Chapter Text
"Very well—I would say that we can consider today's lesson over. Enjoy your supper and have a pleasant evening, everyone."
With a deep sigh of exhaustion, Professor Onai bowed briefly to her students, declaring her Friday afternoon lesson over. The young wizards and witches returned her farewell and hurried out of the Divination Classroom, daydreaming about their dinner.
"Miss Smith?" Professor Onai called, turning towards the most intimate and isolated table in the entire classroom. "Regarding the favour you asked me, namely to practise privately with my Palmistry Model. Please, my dear, make yourself comfortable. If you wish, you may stay here for a while before supper."
"Oh, thank you so much, Professor! I'd love to stay for a while."
"When you made your request, you told me you didn't need my guidance. Are you still sure about that?"
Anne Smith smiled at Professor Onai with a slightly embarrassed look on her face. Her soft, rosy lips stretched into a grimace that seemed to conceal resolve mixed with genuine regret.
"Well, here—you see, Professor, the fact is that palmistry was Professor Rackham's speciality and—"
"I understand, Miss Smith—no need to say more. Well, since the young Seer doesn't need any help practising, the older one will go and enjoy some rest before dinner. See you later in the Great Hall, dear. And maybe one of these days I'll ask you to read my palm to see how you're faring, hmm?"
"One last thing, Professor!"
Professor Onai had already taken a few steps towards the exit of her classroom, and turned questioningly towards the lovely ginger. She couldn't hide the maternal smile that formed on her face as she clasped her plump, perfectly manicured hands in front of her chest, as if she wanted to hold close to her heart a fond memory evoked by the sight of her young prodigy student delicately intertwining her fingers with those of her sweetheart standing next to her.
"Yes, Miss Smith?"
"May I practise with a partner? Or would that be a problem?"
"Of course not, Miss Smith – it’s no problem at all! Reading someone else’s hand is a much more effective exercise than reading your own. Mr Gaunt may stay, dear."
Anne turned to Ominis with overwhelming enthusiasm and squeezed his hand tighter, even standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Then she took a step back and began to fidget nervously with her long plait of ginger hair.
"I've been waiting for Professor Onai's permission to practise with her Palmistry Model for a while now! Would you care to help me practise?"
"Um, actually..."
Ominis was shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if he were performing some kind of ballet on the spot, and Anne realised at that moment that he hadn't stopped moving like that since he got up from their table. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and he tilted his head to one side with a vaguely embarrassed look.
"The thing is, I really should go to the loo before supper, dearest."
"For Heaven’s sake, hurry up, Gaunt! We don't want the fearsome Heir of Slytherin to lose his dignity along the castle halls, do we?"
He let out a laugh, which he regretted almost immediately. His wacky dance on the spot intensified in response to the slight effort, as he bent down hastily to return the kiss on the cheek she had given him a moment earlier.
"See you at dinner. I'll save your seat if you're late." Ominis whispered in Anne's ear before pulling out his sentient wand and searching for the exit of the now empty classroom with a quick and purposeful gait.
She followed him with an amused gaze, then rested her eyes on the few students still busy gathering their things.
In the centre of the classroom, Anne Sallow jumped up enthusiastically to get the attention of her Seer friend, completely ignoring Amit, who was offering to carry her satchel and escort her to the Slytherin dungeons.
"Anne, if you'd like, I can stay—" She began, before her voice died in her throat, stifled by a sudden wave of embarrassment.
Shy dark eyes stared ostentatiously at the floor as she slipped her hands into her pockets with a guilty scowl, as if the Keeper could reveal some sordid secret just by glancing at her palms. A moment later, Anne Sallow was pushing Amit aside to leave the classroom at an even faster pace than Ominis. Her brother watched her dash away, raising his eyebrows questioningly, then shrugging indifferently and nodding nonchalantly to Garreth and Natty, who were already walking towards the Gryffindor tower. Then, as if he had felt the weight of her gaze right between his shoulder blades, Sebastian turned to find Anne Smith staring at him with her arms crossed and a mischievous grin disguised as an innocent smile on her face.
"What's that look for?" He asked, ignoring the flips his lovelorn heart was doing in his chest.
"You just volunteered to help me practise palmistry."
"Naaah, shite! What a pain, red."
But despite the theatrical way Sebastian rolled his eyes, he was already heading towards the pair of poufs placed in front of the Palmistry Model displayed on the desk to the left of the entrance to the Divination Classroom. A moment later, he had taken his seat and was rolling up the sleeves of his uniform to his elbows, ready to hold out his hands to Anne. She sat down next to him and turned her attention to the model carved in fine white marble, on which all the guidelines for teaching palmistry were engraved. Humming distractedly a tune that Sebastian did not recognise, Anne pulled a small notebook full of messy notes from her Slytherin robes.
"Professor Rackham was an unrivalled chiromancer when he was alive, you know? He taught me many things, but he recommended that I practise with a Palmistry Model the first couple of times, you know, so as not to lose the thread." She said without taking her eyes off the cold marble hand on the desk.
Seeing her momentarily lost in thought, Sebastian sank a little more comfortably into the pouf and turned towards the large window on his right, the only one in the whole room from which the heavy curtains had been drawn aside. The sun had now set, but thanks to the faint candlelight illuminating the Divination Classroom, Sebastian could glimpse the soft swirl of snowflakes chasing each other in their dancing descent to the ground.
"Right on time." He thought as his attractive lips stretched almost unconsciously into a crooked smile as he shifted his gaze to Professor Onai's decorative wall calendar, on which the first day of winter was circled in red ink.
He was about to make a sarcastic comment about how much fun they would have the following day facing the hated Gryffindors on the Quidditch pitch in the middle of a snowstorm, when her left hand, delicate and soft as the skin of a newborn, gently squeezed his, making him jump visibly on his pouf.
"Oh, you're so warm, Sebastian." She said, unconsciously drawing closer to his warmth in the cold of the now empty and motionless classroom.
Anne's hands were always cold, to the point that Ominis affectionately called her Touch of Death whenever she made him shiver with her icy touch in their intimacy. And Sebastian thought with a smile that it was actually a fitting pet name, since those cold, pale hands did indeed look like those of a dead person. Silently, he squeezed them in his bigger ones, tenderly fondling them to warm them up. She flashed him a grateful smile before pulling his left hand towards her, guiding him with her fingers to spread his palm so she could read it.
"Let me See what we have here."
"Y-you're tickling me." Whispered Sebastian, nervously running his right hand through his unruly brown hair in a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment.
Anne's touch was intoxicating to him, a weird, delightful mix of emotions making his blood boil in his veins, and despite the innocence and sheer focus guiding her actions, he could only concentrate on her sensuality and on the intimacy of the situation.
Anne's fingertips felt like feathers on Sebastian's palm as she let them glide over every line of his skin, observing its features and imperfections with the same veiled gaze she used to stare into space during one of her Visions.
"Mmh, how strange..." She murmured, gently touching his thumb as her dreamy dark eyes darted briefly towards the Palmistry Model.
"What is it?" Asked Sebastian, his voice unexpectedly hoarse and his eyes rolling to stare at the ceiling while he silently cursed the erection straining proudly between his legs. "Have you found any of these ‘arcane’ symbols?" He added after clearing his throat, nodding towards the elegant, mysterious symbols engraved on the Palmistry Model right at the junction of each finger. "That circlet under the little finger, perhaps?" He continued, his attempt to divert attention from his bodily reactions becoming increasingly desperate.
"That circlet is the Sun, Sebastian. And no, you don’t have it." She replied with a laugh as light as the snowflakes swirling outside the window – amused, relaxed and completely unaware of his distress. "You have the Moon. Right here, See?" Anne continued, lovingly touching a precise spot on the left side of Sebastian’s hand, just above his wrist.
A shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn’t caused by the cold.
He watched her caress that spot on his hand, biting the bottom lip of her perfect, desirable mouth between her teeth, and had to force himself to imagine a troll picking its nose to immediately calm his breathing.
"I don't see anything at all."
"I'm not surprised. Yet here it is, even if you can't See it! It's even more obvious if you flex your hand like this—that's it, good. See?"
"No... The Moon, eh? And what does it mean?"
"Many things: intuition, creativity, imagination, emotional depth, sensitivity -"
"Feminine bollocks. I don’t get it at all. Are you sure you can ‘See’ properly, red?"
Anne shrugged and rested her head on Sebastian’s shoulder without letting go of his hand, her gaze distractedly fixed on the Palmistry Model and a sweet smile adorning her face.
"I See perfectly well, Sebastian."
"Ugh. What about all these other symbols? What about this one?" Sebastian said, chuckling as he tapped the Palmistry Model with his right index finger.
"That's Saturn, and no—I haven't Seen Saturn."
"Look closer."
"I Looked very closely, Sebastian! I can't See something that isn't there!"
There was laughter, a melodious female voice combined with a baritone male voice filling the still, cold air of the Divination Classroom for a few moments. Sebastian rested his head on Anne's, still on his right shoulder, and closed his eyes, allowing himself just a moment of happiness as he felt her soft, alluring body leaning against his.
"Now let me take a Look at your Girdle of Venus!"
"My what?"
"Your Girdle of Venus, the semi-circular line here at the base of your fingers. It's the line of Love!"
Sebastian stiffened imperceptibly; Anne's gentle, loving touch on his hand suddenly felt electric, as if it were about to reveal his most intimate secrets and his body was instinctively aware of that.
"Oh, Sebastian! Your Girdle of Venus is—it's pronounced and complete! There is a great Love in your future—a Love that is overwhelming and—and absolute, which will last you a lifetime!" Anne turned to look Sebastian in the eyes, then spun around to the Palmistry Model and leaned over his hand like a clockmaker concentrating on the tiny components of a clock to be repaired. "But something's wrong. It's—it's all jagged, broken, interrupted. It seems—it seems that this Love is both your salvation and a great source of suffering, but..."
Sebastian felt a drop of perspiration run down the back of his neck. With his right hand, he caressed her head, closing his eyes for a moment as his fingers ran through her soft ginger tresses; a grimace of pain followed by a sad smile momentarily distorted his features when he touched Ominis' enchanted rose adorning her plait.
"Red, I..." He tried to say, pulling his left hand towards him to gently free himself from her soft, cold hands.
"Wait, Sebastian. Let me Look. I don't—I don't understand!" Anne's gaze became focused, her eyes almost frantic as they darted from his palm to the marble model on the desk. "You don't have the Marriage Line. There isn't - there isn't a Marriage Line, but..."
"Red, wait a minute -"
"Sebastian, it doesn't make sense! Aren't you meant to get married? But your Girdle of Venus is so—how can there be such great Love without marriage?"
"Red, listen to me—"
"Wait, let me check the Marriage Line again—I must have Seen it wrong—"
"ANNE, LISTEN TO ME, DAMN IT! THERE IS NO FUCKING MARRIAGE LINE!"
Sebastian suddenly jumped to his feet, pulling his left hand back forcefully.
Anne stood up in turn, clasping her hands to her chest, her face a mask of apprehension mixed with confusion.
His deep, dark eyes fixed on hers, and for a long moment the wizard and the witch stared at each other without saying a word. Then, slowly, Sebastian took a step forward and rested a hand on her cheek, caressing her lips with his thumb.
"You cannot See something that isn't there, red. You said so yourself."
His words echoed in the cold stillness of the room with a finality worthy of a true Seer, as if Sebastian had recognised in the reading of his palm a reality that his young heart had already accepted – already understood.
A sad realisation suddenly spread across Anne's face. She took a step forward, parting her lips as if she were about to say something, while tears began to wet the corners of her eyes. Before she could utter a single word, Sebastian had turned his back on her and was running towards the exit of the Divination Classroom, leaving her alone among the stylish tables and soft poufs.
Ten minutes passed before Anne had composed herself enough to leave the classroom and head with apparent nonchalance towards the Great Hall. Her cheeks were still red from crying and her eyes still shiny from the tears she had shed, but she was sure she would only look vaguely tired or feverish at worst if anyone decided to pry and be inappropriate.
"Are you feeling all right? Bloody Hell, you’ve got a fever! I can’t believe you’ve got a fever!" Imelda exclaimed promptly after casting a quick glance in the direction of the disgustingly lovely ginger. "Bloody Hell! Bloody Hell! Get yourself to the Infirmary right now! We're playing Gryffindor tomorrow!"
"I know, Imelda, I know. Don't worry, I'm just a bit tired."
"Get your arse off that bench and run to the Infirmary, Smith!"
Anne looked Imelda straight in the eye as she took her seat opposite her at the Slytherin table. Once she was settled, Ominis, who had been keeping the seat on his right occupied for her, leaned over to brush her forehead with his lips and squeeze her hands in his.
"You don't feel hot, and your hands—well, your hands are always freezing cold, Touch of Death, so it doesn't make much difference." He said, his thin lips stretching into that witty, playful smile she loved more than anything else.
"I don't have a fever. I'm just a little tired."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind spending tomorrow taking care of my sweet love in the privacy of our chambers. Sharing your warm bed with me, drinking a cup of steaming tea in my company... Much better than flying on a broomstick in a snowstorm, don't you think?"
Anne couldn't help but laugh, even though she was still upset about what had happened with Sebastian. She served herself a steak and began cutting it into small pieces to cool it down, aware that Imelda was still watching her and deciding for that reason not to confide in Ominis at that moment about the true origin of her distress.
"Nonsense, my love!" She said, snorting another laugh. "I'm fine." She then scoffed, addressing the loud harpy sitting with her arms crossed in front of her. "Tomorrow I'll brave the snowstorm with my teammates. And you'll do the same, my dear! I want to hear you cheering so loudly from the stands that you drown out the storm!" She added, turning to Ominis and placing her left hand on his right thigh in a casual and intimate gesture.
For a moment, it seemed to her that his face twisted into a grimace of deep sadness mixed with sincere disgust. But before the Troll Slayer could press her beloved for an answer, Imelda interjected with a question that brought her attention back to a completely different topic.
"Where's Sebastian? Why hasn't he come to dinner?"
Anne's face immediately darkened; her right hand poked at the meat on her plate with her fork as if she had suddenly lost her appetite, then, with a sudden flick of her wrist, she speared a few mouthfuls and brought them to her mouth with a resolute poise.
As if he too were momentarily isolated in a bubble of sadness and unease, Ominis remained motionless for a second, unaware of the apprehension of his beloved Anne and barely registering her response.
"Sebastian clearly wasn't hungry, Imelda. He'll already be in our common room resting up for tomorrow, you'll see. Let's hurry up and finish supper so we can join him, shall we?"
A gust of icy wind whipped snow off the ground, sending small flakes of frost flying into Anne Smith's face. She quickly raised her right arm to shield her head with her elbow and protect herself from the lashing wind. Next to her, her teammates were cursing under their breath as they straddled their brooms and took flight, flying over the snow-covered Quidditch pitch as they waited for the starting whistle.
During the night, the snowstorm had subsided, and at dawn a pale winter sun had risen, its rays glistening faintly on the thick snow that blanketed everything in sight. The weather had certainly improved beyond all expectations compared to the day before, but the same could not be said for Anne's mood.
The previous evening, she had not had the opportunity to talk to Sebastian and discuss what had happened between them after Divination class. The Slytherin heartthrob seemed to have disappeared, holing up in some corner of the castle far from the dungeons, and the message implied by that behaviour was direct and unmistakable: “I want to be alone and away from you, so leave me be and don’t come looking for me, red.” Anne almost felt as if she could hear those words in the back of her mind, as if Sebastian had whispered them in her ear, and she accepted that obvious yet silent rejection, forcing herself to swallow nonchalantly a lump of sadness mixed with guilt.
She must have done a good job of hiding her inner turmoil because Imelda, who had decided to stick to her like glue to make sure she didn't have a fever, didn't notice anything. They spent the evening together, sitting at a small table with a built-in chessboard carved out of wood. Of course, Ominis had sat with them too, challenging Imelda to wizard's chess and effortlessly winning a few matches against her.
Anne, perched on the lap of the Heir of Slytherin with ease and a certain disregard for the Prefect's calls for decorum, had cheered and occasionally moved a few pieces on the board with no real success in distracting herself from her sad thoughts.
On the contrary...
If Ominis' presence was usually her lifeline and managed to soothe her even in the darkest of times, in that circumstance, sitting in his arms, held tightly in his embrace, only served to anguish her further, because she had sensed something strange and gloomy in him too—something that was eating at him from the inside. But while Sebastian's thoughts had been made all too clear by his behaviour, Ominis' had proved utterly unfathomable and indecipherable, even to Anne. Yet his seemingly inexplicable discomfort had silently spilled over into her as if by osmosis, and even though he had tried to hide his own inner turmoil to prevent people like Imelda from prying into his affairs, Anne had sensed that something was wrong with him simply from the way his posture had become increasingly tense throughout the evening: every sinewy, toned muscle in his body had stiffened more and more against her slender frame every time Imelda opened her mouth to inquire about the health of her keeper in view of the upcoming match. Ominis was apprehensive, to be sure, but Anne had been unable to understand, let alone explain, the source of his apparent strain and nervousness, and her questions on the matter had been of little use, as the Heir of Slytherin had smiled and given her reassurances that seemed anything but sincere.
So Anne had ended up retreating to the girls' dormitory with a heavy heart, feeling lonely and worried. Stopping by the lavatory to brush her hair and console herself by stoking her vanity while looking in the mirror had done nothing to help: when she finally laid her head on her pillow, she still felt sad and demotivated ahead of the match against Gryffindor.
Then there had been the early morning wake-up call, made chaotic by Imelda's restless shrieks and Anne Sallow's excited jumping on the Troll Slayer's bed to give her "the boost she needed to kick the lions' arses". Then there had been breakfast at the Slytherin table alongside her raucous teammates—which Sebastian, much to Imelda's horror, had not joined—and the bowls of milk and cornflakes that the Keeper had fixed for herself and Ominis, who had been silent and sombre in stark contrast to the rest of their overexcited housemates.
Now Anne Smith was finally standing on the sidelines of the pitch, Ember Dash clutched in her left hand and sad dark eyes fixed on the silver-green and red-gold silhouettes of her team and their opponents.
Suddenly, there was a roar from the Slytherin stands, followed by a cheering chorus sung by shrill female voices while a furious scream ripped through the air, drowning out every other sound.
"Sallow, you bloody idiot! You've given me a heart attack with your phlegmatic tardiness! Get your arse on that broom and come and warm up, you arsehole!"
Imelda had swooped down a few metres, waving her beater's bat menacingly, her face redder than Anne had ever seen it. After her outburst of anger, the captain of the Slytherin team quickly regained her composure and headed straight for the other beater, who in turn let out a cry of annoyance directed at their seeker.
It was at that moment that Anne heard the sound of footsteps in the fresh snow coming to a halt right next to her on her right.
"Imelda was about to call in the reserve." She said, keeping her gaze fixed ostentatiously on the blue sky.
Sebastian snorted a laugh that sounded amused, and a small cloud of white steam formed in front of his mouth in the frosty morning air. A moment later, Anne felt his left arm tighten around her and pull her close to his side in an embrace that was strangely sweet and relaxed despite the unspoken things they had left unsaid and the screaming crowd in the stands of the Quidditch pitch all around them.
"Are you ready to take on those Gryffindor bastards, red?"
"Ready as can be. Especially since Imelda won't hesitate to make our lives Hell if we lose."
"Aye, Gryffindor has always been our greatest rivalry, but since her courtship with Leander ended, this match seems to have become a matter of life and death for her."
It was Anne who let out a laugh this time.
When she had met Imelda at the beginning of her fifth year at Hogwarts, she had been surprised to learn that the proud captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team was secretly infatuated with the captain of the Gryffindor team, her arch-enemy and a colossal idiot in Anne's opinion. She had never understood Imelda's fancy for Leander, nor how she had managed to pine for him while he lavished attention on other young ladies, nor had she understood her joy when he finally noticed her existence. Leander had courted Imelda for some time, but something had changed profoundly between them over the summer, and given his beliefs about blood status and his impeccable pureblood lineage, Anne feared that her Half-Blood friend had been rejected by his family for reasons that fully justified the hatred and coldness with which she now treated him.
The rosy lips of the lovely ginger stretched into a satisfied grin as she watched Imelda glower at Leander, seemingly ready for a fight to the death, and she thought proudly that her peculiar and hateful friend had definitely gotten over her infatuation with the idiot lion. Her thoughts were interrupted when Sebastian pulled her closer to him for a moment and then turned her to face him. A serious, almost solemn expression was painted on his face as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers without taking his eyes off hers.
"Red, even though it gets difficult sometimes, the thing that makes me happiest in life is being by your side."
"Sebastian, I—"
"Ah! Shhh, red, don't say anything... It's fine, remember? Let's not dredge up the past. After all, I told you a long time ago—I told you I would never stop loving you—never! And I asked you to remember that even when I stopped telling you so."
From the Slytherin stands, more chants rose up, urging Sebastian to take flight and show-off for the crowd. He raised his head and lifted his right arm to hold his broomstick high against the sky in greeting—tall, handsome, and charming in his Quidditch uniform, but above all relaxed despite the heavy, meaningful words he had just spoken.
"Sebastian, I—" Anne tried again.
But his left hand covered her mouth, and the hard leather of his gloves scratched her skin slightly.
"You don't understand, do you, red? Less talk and more Quidditch!"
A moment after uttering those words, Sebastian bent down to pick up a handful of snow from the ground, then casually mounted his broom and took flight.
"Come and warm yourself up! And eat my tail, bitch!" He shouted down at her, throwing the snowball at her and hitting her squarely in the face.
A profanity in Parseltongue was lost in the hubbub of the stadium as Anne took flight herself, carefully aiming to hit Sebastian between the shoulder blades with a projectile of pure white snow.
"Oh, not bad as a chaser, Anne!" Exclaimed Garreth, joining the Slytherin heartthrob in mid-air as he laughed and shook the snow off his green cloak.
Natty joined them in an instant, and the unlikely quartet remained floating in the air, laughing and bantering, ignoring their respective teammates who were still warming up.
"What a shame! It's always awful to play against your closest friends." Murmured the dark-skinned lioness, gently rising alongside Anne as Garreth and Sebastian sped away, laughing and chasing each other.
"I'm sorry too that you're standing on the opposite side of the Quidditch pitch."
"Uh, you mean your affection for me prevails over your Slytherin competitiveness?"
"Does yours prevail over your Gryffindor competitiveness?"
The witches looked into each other's eyes, trying to remain impassive, then suddenly threw their heads back in perfect synchrony and burst into thunderous laughter as the icy wind tousled a long plait of ginger hair and a tight bun of black curls.
Madam Kogawa's voice called all the players on the field to order, inviting them to take their positions for the kick-off. With an agile dive, Anne flew over to the Slytherin hoops, scanning the crowd in the stands in the vague hope of spotting Ominis among the screaming mass of people.
The first roars of enthusiastic cheers rose loudly from the Gryffindor stands just a few minutes into the match, following a perfectly calculated offensive move that saw Garreth and Natty close in on either side of the Slytherin chaser holding the Quaffle, forcing him to drop it to steal possession. Graceful and in perfect control of their broomsticks, the two lions completed the Body Blow without committing a foul.
Moments later, Natty was darting towards the Slytherin hoops. Her shot was spectacular, but the roar of her supporters was lost in a collective gasp of disappointment when Anne effortlessly saved.
"You have to try harder, Natty!"
"You'll see, the next shot will go over your head, Anne!"
The friends shouted to each other as the Slytherin keeper took a throw-in from the back in favour of her teammates.
The Golden Snitch was spotted relatively early, just ten minutes into the game, and Sebastian was given a blurting penalty by Madam Kogawa after trying to take possession of the broom handle of the fourth-year Gryffindor making his debut as seeker for the golden lions. It was Anne's turn to save the penalty assigned to the silver snakes following that action, just as it was her turn to fiercely save every attack on her hoops, much to Imelda's delight and Leander's utter chagrin, for a good quarter of an hour of intense play.
Every time the crowd in the Slytherin stands chanted her name, the Troll Slayer imagined she could hear Ominis' voice, and every time she thought of him, she found herself daring more and more, wanting only to show off for him, even though he couldn't see her with his own eyes.
About thirty minutes into the match, Anne saw Leander nimbly dodge a Bludger thrown at him by Imelda and then dart towards her hoops with Garreth unmarked a few metres ahead of him.
"Well, Garreth. It's just you and me, my friend!" Thought the Keeper with a mocking grin, preparing to block the shot.
Her expressive dark eyes locked with his intense greenish-blue's as Garreth wound up his arm to throw the Quaffle towards the goal. Anne lunged forward with the confidence of a keeper who had read the attacker's move perfectly. A moment later, the Quaffle had hit the hoop to her left with precision, and the Gryffindor stands erupted in a victorious cheer.
But what made Anne's blood run cold was not the sense of failure that accompanies a goal conceded, no: what took her breath away was the realisation that she had conceded a goal because her broom had moved of its own accord in the opposite direction to the one she had tried to steer and sprint towards.
Panicked cries rose from both the Slytherin and Gryffindor stands when it became clear that Anne had lost control of her broom, which was now trying to throw her off as if it were a crazed horse rather than a piece of enchanted wood. And as she lay sprawled across her Ember Dash, desperately clutching her thighs and gripping it tightly with her hands to avoid the deadly fall that would otherwise await her, only two thoughts occupied her mind.
"A Broom jinx. Samuel, you bastard! You piece of shite!"
She should have expected her brother to take revenge for the foul she had committed against him in the match that had seen them as opponents. Come to think of it, she had been too kind—or rather, too stupid—not to think of something similar when Hufflepuff had faced Ravenclaw on the pitch the week before. Because casting a Broom jinx from the stands was an extremely clever dirty trick, since it was the kind of dirty trick that would certainly go unpunished. After all, with so many people cheering, what could the faculty do? Check every student's wand as they left the stadium?Sure, that was something that could be done, but it would only take a few simple spells before the culprit's wand was examined to get away with it. Not to mention the fact that a wizard or witch with a little experience in wandless magic could have done it without a wand in the first place.
Anne's soft lips twisted into an animalistic growl as a fierce scream rose from her throat from the effort she was making to stay attached to her spinning Ember Dash. Suddenly, the possessed broomstick lunged forward, performing a quick twist.
Amidst the chaos, the fair ginger barely had time to realise that she was heading straight for a column in the stands. Reacting instinctively in the few seconds she had left before impact, she let go just in time to let her Ember Dash crash horribly on its own. Anne felt the wood of her beloved broom break against the stadium column and simultaneously her heart broke in her chest, but she had no time to process her grief because she was falling rapidly and inexorably towards the ground from a height of about fifty metres.
"Maybe the snow will cushion the fall." She thought foolishly as she closed her eyes in a vain attempt to detach herself from the present moment.
Suddenly, Anne's fall was violently interrupted and she found herself hitting her groin hard on a wooden stick as a pair of strong arms held her tightly against an equally solid chest.
"I've got you, red!"
Anne opened her eyes to find herself straddling Sebastian's broomstick, face to face with him with her thighs on his and her arms around his shoulders. Reckless as usual, the Slytherin heartthrob had dived without the slightest hesitation as soon as he saw his incomparable ginger leap from the Ember Dash, and he had actually managed to catch her in mid-air.
Now, with his right hand on the handle of his broom and his left arm wrapped tightly around Anne's back, he was slowly gaining altitude while she gasped heavily, clinging to him and trembling with the adrenaline of the moment.
"Are you alright, red?" Sebastian asked before a deep groan of pain rose from the back of his throat. "See what I'm willing to do for you, red? I definitely risked my balls to get you. How the Hell can you weigh so much, thin as you are?"
"It was—it was the force of the impact!" Anne retorted indignantly, still trembling in his arms.
"Mm, aye, fatty."
There was a loving slap on her bottom, followed by a rather firm and not-so-loving slap on his chest.
"Thank you, Sebastian..." Anne then murmured with sincere gratitude, resting her forehead against Sebastian's jaw.
"No problem, red—I've got you. I'm heading back up to the stands reserved for faculty—I'll drop you off there so you can tell the Headmaster what happened."
A faint whirring sound near Anne's left ear suddenly caught Sebastian's attention.
"How—how are we going to win, Sebastian? If I'm out, who's going to defend the goal?! Damn it, we're going to end up losing to those bloody lions!" She exclaimed, oblivious.
"No, I wouldn't say that. Sorry, red—forget the stands, I'm about to do something you're not going to like."
"What-?"
Something brushed Anne's hair, causing a long ginger tress to flutter in front of her eyes, and once she turned to her left, the Golden Snitch dove towards the ground.
"Oh no, Sebastian!"
"Oh yes, red."
For a moment, a shrill cry was heard before the Slytherin supporters drowned it out with a thunderous and enthusiastic ovation. Sebastian had launched himself into an almost vertical dive in pursuit of the Golden Snitch, steering his broom with one hand while the other held Anne tightly to him. She was not afraid of heights at all, and flying had come naturally to her from the moment she first sat on a broom, but the sensation of diving backwards without control made her stomach churn dangerously, and she had to suppress a strong urge to vomit by burying her face in the crook of Sebastian's neck to breathe in his scent while her hands clawed hysterically at his Quidditch uniform.
"I swear I'm going to throw up on you, Sebastian!"
"Promises, promises!"
"I-idiot!"
"Hang on, red, I'm almost there!"
Sebastian's grip on the Golden Snitch was as firm as it was memorable: still without using his left arm, he let go of his broom to grab his target with his right hand, then stopped his descent and changed the course of his mount with the strength of his hips alone.
There was a triumphant flight of the Slytherin team around the stadium with applause and ovations as banners were displayed and colourful green and silver powder bombs exploded.
"Hold on to it, red—close your hand around it like this, good girl—don't let it get away." Sebastian whispered in Anne's ear as he helped her close her gloved hand around the Golden Snitch while they flew, still embraced, at the head of their team.
Her right hand clenched around the tiny gilded sphere while her left clung even tighter to his shoulder as she leaned out from the broomstick to proudly wave the prize symbolising Slytherin's victory to the cheering crowd.
Once they landed in the thick snow where a proud Madam Kogawa awaited them, the silver snakes and golden lions climbed off their broomsticks and turned towards the stadium exit. Anne couldn't help but look back at the spot where the remains of her Ember Dash lay, hopelessly destroyed, and in a flash, her sweet dark eyes filled with tears. A moment later, Sebastian was back at her side, hugging her gently but firmly, urging her to look away from the wreckage and follow him.
"Don't worry about it, red. Lord Gaunt will buy you another one. In fact, knowing the old bastard, he might already be here waiting for us with an expensive broom wrapped up for you."
Despite herself, she let out a sincere laugh, and he blushed slightly when he felt her lean casually against him.
"I can't wait to celebrate, Sebastian! That was a brilliant win! You were incredible!"
"And I saved your arse."
They laughed together as their teammates joined them, turning their moment of intimacy into a walking group hug until they found themselves under the Slytherin stands among their supporters.
Anne Sallow jumped into her brother’s arms and he lifted her into the air, his attractive lips breaking into a smile that was pure joy. All their friends were gathered around them. Imelda and Violet had already opened a bottle of Firewhisky that someone had secretly passed them, and they were busy extending invitations to the celebrations in the dungeons, as they usually did after every victory. Natty and Garreth had separated from the rest of their team to come and banter with Sebastian and carry him in triumph, while Amit had appeared next to Anne Sallow dressed in green and silver from head to toe. Even Poppy was part of the cheering crowd that was beginning to move towards the castle, walking joyfully alongside Nerida and helping her wave a banner depicting a huge snake.
But among all those people, among all those faces, one was missing, and it was the most important one for Anne Smith.
The athletic legs of the Troll Slayer began to shake violently, but the trembling had nothing to do with the adrenaline rush of the fall. The palms of her cold hands were sweaty, but it was cold sweat, the kind that drenches the body when anxiety takes over.
"Red, don't be upset..." Sebastian was back at Anne's side, his gaze reflecting many different emotions—surprise mixed with resignation, but above all an understanding of something that seemed to go far beyond hers. "Don't be upset, I mean it."
"I'm not upset, Sebastian."
"Ahh, red... I know the bond between you and Ominis is stronger than anything, but I'm still his best friend, and you have to trust me when I tell you not to be upset. You see, the thing is, he—"
Anne gave a fake smile and shook her head in denial, her long, unkempt plait of ginger hair whipping the air behind her back.
"I'm not upset, Sebastian, I really mean it. I just need to talk to him." She lied in a murmur, disentangling herself from the awkward hug Imelda was trying to give her. "I'll catch up with you later, the real celebration will be tonight anyway. See you at the Great Hall for lunch." She added in a louder voice, striding quickly towards the castle and away from the cheering crowd.
"Why lie to me for the second time, Ominis? Why?!"
The still silence of the Undercroft was broken only by the faint crackling of the many enchanted candles that perpetually burned to illuminate the lair, scattered around the cyclopean columns that supported the ceiling.
Anne sat at what had once been Sebastian's desk, which she had appropriated over time.
She had spent long hours inside the Gaunt family hideaway with Ominis the previous year, hours spent studying the Dark Arts under his guidance. It had been strange at first to hear the Heir of Slytherin talk to her about curses and devilish rituals, considering the violence with which his family had forcibly indoctrinated him in Black Magic and considering his absolute rejection and abhorrence of those foul practices. But Ominis had been very clear when he first showed her the only piece of literature ever to have been written in Parseltongue: he considered her wise enough to learn about the Dark Arts without being charmed by them, and since he was not willing to lose the love of his life at the hands of either her powerful enemies or Marvolo himself, he would teach her everything he knew so that she could truly understand her foes and be able to resort to extreme measures if threatened by ultimate Evil.
The Undercroft had become a place dedicated to rigorous study for Anne, where they did not gather to laugh and jest most of the time, but where they came to explore topics that were forbidden as well as taboo, taking advantage of the old relics left behind by various members of the Gaunt family over the years.
Sebastian's things had been relegated to the wall opposite the rusty entrance gate, in a corner that had become in every way similar to a Muggle artist's studio, where the Slytherin heartthrob came to relax and paint, stoically resisting the temptation to fall back into the study of those dark subjects to which, unfortunately, his curious mind had already been subjugated once. After the tragedy at Feldcroft's Catacombs, Sebastian had sworn to Anne Smith with his hand on his heart that he would never again succumb to the temptation of the Dark Arts, and he had kept his promise, giving her all the books he had stolen from the Restricted Section of the Library over the years. He and his twin sister often went down to the Undercroft, he to paint and she to keep him company. Occasionally Ominis would join them for a game of Gobstones or wizard’s chess, but Sebastian, whether he was present or not, had never rummaged through the belongings of his best friend and his incomparable ginger, even though his curiosity had sometimes teased him.
The Troll Slayer, on the other hand, had not set foot in the secret lair of House Gaunt since the beginning of the academic year. Whether it was Dark Arts or Ancient Magic, and whether Ominis minded accompanying and supervising her in her studies or not, she no longer needed the Undercroft when she had free access to the Slytherin's Scriptorium and the Map Chamber, where a host of mentors from the past were at her disposal to guide her.
And as for spending her leisure time in Ominis' company and enjoying their daily intimacy, why should they hole up in his cold, uncomfortable subterranean lair when they could enjoy the luxury of her private chambers within the Room of Requirement? But precisely because those secret chambers hidden within the walls of the Astronomy Tower had become the nest in which the Heir of Slytherin and his betrothed had built their bubble of happiness, perfectly estranged from the rest of the world, she had chosen at that juncture to retreat to the Undercroft, cold, silent and horribly still, where dust-covered medieval armour and moth-eaten tapestries seemed to close in around their stone court with an air of detached judgement.
Anne thought distractedly that the Undercroft perfectly reflected the personality of its current rightful owner, as convivial and welcoming as it was cold and ominous, depending on the circumstances. And on that day, the Gaunt lair would be the scene of anger and tears, which the Keeper had already begun to shed as she spread a sheet of parchment on the desk and dipped her quill into the inkwell.
- My love,
I've had enough excitement for today, I don't intend to celebrate Slytherin's victory with our housemates.
I thought we could start our Occlumency lessons. You told me you intended to teach me how to defend myself against mental attacks, but we never followed through on that thought.
Meet me in the Undercroft as soon as possible; I'll be here waiting for you.
With love,
your Anne. –
So read the deceitful letter Anne wrote to lure Ominis into his own hiding place. And as she wrote, tears streamed from her sweet dark eyes until she found herself sobbing desperately in the indifferent stillness of the cold subterranean chamber.
It was the first time since Ominis had declared his love for her that she had been furiously angry with him, and the very fact that their connection and complicity was such that they could always resolve any disagreement or difficulty by talking openly with each other made the waves of burning disappointment and deep sadness that pierced her heart even more strange and terrifying in her mind.
The first real argument they had ever had was in early September when she had sneaked into Slytherin's Scriptorium for the first time without consulting him first, but the situation had been very different then. In that case, Anne had been at fault and Ominis had been the one furious and hurt. In a way, lacking self-esteem and having idolised her sweet companion as a paragon of perfection, it had seemed only natural for her to find herself in the position of having to apologise and explain herself. Now, however, her flawless blond knight had hurt her: he was in the wrong, he was the one who had to apologise and explain himself, and all that confused her terribly. And even though the seriousness of his actions could be considered very mild compared to how she had behaved a few months earlier, it did not change the fact that he had deliberately acted in a way that had hurt her deeply.
All that had turned Anne's world upside down, plunging her into utter despair.
"Why did you lie to me, Ominis? Why did you do it?!"
Undeterred from sobbing, Anne tapped Salazar’s wand on the parchment to create an enchanted note that wasted no time in folding itself up and fluttering out of the rusty gate of the Undercroft.
The heavy winter Quidditch uniform was starting to feel uncomfortable; the perspiration that had soaked her following the adrenaline rush caused by her dizzying fall had permeated the inside of her uniform and was beginning to irritate her skin quite unpleasantly. With a deep sigh, she stood up from her desk and walked over to a dusty trunk where she knew Ominis kept some clothes rolled up in case he needed to change while he was there. As soon as she opened the trunk, Anne wrinkled her nose, noting with displeasure that her betrothed must have left behind garments that would have been better off washed before being abandoned to the moths.
Although trivial, that served to stoke her nerves and foment her anger all the more as she set aside what appeared to be a rather old child's uniform—perhaps the very one the Heir of Slytherin had worn during his first year at Hogwarts—and then assessed the condition of the clothes that remained available. A few weeks earlier, Ominis and the Sallow twins had spent an entire Saturday afternoon locked inside the Undercroft practising duelling, while Anne had preferred to go for an ale at the Three Broomsticks with Natty; her fiancé must have changed there before supper and left behind some clothes that she thought she might be able to wear. Without wasting any time, she got rid of her heavy Quidditch uniform to put on a pair of beige breeches and a white shirt that was definitely too big for her, as well as the padded Slytherin robes she slipped on over it. There were no spare shoes, so Anne simply took off her leather boots, covered in snow and mud, and put them to dry under the chair where the rest of her sport clothing was hanging. To avoid getting cold feet, she convinced herself to wear a pair of woollen socks belonging to Ominis, trying not to pay too much attention to the pungent aroma she had caught as she took them out of the trunk.
Since she had occupied the seat at her desk with her Quidditch uniform to let it dry, she walked nimbly towards Isidora Morganach's Pensive to perch on it cross-legged as if it were a birdbath and she were a finch. She had taken a silver brush engraved with the Slytherin crest and the initials N. G. from a termite-eaten shelf, then she loosened the plait she had worn on the Quidditch pitch to comb her hair while she waited for Ominis to come to her.
Ominis.
Her fair and fearless knight, her beautiful blue-eyed prince who had deliberately chosen to disappoint and hurt her in the name of what appeared to be a foolish stance.
Ominis.
Whose scent of expensive cologne mixed with perspiration permeated the uniform Anne was now wearing.
She found herself clutching the hem of those wide Slytherin robes, bringing them to her mouth and inhaling his scent sharply as she began to sob once more.
It was a wail of rage. A sad rage, blinding like a flash of lightning. A rage that continued to build with every passing minute, with every obsessive thought as she searched for answers to questions whose meaning eluded her. A rage that finally peaked when slow footsteps reached her ears.
"My love? Here I am, my sweetest darling. How—"
The heavy gate of the Undercroft had not yet finished closing behind Ominis when Anne suddenly sprang to her feet, drawing the ebony spiral and pointing it straight at him as her soft lips twisted into a feral snarl.
"Confringo!"
The fiery dart shot through the air, swift, precise and powerful, leaving no doubt that the witch who had conjured it had aimed to hit her target and make it hurt.
"Protego!"
A sphere of white light enveloped Ominis just in time to protect him from Anne's explosive dart.
"What the fuck—"
Before he could articulate a coherent thought, she had already resumed her furious offensive, forcing him to back away and pinning him against the wall while his blond eyebrows arched in an expression of utter disbelief and astonishment. In vain, Ominis tried to focus on her footsteps to try and guess her moves, because his own soft woollen socks made her graceful steps as silent as those of a ghost.
"Bastard! Arsehole! You're a royal arsehole, Gaunt!" She shouted with a fury that would certainly have turned her into a harpy if she had been a full-blooded Veela, as she continued to cast spells and hexes at a rapid pace as if she were duelling one of her archenemies. "Confringo! Depulso! Confringo! Ugh! Will you just let me hit you, you slimy bastard?! Impedimenta!"
Ominis, a skilled and accomplished duelist, managed to parry every blow from his lovely ginger, albeit with extreme difficulty; when he recovered from his astonishment, however, the Heir of Slytherin responded to the onslaught of his betrothed with equal vehemence, ending the surreal clash in a matter of seconds.
"Depulso!" Anne shouted.
But Ominis was ready to counter with a Backfiring Jinx, and she found herself thrown backwards by her own spell, falling heavily onto her back on the stone floor.
"Incarcerous." He thundered in a seemingly calm voice as he strode confidently towards her, drawing an elegant knot in the air with the chestnut stalk.
A strand of thick black rope bound Anne's wrists together in a flash, causing her wand to fall from her hand and pulling her arms behind her back, rooting her to the floor of the Undercroft to prevent her from standing up. Immediately, the Troll Slayer began kicking the air like a bolted horse, outraged and indignant as she watched helplessly while Ominis knelt before her with a serious and baffled expression—tall and handsome in his impeccable demeanour even in the face of her puzzling behaviour.
"Let me go right now, you bastard!"
"Oi, what the Hell is going on, Anne?! What is the fucking meaning of all this? Did a Bludger hit you on the head while you were on the pitch?!"
"YOU REMEMBER THEN, YOU BASTARD! YOU REMEMBER THAT THE GAME WAS TODAY!"
At those words, Ominis' expression suddenly became hostile, but Anne thought that he didn't really seem hostile towards her, but rather desperately trying to hide his true feelings. And that unexpected reluctance, that silent rejection, only made her angrier.
As she continued to thrash about on the stone floor, hurting her wrists in an attempt to free herself from his spell, Ominis slowly ran a hand through his soft blond hair as if he were taking time to gather his thoughts.
"I see. So that's what this is about. You're calling me names over a stupid game?"
"Stupid game?! You bastard!"
"There you go, just as I thought."
An animalistic cry escaped Anne's lips as she lay on her back on the floor and kicked Ominis in the face as he bent over her.
Before her foot could collide forcefully with his jaw, he grabbed her ankle with a sudden flick of his wrist, and she found herself gasping and looking into his eyes, wondering for the umpteenth time since she had known him whether the gorgeous blue-grey irises of her betrothed were truly sightless. With a gesture that seemed almost absent-minded, Ominis brought her foot close to his face, wrinkling his nose in blatant disgust and arching his blond eyebrows in surprise upon sniffing it.
"It's—it's absolutely pointless to give me that look! It's your own putrid socks you've been sniffing!"
"Oh, I know. Yet, angry as you are, you still wore them even though they have my smell on them."
"Your hideous stench, if anything."
Ominis snorted with laughter, his expression suddenly softening as if he found her furious and crazy behaviour endearing all of a sudden. Anne couldn't help but blush, acutely aware of how ridiculous the situation was and how her own behaviour had been out of proportion to the circumstances, despite her anger being legitimate. Anger that, after briefly giving way to embarrassment, flared up again when Ominis' hands began to caress first her calves and then her thighs to figure out what other garments she was wearing.
And as the Heir of Slytherin loomed over her, placing his hands on her hips, the heart of the fair ginger beat faster and faster until it pounded in her head like a war drum.
She was about to spit a fiery insult in his face when his words preceded hers, serious but oddly soothing.
"Have you calmed down, my love? Would you like to talk calmly without trying to hex me?" He said as he helped her up, pulling her off the ground as if she were a potato sack, still not daring to untie her hands—too cunning a Slytherin to be taken by surprise a second time.
"I could strangle you with my bare hands! I'm furious, Ominis!"
"Good Heavens, Anne, I never thought you were the kind of female who smashes plates over her husband's head if he dares to come home late from the pub. I better remember this."
"Oh, yes! I'm so furious I could smash something over your head, Gaunt! I'll smash you—Ugh! Ah!"
For a few moments, insults and senseless grunts poured from Anne's mouth as she continued to writhe in Ominis' firm grip, trying to kick him in the shins and headbutt him in the face. He remained seemingly unmoved by her fury, allowing her to vent her anger while passively and patiently accepting her kicks, but taking great care to avoid her headbutts for fear that she would end up hurting herself. After yet another insult, Ominis closed her mouth resting his thin lips gently but firmly on hers. She was so taken aback by his gesture that she suddenly became motionless.
"Are you done? Can we talk calmly?" He asked, continuing to gently brush her mouth with his. "I'll untie your wrists now, but I warn you: if you insult me one more time, I'll turn on my heel and leave here without a second thought." He added before pointing his wand at her wrists and murmuring, "Finite Incantatem."
The Heir of Slytherin held his breath for a moment, ready to restrain his wild betrothed again if she launched a second attack, but she seemed to have calmed down and lowered her head against his chest, trembling as if she were crying.
Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her body, which looked even thinner and more delicate in his much too large uniform. Anne did not refuse his embrace, and seemed instead to instinctively seek his warmth within the chill of the Undercroft, even moving her now free hands onto his chest. Ominis then began to absent-mindedly stroke her hair and ventured to hide his face in the crook of her neck, instinctively closing his eyes when her sweet floral scent invaded his nostrils, made slightly acidic by the anger stirring in her body and completely shrouded by the strong smell of his own cologne and sweat.
Her weeping grew in intensity until it bounced, loud and desperate, off the indifferent stone walls of the Undercroft.
"Come now. Is there really any need to get so angry because I didn't come to see a stupid Quidditch match?"
"You didn't come for the second time! You promised me! You promised me you'd come!"
"I never made you such a promise, Anne. I only make promises I know I can keep."
Anne stopped crying for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.
Ominis' words were true: he had never promised her that he would be in the stands cheering her on, not even after the disastrous match against Hufflepuff, when he had promptly shown up at the Headmaster's study to shield her from her own father.
"Why?" Was the only word she could utter.
"I could ask you the same thing: why? Why do you care so much about -"
"What do you mean, Ominis?! I would be insulting your intelligence if I answered that question!" Anne snapped, taking a step back and breaking the embrace.
Indignant, she shook her head vehemently, sending her long ginger hair flying in all directions.
After a moment's hesitation, she spoke to answer his question anyway, as if at that point there was indeed the need to state the obvious.
"I love Quidditch—I love flying, Ominis. For the first time in my life, I've found something I'm good at other than duelling with Dark Wizards and fighting for my survival."
"You are beyond talented at a multitude of things."
"That may be true, but it's Quidditch that has the whole castle in a frenzy. Everyone wants to see me play—everyone except you! And you know perfectly well that you are the most important person to me!"
A flash of hurt pierced Ominis' blind blue eyes, and his feet instinctively took a step forward.
"Of course I know, and you are to me. Are you questioning that?!"
"Of course I'm questioning it! Because, whether out of pride or genuine disinterest, you choose to ignore something that, however trivial, is important to me! If you know me, you know I don't give a damn about being cheered by the crowd. The only voice that moves me is yours! You're the only person who makes my heart beat faster!" She cried in despair. "We share everything, you even come to cheer me on at stupid Crossed Wands and you always say that my every success makes you so very proud, and then you refuse to set foot on the Quidditch pitch?"
"YES, I REFUSE! AND MAYBE YOU DON'T KNOW ME AT ALL, ANNE, IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"
Ominis' sudden outburst of anger froze the blood in Anne's veins. He, who was always in control of his emotions, had raised his voice with the same furious desperation she had heard only once before, deep inside Feldcroft's Catacombs.
A strong emotion that Anne could not recognise distorted Ominis' princely features before he turned his back on her, and she began to tremble with agitation.
"No, I don't understand, Ominis!" She screamed, hugging herself tightly for courage. "It's not so much that I don't understand why I don't make you proud and why you don't want to be there to rejoice with me... I don't understand how you can not care about me!"
"Excuse me?! I wouldn't care about you now?"
"Quidditch is as beautiful a game as it is dangerous, don't pretend you don't know that! One can get hurt on the field, badly hurt! I took punches and elbows in my debut game, and we all know how that ended!" Anne growled through clenched teeth, stamping her feet hard on the ground. "And today, that bastard of a brother of mine hexed my broom! He hexed it, Ominis, and it would have ended badly if it hadn't been for Sebastian." Another desperate sob rose from her throat, weak and bitter. "My Ember Dash was destroyed, Ominis, and you weren't there! Do you know how much I cared about it? Now I don't even have a broom to fly on! All this to say that Quidditch is part of my life. A part of my life that brings me immense joy, even if it means taking risks..."
Until then, Ominis had listened to her with his back turned, perfectly still, and she took a step towards him, raising her voice again, confident and determined.
"You say I don't know you at all, but that's not true. It can't be just pride mixed with boredom that keeps you away from the Quidditch pitch as if you were afraid of catching leprosy. Tell me the truth, Ominis. Why don't you want to share Quidditch with me?"
"BECAUSE I'M A FUCKING CRIPPLE, ANNE! AND THERE'S NO PLACE FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME IN THE QUIDDITCH STANDS!"
An eerie silence fell over the Undercroft, where even the crackling of the candles seemed to have vanished.
Slowly, the Heir of Slytherin turned to his betrothed, his face streaked with copious tears and distorted with pain. His thin lips, which were always playfully curved upwards in her presence, were now bent downwards like those of a sad carnival mask.
Anne had seen Ominis cry before, but never like that: he was a sensitive lad, and she had seen him shed tears of empathy, concern, anger or even frustration, but never of self-pity. And seeing him so vulnerable and distraught, her anger dissolved, giving way to confusion and infinite sadness.
"Ominis, you're not a cripple! I don't want to hear you say things like that, that's a horrible word!"
"Horrible or not, it's the truth! I'm a bloody cripple, I've been one all my life and I always will be. I've spent years feeling inferior to others because of my blindness, for not many people in our world have to live with this kind of impairment without there being a cure."
Ominis spat out the words as if they were poison.
Anne tried to get closer to him, but he took a step back, recoiling from her touch.
"I grew up scorned by Father, spent my childhood as a target for the cruelty of my brothers. Even Mother, though she tried to defend me, pitied me. Only Aunt Noctua never treated me as if I were different—as if I were the weak parasite everyone else considered me to be."
"Ominis, let me—"
"Do you know what Marvolo, Magnus, and even Servilius loved most as children? Flying. All my brothers were members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, except me! My best friend and you, Anne, the love of my life—you're all part of something I'm left out of! I can't fucking fly! And it would have been my lifelong dream... After all, who doesn't dream of soaring through the skies?"
Anne let out a pained cry, clutching her chest and trying again to move towards Ominis, who promptly backed away once more, still crying.
"Ominis, you can fly! With me, with Caligo! You’re bounded with a Hippogriff, my love! How many people can claim to have tamed one?"
"I can't fly on my own, don't you get it?! I fly with Caligo because he's an intelligent, sensitive beast, and I fly with you because you love me even though I'm a crippled wanker! I wish I could be the one to fly you around on a broomstick, for fuck's sake — I wish I could be the one to thrill you wearing the Slytherin Quidditch uniform!"
"I don't care about that sort of things! I don't care if you can't fly on your own! I'm thrilled and proud to be on your arm, to be your betrothed—to be yours, Ominis!"
Anne brought her hands to her temples and shook her head slowly, and Ominis sighed deeply without stopping shedding silent tears.
"You don't understand—perhaps you can't understand. Every lad coming of age wants to feel strong, healthy. Call it instinct, call it stupidity, call it what you will, but every lad wants to feel like the ‘pack leader’, so to speak—the one envied by all the other blokes and desired by all the girls." Ominis paused briefly, blushing slightly as he searched for the words and the courage to continue. "I've never been that kind of lad, and there's a small part of me—the silly, frivolous part that I usually ignore—that wishes I were. I wish I were as confident and physical as Sebastian. He's always had a self-assurance and body confidence that I lack."
"I never considered you insecure."
"That’s because ever since I was little, I learned to hide my insecurities behind coldness, hostility and venomous sarcasm – first as armour to defend myself from my family, then as a mask so as not to lose face with my peers. And while it's partly true that I've grown and matured over the years, it's also true that a small part of me will always remain insecure and hurt because of my blindness."
Anne took another timid step forward, and this time Ominis didn't back away, although he jumped visibly when he felt her right hand tentatively rest on his chest.
"Ominis? When we first met–I mean after our first encounter–you treated me with coldness because you were afraid I would see you as a blind cripple?"
"Yes. And while I was busy feeling sorry for myself, I let my best friend seduce you."
There was a long silence, quiet this time.
Anne moved even closer to Ominis and placed both hands on his chest, looking him straight in the face. Her lips curved into a sad smile, then, still without uttering a word, she raised her left arm to wipe his tears with the sleeve of his own Slytherin robes. He gave a weak, sighing laugh, letting her take care of him, then lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers.
"I hope you can forgive me, my sweet love. I have a hard time with Quidditch, it's one of the few things that still makes me uncomfortable to this day."
"We always tell each other everything. Why didn't you try to explain all this to me before I misunderstood and got upset?"
"Out of shame, Anne. It was—it was easier to wear my mask of snobbish, sarcastic arsehole than to admit that I am a pathetic, crippled wanker who—"
Suddenly, pale fingers as cold as the touch of death clasped around black robes as Anne stood on tiptoe to silence Ominis with a kiss, just as he had done to her moments before.
"I never want to hear that word spoken from your lips again." She murmured softly against his mouth. "Never again." She emphasised, giving his lower lip a gentle bite and playfully rubbing her nose against his. "In my eyes, there is no wizard more handsome and gallant than you."
"Anne, listen—"
"Shh, you listen to me, my love. Your blindness is not a weakness, it is your strength. It is what gave you the sensitivity to feel different from your horrible family. If you haven’t grown up to be a prick or a Dark Wizard, you owe it to your blindness." Anne's right hand took Ominis' and guided it to her heart, then rested on his chest again to find his. "The same goes for me. If I haven't grown into a bitch like the rest of my family, it's only because I was shunned — believed to be a squib, a cripple! — for so many years. See? We're the same, you and I."
"But you're not a squib."
"And you navigate the world much better than most people even though your eyes cannot see, Ominis. You're the only one who's ever looked inside me and seen me for who I really am, and when the time came, you didn't hesitate to make me yours — you fought for me, because you're a young man who knows what he wants. You kept me safe, you protected me—you struck down and defeated your hated brother twice to make sure he wouldn't hurt me."
Back on tiptoe, Anne brought one hand behind Ominis's neck—the other still resting on his heart—and drew him into a passionate kiss. After a moment's hesitation, he relaxed into the kiss, every sinewy muscle in him stiffening against her supple, inviting curves pressed against his body through their clothes.
"You can't fly on your own, but you duel with unmatched ferocity, and you are confident in everything you do. You are not weak, Ominis, even if they made you believe so in the past." She continued, breaking away from the kiss to catch her breath. "You are handsome, dangerous even. And when you bed me... You know what happens when you bed me. Would you like to tell me?"
Ominis stood open-mouthed, unable to respond, still too embarrassed to answer her advance. He tilted his head to one side, a slight blush adorning his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice died in his throat when her fingers began to work swiftly, first around the buttons of his waistcoat, then around those of his shirt. When the pale skin of the Heir of Slytherin was exposed, his lovely ginger bent down to kiss every inch of his chest and stomach, leaving a trail of kisses downwards that made every muscle in his body tense even more as her soft lips trailed over him.
As her legs bent to kneel before him, her hands rested on the crotch of his breeches and a hum of approval rose from her throat when she found his erection, firm and proud between his legs. There was the faint rustle of buttons being eagerly undone, and a moment later, Anne had Ominis in her hand. Before she could welcome him in her mouth, however, his left hand gently but firmly took hold of her face, inviting her to stand up in front of him.
"What are you doing, my love?" He asked in a loving whisper, kissing her forehead.
"I'm helping you get ‘the edge off’, as you say, so you can take proper care of me, Lord Gaunt."
He laughed, genuinely sincere, as her delicate hand began to steadily stroke his cock.
"There's nothing to laugh about, m'lordship. You haven't come to cheer me on, now you have to make me feel worshipped to make up for it." She whispered in his ear, playful and seductive.
"I worship you every moment—every bloody second that Merlin sends to Earth, Anne Smith." He replied in the same tone as his right hand moved down to hers to guide and accelerate her movements. "But I'll be more than happy to oblige, love."
Inside the Undercroft, languid wet kisses and faint moans of pleasure drowned out the crackling of the enchanted candles as Ominis and Anne remained locked in a sweet embrace, her hand tireless and delicate between his legs.
The stamina of the young heir to House Gaunt was enviable, something his fiancée knew well; if she had chosen to touch him that way, it was for no other reason than to help him relax and regain his confidence, one stroke at a time, determined to make him feel good and in control of the situation. But precisely because Ominis wasn't lacking in stamina, it took every patient effort of Anne's trembling hand to finally make him let go like that, and while her mind alternated between lustful awe and weary despair without stopping kissing and touching him, he gradually regained his usual eager, passionate enthusiasm for having her in his arms.
With each passing moment, Ominis' posture became more dominant and loomed over Anne's figure with newfound confidence; his kisses became more and more insistent, smothering even, and when she tried to escape his assault to catch her breath, his right hand grabbed the back of her neck to hold her where he wanted her while his left slid over her firm bottom to grab it possessively.
And when he finally felt his climax approaching, he didn't even bother to look for a handkerchief to wrap himself in. He grabbed her trembling wrist to make sure her soft palm continued to pleasure him until the end, until it became sticky and wet.
Not at all fazed by what had happened and, in fact, extremely pleased with herself, Anne took a step back and brought her clean hand to Ominis' face, sliding it behind his neck and caressing his nape, intertwining her fingers in his soft blond hair. He smiled at her, playful and satisfied in turn, then took off his Slytherin robes and laid them out in a sea of candles next to the nearest column. Taking a few steps towards him, she did the same, taking off the crumpled robes she had borrowed and placing them on the ground next to those he had already laid out as a makeshift bed.
"Just give me a minute, my love." Ominis murmured, reaching out his hand to draw her back to him. "In the meantime, let's take off these most unbecoming socks."
"If they're unbecoming, it's your fault, not mine!"
There was a light, velvety laugh as Ominis undid the top buttons of his own dirty shirt to slide it off Anne's shoulders, revealing the hideous lace-trimmed corset she wore underneath.
"It's ugly lingerie, but comfortable. I wore it for the match..." She said, blushing.
He let out another laugh as his expert hands, growing increasingly impatient, worked to unbutton the flap of his own breeches, sliding them down the feminine curve of her hips to reveal a pair of equally hideous bloomers, wide and frilly.
"Where's the problem if the lingerie is ugly? I can't see you, remember?" He replied wryly, finally back to being completely relaxed and at ease with himself.
"It's still ugly. Hurry up and take it off." She muttered, helping him remove his waistcoat and shirt, which were already unbuttoned, before he bent down in front of her to take off her socks.
"You know, it's quite arousing to strip you of my own clothes."
"Even if they smell?"
"Well, they smell of me all over you – that's what makes it arousing for me."
"You're – you're a disgusting troll."
"And you're in love with this disgusting troll, would you believe it?"
Laughter, whimpers and languid sighs followed the hands of the young lovers as they stripped one another of the last garments they wore until they both stood naked in front of each other on the Slytherin robes thrown on the dusty floor. The chilled air of the Gaunts' lair gave them both goose bumps, and Anne was shaking violently. As he opened the cork of the contraceptive potion he had with him to drink its contents, she clung to Ominis, throwing her arms around his neck, and it was then that she realised with excitement that the cold had not affected him as much as it had affected her. His erection brushed against her belly and she closed her eyes, kissing him sensually along his well-defined jawline before turning around and arching her back to push her bottom up against his length flirtatiously.
"Are you sure you want to do it like this? If you prefer -"
Ominis' hoarse, hopeful voice died in his throat when Anne rolled her hips against his groin again, slow and sensual.
His hands firmly grasped her waist, and a moment later they were both lying on the clothes at their feet—Anne on her stomach, ready to arch her back and moan her submission to Ominis, who was stretched over her and intent on spreading her legs wide with his knees. She felt him put his entire weight on her, crushing her against the floor of the Undercroft, and a shiver of fear and excitement ran through her, intensifying further when she felt the fat head of his cock rubbing along her folds and then pressing insistently against her clitoris. His left hand rested on hers, intertwining his fingers with hers in a slow, romantic gesture, while the other moved her hair aside so he could bury his face in the crook of her neck. Her sweet dark eyes stared at the ceiling for a moment, wide with both anxiety and desire, when she realised that Ominis was trying to thrust inside her without any foreplay. A moment later, her eyes were closing in a languid flutter of her eyelashes—his length such that, without any effort on his part, her cunt was already spasming in an orgasm that helped him push deep inside her.
The lips of the Heir of Slytherin stretched into a smile that was part pride and part arrogance against the vulnerable skin of the white throat of his betrothed—a silent reassurance and implied warning that he would give it to her again and again, and that in that position she could do nothing but take it. But even though his wolfish smile seemed to conceal dark promises, Ominis began to move with extreme gentleness, slow and languid. Even when her moans grew louder under the indifferent gaze of the armour and forgotten objects watching them, he did not quicken the pace of his thrusts, merely rolling his hips in a torturously torturing rhythm.
A red mark formed on Anne's throat where Ominis continued to suck and bite her white skin without being able to control himself, utterly intoxicated by the feminine scent of her arousal. Her face flushed, obscenely wet between her legs, trembling and breathless, Anne came moaning Ominis' name as if it were an invocation to an altar, and it was only then that, with an animalistic grunt, he began to thrust hard inside her without giving her time to recover. There were more adoring moans, more desperate spasms of her cunt seeming to beg for more of him.
And, in his male pride, Ominis was too focused on Anne's eager vocalisations and the chase of his own climax to hear the footsteps echoing in the distance: by the time he heard the heavy iron gate of the Undercrof begin to rise, it was already too late.
Anne's eyes were about to roll back again as a third wave of pleasure washed over her when they fell on attractive lips wide open in a silent exclamation of anger and astonishment.
"Ah, Sebastian!" She screamed hysterically, covering her mouth with her hand immediately afterwards.
Ominis jerked his head towards the entrance to the Undercroft, continuing to pin Anne to the floor and wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders as if trying to hide her virtues from the gaze of his friend. The hips of the young heir to House Gaunt ached from the effort of remaining still after being interrupted just as he was about to reach a powerful orgasm, his lean arse exposed with no dignity whatsoever to the air of the lair while his manhood remained proudly erect within her cunt, which tightened around him like a powerful steel vice due to the sudden shock.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Sebastian?! Get the fuck out of here!"
"Oi, I came looking for you to make sure you weren't slaughtering each other! Looks like I was worrying for nothing."
"You need to get the fuck out of here, mate! Now."
But Sebastian didn't seem at all inclined to move. Still dressed in his Slytherin Quidditch uniform, he stood tall and tense at the entrance to the Undercroft, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he were about to throw himself at Ominis and tear him away from his precious ginger. His eyes fixed on Anne's face, focusing on her frightened and embarrassed expression.
"Sebastian, it's all right, I promise... Please go -"
The faint, pleading voice of the lovely ginger reached the ears of the Slytherin heartthrob, sending a shiver of arousal down his spine and increasing the jitters and tension that were setting his nerves on fire. Her eyes left his and her gaze fixed lower, crossed by a shadow of lust as her cheeks flushed deeper. Sebastian immediately understood what had caught her attention, realising instantly that the bulge in his crotch was betraying him, revealing his state of mind, as did the pitch of his voice, low and hoarse, when he tried to speak.
"Red, I—" He murmured before finding himself forced to clear his throat.
It seemed to Anne that every antiques and every stone in the Undercroft was laughing at them at that moment.
Each of them stood perfectly still, no one daring to move as if they were standing on the edge of a razor-sharp knife and risked cutting themselves horribly at the slightest stir.
Ominis and Sebastian—tense as violin strings—panted heavily, as if the sudden prospect of fighting for Anne, naked before them, had charged them with excitement for something forbidden—an unutterable desire for atavistic, animalistic competition. And she, though clearly uncomfortable, seemed intoxicated in turn by that intangible tension in the air.
As if suddenly awakening from his stupor, Ominis rose slightly from the ground, his princely countenance distorted with rage and his muscles trembling with arousal.
"Get the fuck out of here, Sebastian. I won't say it again."
"Or what, mate? You going to fight me?" Sebastian growled, taking a step forward.
"FUCK OFF SOMEWHERE ELSE, SEBASTIAN! THERE'S NOTHING FOR YOU TO SEE HERE."
A pathetic, submissive moan escaped Anne's lips in response to Ominis' anger, and she tried to suppress it by bringing her hand to her mouth again. But her cunt, tight around him like a vice, had a treacherous spasm, and his cock throbbed uncontrollably in response.
For a moment that seemed endless, Sebastian stood motionless in front of them, and for an instant Anne feared he would take further steps forward.
"I'm leaving." He said at last in a steely voice. "Heaven forbid that a wretch like me should disturb the great Lord Gaunt while he is in the company of his precious princess." He concluded in a growl that oozed venom.
He spun towards the exit of the Undercroft and moved towards the rusty gate with quick steps and the fluttering of a green cloak behind his back. It was only when he was several paces along the dark corridor leading to the lair that Sebastian let hot tears roll down his cheeks, and as the clatter of his heavy Quidditch boots echoed in the darkness, the Heir of Slytherin listened with his head tilted towards the source of the noise like a predator making sure his rival had retreated, expecting an ambush until the very end.
Anne felt her breath catch in her throat with embarrassment and confusion, her heart pounding in her chest as if she were about to have a heart attack. She tried to turn towards Ominis to embrace him, but a sharp pain pierced her between her legs where they were still joined, causing her to let out a stifled cry of distress.
"Careful, my love!" He said lovingly, despite still being visibly tense, turning abruptly towards her and seeking her lips with his to give her a reassuring kiss.
With a most slow and careful pelvic movement, Ominis pulled out, then rolled onto his back and welcomed Anne into his arms.
"You got quite a fright, uh?" He grunted, squeezing the base of his manhood.
Anne noticed with curiosity that despite being reddened and visibly sore, Ominis was still perfectly erect.
"Um, do you need—I mean, do you want me to—"
"Maybe in a little while, but don’t worry if you don’t feel up to it, mmh?" He promptly replied, bringing both hands to her face to gently caress her cheeks, as if that was enough to dispel her embarrassment. "How are you feeling?"
"It was all very, very embarrassing. But I don't want to make a big deal out of it. Do you think—do you think Sebastian is doing all right?"
"I'll talk to him when I've calmed down, I promise. Maybe over a pint."
"Would you really have fist fought him?"
"Without hesitation, love." "No, of course not, my sweet love."
Silence fell, and the gentle crackling of the enchanted candles was once again the only sound disturbing the quiet of the Undercroft.
Anne clung tightly to Ominis, still shivering from the cold, and closed her eyes, seeking in his presence a catalyst that would restore her calm and help her forget the various absurdities of that day. She thought she had almost fallen asleep when he gently turned her onto her back and softly rubbed his nose against hers.
"Anne, I..." He murmured as if it were difficult for him, as if he were terribly ashamed. "I need to cum, love."
"Don’t worry, my love. I’m a little sore down there, but I can—"
"I need to feel you, Anne—to be inside you. Please..."
Anne watched him closely, caressing his face, and in his expression she saw all the insecurities that had haunted him during their argument return, reawakened by Sebastian's brutal, albeit unintentional, intrusion.
It was the embarrassed and imploring request of a lad needing certainty more than pleasure, love more than lust.
Her legs spread instinctively, just a hint of hesitation in her voice when she replied.
"Be gentle, my love."
His loving smile and the reverential touch of his kiss on her forehead made her immediately understand that he would not have wanted it any other way at that moment.
Slowly, tenderly, Ominis pushed himself back into her swollen folds, moving in a way that was neither sensual nor passionate but simply delicate, as delicate as his lips and tongue were on her mouth.
As if the cunt of his fair betrothed, with its pulsing heat and its welcoming wetness, was a soothing shelter where he could find his rightful place in the world, the Heir of Slytherin let himself be lulled, seeking his climax gently, unhurriedly.
He smiled with contentment, but with no arrogance, when he felt her reach her pinnacle once more, relaxed and trembling in his arms.
"I love you more than my own life, Anne." He told her before nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and finally letting go, spilling his seed inside her.
And to Anne, the Undercroft had never seemed so safe, so cosy as it did at that moment, with its dust, its icy air and the eerie silhouette of old medieval armour and torn tapestries.
There was silence for a long moment, then Ominis, still nuzzling his face against her soft skin, spoke in a contented murmur.
"Would you like to get dressed and head to the Slytherin common room to celebrate our victory over Gryffindor?" He asked.
"Our victory?"
"Well, I'm a Slytherin too. ...And I'd like to accompany you. I'll join in every toast tonight and I'll be present at every match from now on, Anne. I promise."
There was a frivolous and genuinely happy giggle. Anne's lips parted to reply as a loving and peaceful expression lit up her face. Then suddenly her countenance turned incredulous and she brought her hand violently to her forehead, rolling her eyes.
"I'm an idiot!"
"What?"
"I'm an idiot, Ominis. Tomorrow morning I have to meet Professor Weasley at seven to do that thing. And I’ll have to be acutely lucid and sober."
Ominis tilted his head, chuckling softly.
"Well, admittedly, planning the expedition to the Repository for Sunday morning at dawn wasn't a particularly savvy move."
"Professor Weasley never has time during the week, she suggested this, and I had to accept..."
"I see. So shall we eat something in the Great Hall and then retire to the Room of Requirement?"
"Yes. Ugh! What a pain in the arse!"
There was another amused chuckle and a profanity whispered through clenched teeth.
"Come now, a cup of tea in my company and sleeping beside me in your bed isn't so bad, is it, my love?"
Leaving the cosy, comforting warmth provided by the thick woollen blankets and Ominis' snug embrace during the night came as a shock to Anne when the time finally came to leave her soft bed at dawn on Sunday morning.
Deek was already waiting for her at the door, stiff and tense like a soldier standing at attention, but he waited patiently for her to eat the serving of bacon he had laid out for her breakfast before clearing his throat impatiently to urge her along.
Having walked through the deserted halls of the castle alongside her faithful house-elf friend, Anne finally reached the depths of the dungeons where Professor Weasley was already waiting for her, her wrinkled lips stretched into a kind smile despite the glaring shadows under her eyes betraying her tiredness. The Keeper returned the smile, absent-mindedly snapping her fingers to conjure a spark of Ancient Magic and reveal the secret passageway leading to the Map Chamber. Once inside, the Deputy Headmistress lost herself in conversation with the professors of old, and Anne waited patiently for the pleasantries to end before speaking up and formally introducing Deek to her mentors.
The old house-elf puffed out his frail chest as much as he could and held his bearded chin high with pride as the Keepers watched him curiously, asking him to proclaim his loyalty to Anne Smith and the Map Chamber forthrightly, just as they had done with Ominis.
When the introductions finally came to an end, Anne felt as if a whole day had passed, when in reality only an hour of her time had flown by. With an elegant gesture, just like a Lady inviting guests into her drawing room, she pointed to the winding spiral staircase that led to the depths of Hogwarts' foundations, granting Professor Weasley her silent permission to descend to the place where the Repository was hidden.
Harlow's werewolves had remained holed up somewhere far from the castle after witnessing the failure of their plan into the depths of the hidden cave within the Forbidden Forest. Silently, Selwyn had played retreat, spying on the Keeper from afar to find another lead to follow and devise another plan to access the boundless power contained within the Repository. But Anne, a cunning Slytherin and war strategist tempered by the blades of Ranrok's Loyalists and the cleverness of infamous Victor Rookwood, had played that waiting game remarkably well, locking herself inside Hogwarts and doing nothing different from the other students.
She had refrained from any rash moves, even giving up on the idea of scouting the Highlands to find the werewolf pack and try to storm them by surprise, precisely so as not to risk anything going wrong. She was well aware that she could not afford any carelessness or mistakes: if she fell victim to them, she would expose her secrets as Keeper, endangering the entire Wizarding World. And even though, as things stood, she had chosen not to involve the faculty, preferring to face the new looming threat alone, she had decided to ask for help in reinforcing the castle's defences following a thought that had struck her with horror as the infernal drills of the goblins came back to her mind: by digging or even disapparating, someone might be able to breach and gain direct access to the Repository without needing to devise a more complex plan to find a secondary entrance to the Map Chamber. Of course, a plan like Ranrok and Rookwood's had cost a lot of resources, resources that Harlow's werewolves did not currently possess, and it was also true that the golems animated by Ancient Magic that Anne herself had restored after the furious clash with the Loyalists would strenuously defend the castle’s foundation from every intruders, but the Keeper could not compromise on the security of the Repository.
It was that thought that spurred her to confront the Deputy Headmistress and request that the complex protective charms that had long shrouded Hogwarts from its outer walls to its highest towers be extended to the foundations of the castle.
Professor Weasley was enthusiastic about the idea of further securing the entire school, and since the matter required secrecy and had to be kept from the Ministry of Magic, she offered to accompany her to the depths of the Repository to help her complete the task. Professor Ronen, as Charm Master, was supposed to be part of the expedition, but he had had to leave the castle urgently for family-related matters just a few days earlier, leading the two witches to walk alone along the path of chalky rocks that stretched into the silent, icy foundations of Hogwarts.
"It's a shame Professor Ronen couldn't join us today." Said Anne, looking distractedly at the stalactites hanging down from the high ceiling of the cyclopean cave.
"Oh, don't worry, my dear! I am still the Deputy Headmistress, after all, and I know the security of the castle inside out. We'll manage just fine on our own. Don't worry, indeed!"
"Oh, I'm not worried at all, Professor. Professor Ronen is a most agreeable company, which is why I said I was sorry he couldn't be here, but I think my magic and abilities are more than sufficient to complete the task at hand."
Professor Weasley opened and closed her mouth several times as if she were unsure what to say, then tucked a strand of auburn hair that had slipped out of her perpetually dishevelled chignon behind her ear with a thoughtful expression. Anne, realising she had come across as arrogant, felt compelled to add something.
"What I mean, Professor, is that I will draw on the Ancient Magic that runs in my veins. And as for charms – well, as you can imagine, thanks to the Keepers, my knowledge in certain fields is far more extensive than what other students learn in class." "Not to mention the fact that, as much as you may know about the defences of the castle, Deputy Headmistress, I have recently had the opportunity to discuss the details with one of the Founders himself..." "Regardless, I turned to the faculty to undertake this expedition not merely to inform you: my abilities are great, but I still need your guidance to avoid making foolish mistakes due to inexperience."
"Of course, Miss Smith. My silence was one of genuine admiration. It is—it is very difficult at times to think of you as a student, considering your achievements and what you are capable of."
"Mm—well, whenever you risk putting me on a pedestal, you can think about the fact that I’m afraid to disapparate on my own, Professor."
A loud laugh disturbed the peace of the castle foundations.
"Oh, I heard about that—the Instructor from the Ministry of Magic reported it to me. I admit that a Troll Slayer without an apparition licence might become a joke told throughout the Highlands! You’ll have to try harder, lass!"
Anne sighed with laughter and shrugged, slipping both hands into the pockets of her Slytherin robes. Then she stopped along the uneven stone path to look around thoughtfully. Expressive dark eyes lingered again on the stalactites above her head and then fixed on the limestone floor with equal interest.
"I'd say we can begin, Professor. Deek? Come here, I need to give you some instructions. I'll need your help too."
"Hmm, still don't understand why you requested Deek's presence today, Miss Smith."
"No one shall be free to apparate down here, Professor, not even the house-elves who are used to moving about the rest of the castle without restriction." "And according to Salazar, I need the magic of one of them to merge with mine to achieve the result I seek..."
Over the following couple hours, Professor Weasley found herself offering suggestions and advice to the Keeper as much as holding her breath in admiration at her magic. It was one thing to be aware of the powers of the Slytherin wonder, but quite another to see her at work in person.
As the minutes passed, the more Anne concentrated on her magic to achieve her goal, the more the air became thick with undeniably palpable power, electrified by blue sparks that danced silently in the ether with each flick of the Keeper's wand. Small will-o'-the-wisps of Ancient Magic swirled around the ebony spiral and Anne's head like a halo, such was the effort she was making to infuse the essence of her wild magic into her protective charms. Only once before had she drawn on her Ancient Magic like that, to the point of exhaustion, and that had been to break the curse that bound her to Anne Sallow. Just like then, the Keeper already felt the weight of her immense effort and recognised the physical fatigue that was beginning to wear her down. Her body and her magic would need some time to recover after having concluded the expedition to the Repository, and that meant she would have to be even more careful of her silent enemies because until she gained back her strength, she would be vulnerable to attacks.
Losing all sense of time, Anne and Professor Weasley ventured deep into the foundations of Hogwarts together with the faithful house-elf. When their faces were finally bathed in the pulsing red light emitted by the vibrant star of Ancient Magic that stirred restlessly within the rough Repository created by Anne herself, a reverential silence fell, as if they were in the presence of some kind of deity.
"I wonder if I will ever be able to destroy or absorb this power. Whatever happens, the only thing I hope is that I won't be forced to pass on my mantle to anyone else. I hope that the burdens and honours of the Keepers will die with me." Anne thought with a touch of solemn melancholy as her rosy lips curved downwards in a grimace of unrestrained sadness.
Slowly, she looked away from the Repository and glanced around, admiring with detachment the immensity of the gorge where she had crushed Ranrok's draconic body, distorted and transfigured by the Black Magic contained in the ancient stores of depraved Isidora Morganach. Crumbled boulders and demonic, unnatural-looking dragon bones remained as evidence of her noble deed, the one that had cost her the life of her first wand.
But in addition to the life of the cherry spiral, another had been broken that day, right there on that very spot.
That of an old lion with bright blue eyes.
And Anne, who had never set foot before the Repository again for fear of her personal demons, finally found herself forced to face them. Her thin body was shaken by violent tremors typical of someone who is trying with every fibre of their being to contain the most violent and desperate of cries, while her back crumpled in on itself and her right hand shot up to cover her mouth. She expected, with a vague sense of embarrassment, that Professor Weasley would put a hand on her shoulder and say kind words to her at any moment, but what she did not expect was to hear the old lioness' cry join hers with equal consuming despair.
As tears still streamed down her face, Anne looked up at the Deputy Headmistress to find her clutching her chest as if her heart were about to burst, while wrenching sobs almost took her breath away.
"F-forgive me, M-miss Smith." She managed to say, her voice distorted with pain.
"There's nothing to forgive, Professor."
"Yes, there is! I-I shouldn't be crying like this in front of a student. I should maintain a shred of dignity. I-I should be wiping your tears, dear girl, not forcing you to see mine."
Anne lowered her gaze, letting the curtain formed by her long ginger hair slip down her cheeks to momentarily conceal her expression, like a magician hiding behind a drape in preparation for performing one of their tricks. After sniffing a couple of times, she looked up with a welcoming and understanding smile as she approached Professor Weasley to rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"I miss him too, Professor..."
Professor Weasley's sobs became even more desperate. She raised a hand to pat Anne's in gratitude, then brought it to her face to remove her glasses, now soaked with tears, and put them in her pocket.
"I loved him." She finally said.
For a moment, Anne thought she hadn't heard correctly.
She stared at Professor Weasley for a long moment without saying a word, her expressive dark eyes reflecting utter confusion. As if seeking confirmation of something, she turned to Deek, who had remained on the sidelines, watching his dear old friend with sad blue eyes charged with compassion.
"I have loved Eleazar all my life." The Deputy Headmistress continued, turning towards her student and giving her a sincere, deeply embarrassed smile. "I shouldn't have lost control like that, but—coming back to this cursed place—finding myself here where—where he—"
Silence fell once more in the frigid gorge that was the tomb of the mighty Ranrok. Only the restless pulsing of the Black Magic contained in the Repository stirred the air.
Slowly, Professor Weasley regained her composure, her breathing returned to normal and the redness faded from her cheeks as she gently dabbed them with a handkerchief to dry her tears. After adjusting her glasses on her nose, she looked straight into Anne's soul with her sweet hazel eyes and gave her a smile that was both infinitely sad and self-conscious, without uttering a word.
It was the young Keeper who spoke instead. The words slipped out of her mouth in a blur, as if driven by a burning, uncontainable curiosity.
"Did Professor Fig know?"
For a long moment, Professor Weasley remained silent. Her gentle smile faded and her thin, wrinkled lips remained parted in an expression of hesitant discomfort. Just as Anne began to feel uncomfortable, realising she had asked a question that was, to say the least, inappropriate, the Deputy Headmistress replied in a voice that was both sweet and confident.
"He knew. And he reciprocated the feeling when we were young—before everything changed..."
"Before—before he met Miriam?"
"Before he realised he had fallen in love with Miriam and found his soul mate in her."
Anne remained silent for a while, torn between her curiosity to know more and her respect for her teacher. Finally, a strange sense of déjà vu prompted her to ask another question.
"Were you all friends? You, Professor Fig and Miriam, I mean."
"That's right. Inseparable friends. The Gryffindor trio, as the professors called us when we were students."
"The - the Gryffindor trio?! But - but -"
Professor Weasley smiled knowingly and sighed, closing her eyes as if reliving a distant memory.
"Just like you and Mr Sallow and Mr Gaunt, we young lions were also a trio of inseparable troublemakers. As we grew up, both Miriam and I fell deeply in love with Eleazar. He was handsome and strong as the most rampant of lions. I had a very exuberant personality, Miriam was very shy." The old lioness opened her eyes, now once again veiled with tears, and continued to speak as if in that gloomy gorge forgotten by the rest of the world she had found the courage to give voice to thoughts and feelings long kept silent. "Eleazar courted me with passion and sincere affection, but when circumstances led Miriam to reveal her love to him, he discovered that he reciprocated her feelings, and I decided to step aside."
"And... and you remained friends all those years?"
"No, unfortunately. We never really found our ‘balance’. Miriam became very jealous over time, and Eleazar never knew how to handle it. He always remained my friend, but he always tried to hide it." Professor Weasley paused, as if struggling not to colour her words with latent hatred. "I wouldn't be your teacher today if it weren't for Eleazar. He was the one who encouraged me to apply for the Transfiguration professorship shortly after he was offered the chair of Magical Theory. I would never have had enough confidence in my abilities if he hadn't believed in me."
Suddenly, Anne felt physically ill. With an awkward, clumsy movement, she slumped down onto what remained of a boulder split in two that lay a few feet away from her, pressing her fingers to her temples as a slight migraine began to throb behind her forehead.
"And in all these years, you never fell in love with anyone else?" She asked without stopping to think, indifferent to decorum and formality as a piercing doubt tore at her heart.
"Never. I never stopped loving Eleazar. Never! And when my parents realised that I would never want to marry anyone, they simply stopped asking me if I was interested in meeting this or that pureblood gentleman."
Another stab of pain pierced Anne's heart.
"But—but didn't it hurt to see your friends fall in love and then get married and be happy together?"
Professor Weasley took her time answering that question, but Anne already knew the answer in her heart.
"It was both my greatest joy and my greatest torment. I don't know how else to explain it to you, dear Miss Smith. I only know that one's heart cannot be commanded, and Eleazar was my soul mate, even if I was not his."
And for the first time, Anne saw Professor Weasley for who she truly was.
She saw her heavy body, the fatigue stored beneath her eyes, and the infinitely wise and knowing expression on her face as she looked at her—the expression of a witch who knows. The expression of a woman who has spent her life alone by choice, devoted to a love so intense and loyal as to be frightening. The expression of a lonely witch who excessively cares for and chastises her nephew because she will never have children of her own to worry about.
Anne remembered the utter, undivided love that had bound Professor Fig to his dear Miriam even after her death, and she remembered too the close friendship he shared with Professor Weasley, wondering with sudden despair and guilt whether the Fate of the Slytherin trio would be the same as that of the Gryffindor trio—wondering if Sebastian was destined, because of her, to live the life that Matilda had lived for Eleazar while she and Ominis selfishly built their nest together.
Then, suddenly, an image formed behind Anne's closed eyelids. It was a memory—a memory of something that had yet to happen, something that the Inner Eye had shown her.
It was the memory of the love nest that she and Ominis would build, where Sebastian would always be welcome and where one day, among many tiny heads of fluffy blonde hair, there would be one with unruly brown locks.
"Perhaps the Fate of the Slytherin trio is not the same as that of the Gryffindor trio." Anne thought, staring distractedly into the pulsating, evil light of the Repository. "Perhaps our lives will be happier than theirs. Perhaps Sebastian's life will be a happy one after all, despite everything."