back to the shop. “Can’t we pop inside for a second? Do some actual scouting, instead of waiting for something to happen?”
“You want a sweetie, then, Sebastian?”
“You kid, madame, but I would kill for a sweetie.”
Cierra hummed, lowering her chapbook to squint at the shop. She had seniority of rank: the choice would fall to her. “Let’s give it another hour or two. We’ll step in after sundown to have a proper look about.”
Sebastian groaned. He collapsed against the picnic rug, flopping a hand over his eyes. Cierra went on thumbing through her chapbook. His workmate’s lips were curled into an amused smile.
“Share some of your reading material with the class,” Sebastian piped up. He flashed the older Auror a teasing grin. “Looks terribly interesting.”
Cierra sniffed. “You wouldn’t like it. It isn’t quite catered to your tastes.”
“Ah,” Sebastian sang, raising his brows in amusement. “One of those sorts of publishings, then?”
Cierra slapped him on the forehead. “It’s a proper publication, thank you very much. I’m hardly going to read smut on a mission. You mustn’t blame me if you neglected to bring your own reading material.” She sniffed, looking a little offended, and fixed Sebastian with a sideways glance. “Speak to me of other things. How fares your search? How fares Healer Gaunt?”
In the distance, a group of young Muggle boys were crowding around the river. They carried a crudely-constructed raft of sticks and grass between them. Laughing and chattering, the boys shimmied their way down to the bank, setting their craft on the water.
“We’re holding out hope that some of the more senior Healers at St. Mungo’s will find something,” Sebastian mumbled. “Ominis has been—indispensable. There’s only so much Draught of Peace can do.”
Cierra’s glance was hard to read. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.
“So it’s…looking good, then?”
Sebastian shrugged. “It’s looking like a lighter shade of bleak.”
“That’s the best we can hope for, sometimes.”
They fell into easy silence. The sun set a little more behind the horizon, spraying freckles of light against the River Foyle. The Muggle boys were chasing their raft as far as it could go.
“Cierra?”
“Sallow?”
“Do you feel sorry enough for me to share?”
Cierra sighed, shook her head, and tossed the thin chapbook onto his chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The wrinkled cover depicted the silhouette of a witch holding her wand up to a series of sculptures. On top, the curling text announced that Montclair & Co. was proud to present the newest edition of Curse-Breaker Chant and the Temple of Asclepius. Sebastian gave Cierra a confused frown.
“This is children’s fiction,” he said drily.
“It is not ,” Cierra spat. “It’s a proper Curse-Breaking journal. Give it back if you don’t like it.”
For the most part, Sebastian didn’t think too much of the reading material. A good quarter of it was fluffy drivel—he told Cierra so, and received a smack to the back of his head in response. But the rest of the short piece betrayed hints of a genuine love and respect for exploration, for history, for Curse-Breaking and everything to do with it.
As the sun sank further behind the river, Cierra shook him out of his reverie. She pointed to the sweet shop: they both caught a trace of wispy white magic dancing just behind its darkened windows, spurring them both to action.
They ended the night with notebooks full of incriminating observations and pockets full of lollies. As Cierra and Sebastian made their way to the closest Ministry entrance, he felt a familiar ache tugging at his chest. He braced himself for another night of re-reading the same books and listening for Anne’s pained gasps. There would be little sleep, if any. There would only be glasses of Pepper-Up, dusty pages, and endless hours of looking, looking, looking for any answers at all.
Cierra and Sebastian squeezed themselves into a glamoured newspaper stand. There, a sleepy Ministry worker stood on guard, cheek buried in copies of a Muggle paper. A fireplace sat just behind him. Cierra stepped into the Floo first. As she reached for the bucket of Floo Powder, she put a hand on her hip and stuck out an expectant palm.
“I’d like my children’s fiction back, please.”
Sebastian fished for the chapbook. He handed it over, eyes landing on the curling type of the title once more.
Curse-Breaker.
Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was common sense, coming down in the form of a two-Sickle chapbook and a handful of lollies, to shake some clarity into Sebastian's head.
Somewhere between the blurred lines of curses and conditions, there was a chance—just a chance—that Sebastian Sallow might have been looking for answers in all the wrong places.
Ominis Gaunt had very, very few precious things in his life.
Yes, he was a Gaunt. Yes, he was a Healer with a hefty Gringotts Vault and a glittering if slightly pockmarked reputation in St. Mungo's. But if he were to be honest—and he was always honest—all of these things mattered so very little.
Anne's accident had reminded him of that in a painfully obvious manner. He'd been fresh from an evening shift, bent over a stack of patient forms and a glass of mint-flavoured Pepper-Up Potion at the kitchen table.
And he'd been the one to find her.
Ominis had been the one to answer the Patronus' call. He'd been the one to run down the darkened roads of Wizarding Chelsea, heart stuck in his throat. The sounds of a crowd rang too loudly in his ears. He recognised the voices of a few Aurors calling for his aid. And Ominis recognised—with almost painful clarity—the bruised, broken body of Anne Sallow on the damp stone street.
His money, his affluence, and his career mattered so little now. Anne was sick with something he couldn't heal. There was no potion potent enough, no Spell that could fully soothe her pain.
He'd always thought himself a capable Healer.
Ominis Gaunt did not like being wrong.
He did not like being helpless. Before getting his wand—and even after that—Ominis had tasted enough helplessness to last him a lifetime. He did not like it when his efforts were in vain, and Anne's condition felt exactly that way. Ominis could grow as many Healing herbs as he wanted. He could keep their Potions Cabinet stocked with whatever brews he could think of. And when the spasms came, when Anne screamed and sobbed, Ominis could spend as many hours as he needed murmuring soothing incantations over her tired body.
But it would be for nothing, in the end. The pain would come again the next day. With each quake of agony and each sob echoing at dawn, Anne slipped further and further away.
It was nearly midday when Ominis crawled home from his graveyard shift. He fiddled with his keys at the door, irritably tugging at the collar of his uniform. Ominis was running on fumes: his magic reserves were low, he desperately needed a bath, and every inch of his body yearned for a 24-hour nap. It was hard to believe he'd only been working for St. Mungo's for two years. It already felt like an eternity.
The door swung open for him. On the other side, Ominis heard the soft chimes of magic, the sound of a broom scraping against the floor, and the happy whistling of a kettle.
"There you are. I've just had the most marvelous idea," Sebastian greeted breathlessly. There was a smile in his voice: Ominis could trace every inch.
Ominis huffed, tugging his collar free. "Good morning to you too, Sebastian. My shift went excellently, if you'd care to know."
"Fantastic," Sebastian said hurriedly. "Aren't you going to ask me about my idea?"
"You'll tell me about it anyway. Where's Anne?"
"Asleep. She's just had her dose of Draught. I was up all night: I swear I didn't get a wink."
Ominis scoffed. He was halfway to the kitchen sink, reaching for the faucet to splash a handful of water on his face. "Really? Poor thing. I can't imagine having to stay awake for so long. Must have been miserable."
Sebastian was in one of his excitable moods. There would be no stopping him now, not even the lashing of Ominis' fatigued tongue. His hands closed around Ominis' wrists and gave them an excited shake.
"Five months, Ominis. Five months since Anne got sick. And I think—I just think— that we've been looking in all the wrong places."
Ominis blew out a long, slow breath, squeezing his tired eyes shut. "What are you on about?"
Somewhere beside him, a brush began scraping on a plate. There were the soft swishing sounds of a duster running over every available surface. Ominis furrowed his brows.
"And why, pray tell, are you tidying?" he mumbled.
Sebastian ignored him. "We've been looking in the wrong books. We've been too worried about her symptoms—"
At that, Ominis scoffed. "I'm a Healer, in case you've forgotten. It's my profession to worry about Anne's symptoms."
"—and not worried about what caused them," Sebastian finished. He gave Ominis another excited squeeze. "The sphere, Ominis. The thing she had in her pockets that night. We've hardly given it a glance this entire time!"
"That lump of metal? My Chief Healers deemed it irrelevant."
"And my seniors also thought it a hunk of rubbish," Sebastian pointed out. "But those are Aurors and Healers. Aurors and Healers! We've been asking professionals who haven't got a clue about the significance of objects and curses!"
Ominis' head was spinning. He was exhausted. He was irritable, and it was far too early in the morning for Sebastian's frenzied rambling.
"I sincerely beg to differ on that point. But since we're on the topic of points, get to yours, please, before you drive me to insanity."
"Curse-Breakers!" Sebastian cried, loud enough to make Ominis' ears ring. "All this time, and we've never even sought to consult a blasted Curse-Breaker!"
Ominis blew out another sigh. "Brilliant," he mumbled. " Excellent . I love that you've kept me from my bed for this stunning revelation. Send an owl to Professor Weasley and leave me out of your stream of thought, please."
Sebastian let out a soft, musing hum. "I've already sent a letter. But not to Professor Weasley." He cleared his throat. The energy of his rambling had gone, fading into a sheepish timbre. "Have you ever heard of Montclair & Co.?"
Ominis raised a brow. Sebastian went on, voice growing more hesitant by the moment.
"They run a publication. Curse-Breaker Chant, it's called. I don't suppose you're familiar with it—"
Something clicked. In the back of Ominis' mind, he vaguely recalled a few of his Nurses giggling over the latest edition of the series: something about a dashing heroine meeting a dashing hero with a chiselled chin in the midst of an exciting adventure. Ominis let out a sharp bark of laughter.
"And you wrote to her?" he demanded. "To some two-Sickle authoress?"
"I read her work," Sebastian said hotly. "She's got photographs, testimonials. I wouldn't just write to anyone. In fact, she's just sent us a reply—"
"The proof you've found could be easily faked," Ominis pointed out. "Why this one, Sebastian? Why this particular Curse-Breaker?"
"Because she was willing to help, no questions asked," Sebastian said hotly. "Think about it. How often did we have to beg our superiors to give Anne a second glance? She'll be our age, you know. Anne's age. We could win her sympathy—"
"— or we could wind up on the next installment of her fantasy series," Ominis spat. "Honestly, Sebastian. We'd have been better off writing to Professor Weasley. Someone with real experience."
Sebastian let out a frustrated groan. He was pacing now, movements accompanied by the tinkling of teacups against saucers. Ominis heard Sebastian move over to their grandfather clock. A moment later, he hurried away, setting more and more things on their dining table.
"I don't understand you," Sebastian grumbled. "All we have to do is take a chance. We lose nothing by trying, so why not her, then?'
Ominis groaned, reaching up to frustratedly bury his fingers in his hair. "Because she could be nothing but a personality! Curse-Breaker or not, her work is a cheap romance novel pretending to be a proper scientific journal. It's all a blasted gimmick !"
There was a knock.
Silence fell. Sebastian's footsteps padded away, stopping at the door.
The voice that rang out from outside was sweet, playful and amused. "Goodness," came the bell-like greeting. "I certainly hope I'm at the right place."
Sebastian cleared his throat. "Curse-Breaker Chant," he said amicably. "How good of you to come."
At that moment, Sebastian Sallow would've given his left foot for a camera.
Because the look on Ominis' face—wide-eyed, lips popped open in shock—was utterly priceless.
The yellow-haired Healer stood frozen against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly against his chest. On the other side of the door, a woman clad in deep red was giving them both a practised smile, hands folded neatly in front of her. There was a sable dog sitting obediently by her feet. A Border Collie, Sebastian recognised: a relatively new breed.
"Sebastian Sallow, at your service," he said cheerfully, sticking out a hand. "Do come in, please."
Curse-Breaker Chant smiled and shook it, allowing herself to be led into the flat. Her dog trotted after her. Its tail wagged daintily in the air.
Sebastian moved over to Ominis, freeing one of his hands with more force than necessary, and turning to their guest with a wide smile. "Miss Chant, allow me to introduce Healer Ominis Gaunt—my friend, and a brilliant Healer himself."
He led Ominis' touch to hers. Miss Chant's smile strained slightly at the edges. Ominis forced one on his face, giving her hand a short, snappy squeeze.
"A pleasure, sir," Miss Chant said lightly.
"Quite," Ominis grit.
"To business, then," Sebastian said loudly. He led Miss Chant over to the dining table, which he'd set with their finest tea ensemble. "Ominis, if you would please fetch the sphere for us?"
Ominis scowled and opened his mouth to protest. Sebastian pushed him away, hissed at him to be on his best behaviour, please , and rushed to pull out a chair for their guest.
“Thank you very much for coming,” Sebastian said, taking a seat across from the Curse-Breaker. A wave of his wand sent a steady stream of tea pouring itself into her cup. “I understand that you’re a busy woman, so I promise to make this quick.”
Now that she was here, Sebastian began to get a sinking feeling that Ominis may have been right. Curse-Breaker Chant looked every bit like a prim and proper society witch: nothing like a woman who had seen years of travel. Her artfully-styled yellow hair, glittering rubies gleaming at her ears and neck, and the hand-sewn lace lining her clothes certainly didn’t help her case. It was hard to imagine this woman digging through dirt or scaling mountains for pieces of magical treasure.
Sebastian so hated it when Ominis was right.
Curse-Breaker Chant tilted her head, folding her hands on her lap. “Your letter intrigued me, I have to admit. I’ve encountered artefacts that caused sicknesses a handful of times on my travels, but never anything so… lingering.” She shifted a little in her seat, giving their flat a quick sweep with her eyes. “Where is your sister, if I may ask?”
“Sleeping,” Sebastian explained. “Draughts of Peace and Ominis’ soothing spells are the only things allowing her to get any rest at the moment. She’d be glad to meet you on another day, I’m sure—” he flashed her a grin, spreading his hands in an expectant gesture. “—if you’re going to be working with us.”
Curse-Breaker Chant gave him an amused smile. As she opened her mouth to speak, Ominis, who had shed his white Healer’s overcoat, came marching down the corner. The lumpy metal ball was levitating at the tip of his wand. Miss Chant’s eyes widened. She jumped to her feet, raised her wand, and shouted a panicked Ebublio. A shimmering white bubble ballooned over the sphere. Her dog began pacing anxiously around her skirts.
Sebastian raised his brows. Ominis blinked, looking more and more irritated by the second.
“Forgive me,” Miss Chant said breathlessly, “but why in Merlin’s name hasn’t it been contained?”
“We forgot to contain the lump of metal that hasn’t been doing anything but gathering dust?” Ominis drawled. “My Gods, Sebastian, whatever were we thinking?”
“Hold your tongue , Ominis , for Merlin’s sake,” Sebastian warned. He grinned at her, sheepish, and rose to lead them both back to their seats. He gave Ominis’ arm a hard squeeze while he was at it. “Forgive us, Miss Chant. Ominis only meant to say that the artefact has been dormant this entire time. We hardly saw the need.”
Curse-Breaker Chant pursed her lips. Sebastian levitated the sphere over the table. There, the Curse-Breaker began squinting at the object, retrieving her cup of tea while she was at it. Her dog leaned up on its paws to sniff at the ball.
The sphere was a twisted piece of bronze, about the size of a large apple. Points and edges stuck out from its otherwise smooth surface. A series of strange runes—symbols Sebastian had never been able to translate—danced in a perfectly straight line down its middle. Ominis began unhappily piling tea sandwiches onto his plate.
“Please tell me you’ve seen something like it before,” Sebastian sighed.
Curse-Breaker Chant gave him a pitying smile. She raised her wand and sent the artefact spinning slowly in its bubble, leaning her chin against her hand. “I’m afraid I can’t. I haven’t seen anything like it.”
Ominis barely suppressed his triumphant scoff. Sebastian kicked his shin under the table.
“But,” she went on, “I think this might not be its real shape.” She tilted her head, gesturing at points of interest on the sphere. “These edges, these bumps—someone Transfigured this, and rather shoddily at that. I don’t suppose you’ve tried Reparifarge ?”
Sebastian gestured for her to go ahead. Curse-Breaker Chant did so, flicking her wrist to cast the spell. The sphere presented her with its single interesting feature: at her attempt, the messy runes on its surface glowed a bright red. The sphere trembled for a moment and was still once more.
“Ah,” she sighed. “Well. It was worth a try.”
Something in Sebastian’s chest sank slowly down to the base of his gut. “We were hoping you could tell us more than that,” he mumbled. “Give us some answers.”
Miss Chant raised a finger. She touched it against the bubble, tracing the shape of one of the runes and mumbling beneath her breath. “These symbols look familiar. Has no one attempted to translate them?”
It was Ominis who spoke this time, irritation and fatigue evident in the notes of his voice. “We’ve been to every library we could think of,” he grumbled. “We’ve consulted every researcher and Healer we know. The runes aren’t in a language anyone recognises.”
“A shame,” Curse-Breaker Chant mumbled. “But perhaps—after some further careful study, and a quick look at some of my older notes—we might be able to find out what they mean, and undo whatever changes have been made.” She waved her wand. The sphere began idly spinning once more. “I’m almost certain I’ve seen some of these symbols before.”
Sebastian straightened in his seat. “You’ll help us, then?”
“I would be happy to, if only to break the Transfiguration on the artefact. I don’t believe I’ll be of much use in the Healing department.” She flicked her eyes sharply up and down Ominis’ form. “That would be Mr. Gaunt’s particular area of expertise.”
Ominis gave her a dry smile. “Indeed.” He leaned forward, tapping his wand on the table. “It’s incredibly… noble of you to agree to work with us, but I’m well aware that Curse-Breakers don’t work for free. Name your fee.”
She shot Ominis a haughty look. “I wasn’t going to ask you for a Knut, if you must know,” she spat. “I made up my mind the moment I read Mr. Sallow’s letter. Your situation seemed like—”
“—a worthy charity case?” Ominis drawled.
“A worthy cause,” Miss Chant growled.
Sebastian raised his hands for calm. “If the dear Lady says she won’t charge us a thing, then we’ll end the matter there,” he soothed. He gave her a bright smile. Finally, Sebastian thought: some blasted help. “Thank you, Miss Chant. You’ve just given us real hope.”
The grandfather clock let out a gentle chime. Curse-Breaker Chant rose to her feet. With Sebastian’s help, she made a smaller copy of the artefact with a Geminio, tucking it into her pocket.
“Allegra, please,” she said brightly. As Ominis and Sebastian rose, she reached over to shake both of their hands in turn. “I must be going—there’s a flat in Wizarding Kensington I need to see to.”
Her dog let out a soft bark. Curse Breaker Chant—Allegra—bent to give the sleek animal a soft scratch behind the ears. As Sebastian and Ominis led her to the door, she pulled a worn notebook from her vest, Conjured a quill, and held it out to Sebastian with a smile.
“I’ll need your address, please, for correspondence.” she explained.
Sebastian hummed. He scribbled a series of addresses on a page, throwing in Ominis’ St. Mungo’s contact and his own details at the DMLE while he was at it. “Will we be hearing from you soon, then?”
“You’ll be hearing from me quite often after I settle into my lodgings.” She flicked her gaze over to Ominis. A small, twitching smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’ve got to get all of my gimmicks in order, you see, before I can properly begin any work.”
To his credit, Ominis suppressed his shocked flinch. Sebastian couldn’t help the grin that spread over his own lips. He waved Allegra goodbye as she and her dog strode past the gate. With her hand on her companion’s collar and a victorious grin on her lips for good measure, Allegra Chant Apparated away.
He and Ominis hovered by the door. There was a mixture of emotions on his friend’s face: irritation, exhaustion, and—just underneath it all—a little bit of shame.
“You deserved that, I think,” Sebastian drawled.
Ominis turned on his heel and began his march back towards his quarters. “Good night , Sebastian.”